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My New Year’s Resolution

I know we’re almost done with February, so a New Year’s resolution isn’t timely. The ads for diets and gyms that plastered the airwaves have faded, the gyms aren’t overcrowded, and we don’t see Ray Liotta for Chantix quite as much.

Although there are some who used to tell me what they thought I should (or should not) do to improve my life, they have no hand in this resolution, except perhaps being the architects of its necessity.

This year, 2019, I’ve resolved to like myself.

Or at least work at it.

It’s a hard thing.

I had heard for years, from people whom I trusted, that I was lazy, fat, self-indulgent, my own worst, enemy, a thief, a liar, irresponsible, slimy, bad sister/bad daughter/bad granddaughter, burden,user. I exercised too little and read too much.

Every time something goes wrong, my first thought is that this is what I deserve. If you’re raised in the Christian (not Evangelical, but basic Christian) mode, you are raised to believe that good people are rewarded and bad people punished, even if there isn’t a direct correlation apparent at the time.

We are told that we must love ourselves as we are. A lot of times, this is followed by “then you can make the changes you need.” Until I set fingers to keyboard to type this, I had not considered the absurdity of that concept.

I am a student of the Law of Attraction/Manifestation movement and that has taught me (though I don’t remember the specific source) that the two most powerful words are “I am” for what follows is what you believe about yourself.

So, it’s time to change the internal dialogue (and I do talk to myself in my head. You do, too. Don’t deny). It’s not easy. We’re talking 50 + years of habituated thinking to overcome. It’s not going to so much be positive, ego stroking as not condemning myself constantly.

Part of the change of thought needs to be the self-acknowledgement that, although my past choices may be biting me in the ass right now, I can’t go back in time and change them. I can only deal with the current situation and (even if it hurts) make the right, best decisions now without beating myself up for how I got there.

There are so many situations and issues that require my attention and effort right now that I want to curl up into a ball and hibernate (I know things are bad and stressful when I can sleep at the drop of a hat). However, I have only me to depend on, so no matter how tempting to ignore things, I must take action. No matter how much I want to wail about the unfairness of life because there are people (women) out there who would get help, goods, services thrown at them for a hangnail, but I have to take on bullies by myself. The internal dialogue has convinced me that I have gone to the well too many times, my causes (whatever they may be at the time) are not just, and “you made your bed; lie in it.”

I’ve not been in a 12 Step program, but I am familiar with the broad strokes, especially the “making amends” steps (I owe a lot of my knowledge to “Mom” and Mom). When I take these steps (usually financial) to deal with the consequences of previous decisions, I do not permit myself a “pat on the back” for having done so. The habituated thinking is “Had you not _____ in the first place, you wouldn’t be in this position!” I allow myself to think in terms of “that’s done.”

Like I said, most of my transgressions have been financial. Growing up, my family, although we weren’t given lessons in running a checkbook or responsibly using finances and credit, had an undeclared fixation with money. It was used as a means of control, family members would figure out ways of getting it out of each other. You were “good” if you didn’t ask for it, if you saved it, if you didn’t object that it wasn’t repaid in kind. One memorable explosion by my father was when I withdrew $5.00 from my own savings account. “Susan, you CHEAT!” He never elaborated on why or who I was cheating. Like I said, money equaled control. A lack of it reflected a moral failing. (On a grander scale, this is how we seem to regard poverty and weight. Not being on the “right” end of it is a clear indication of bad character).

I am still cleaning up after years of financial folly. Part of the “tape” in my head is my mother calling me a “thief” for running up  credit card debt and not repaying it. These comments always came after some debt collector had contacted her looking for me. (By the way, I have learned a ton about debt collectors and what they can/cannot do. One of their favorite weapons to get a promise to pay is shame. They should have hired Mom). Anyway, I hear her voice every day telling me that my circumstances are my own doing, I need to deal with it, and if I’m only getting paid $11.50, I should be grateful because clearly that’s all I’m worth. I hear my older sister telling me what a fool I am because I’ve earned a bunch of licenses and degrees and I’m not using any of them. Sure. Had I tried a little harder, I could have gotten a job as a lawyer. Had I been smarter, I would have maintained my relationship with Fidelity Investments to keep my Series 7 valid. If I applied myself harder, I could be coding websites now. It’s all my fault for expecting things to just happen for me.

In addition to paying back the IRS (I have a payment plan), I now have the US Dept of Education garnishing my wages, and frankly, with the shitty pay I get, I can’t afford to keep myself going, let alone Betsy Fucking DeVos. I THOUGHT the loans had been discharged through a bankruptcy court error in 2004, and I have managed to hold off collection efforts until now by sending a copy of the discharge to the collectors. Apparently no, and BFdV wants over $125 grand from me. (Oh, and that BK, which was really intended as a negotiating tactic for some creditors to work out a payment plan? My mother called me “slimy” for it) So I have THAT shit to shovel now, too.

As you can see, I don’t do things the easy way.

You hear a lot about “self-care” these days, and it’s a term applied to a universe of actions and thoughts. I don’t care for it, seeing as it’s a fashionable term and the concept is wide open to abuse, I think, as a rationalization for narcissistic behavior. I don’t believe I’ll indulge.

The negative self-talk is reinforce the self-loathing, which is beginning to morph into, “you know, you’re over 50, alone, and struggling. You’re not getting a decent job anytime soon. Why not exit stage right? Yeah, you saw the video today of the guy who jumped from the Golden Gate and survived, but that’s not you. You’re a giant damned failure and not going to redeem yourself.”

You see why I need to stop it. At least, for now, I still have to will to stop.

So, I will “cancel cancel” on the negative thoughts and work to reprogram. I will keep on keeping on. Detest my current job, but still do my very best at it while looking for something else (Pro tip: Sutherland Global Services is a crappy place if you’re not going in as part of management, and good luck with that because Command and Control is overseas).

It’s a step. We’ll get to the more positive thoughts later.

 

 

 

 

March 13, 2017

 I don’t have anything especially interesting or profound to say tonight (except that I still have tickets for Book Obsessed Babes on April 8 in Jacksonville, FL and For Love of Books and Florida in Sarasota on July 15).

On the “So are you actually writing?” front, I have written 2708 words on a short story that is funny and sexy. I want to have that ready for the author signings this year. And perhaps write a couple more short stories, the idea being an eventual bound collection.

I moved last November from North Florida to South Florida to be closer to friends. It’s one of the best decisions I’ve ever made. My life had been solitary and isolated up to that point: mostly living on my own or among people who weren’t all that friendly when the chips were down, at a distance from the office where I was working (when I was working) or, in the case of test driving, spending 8 hours driving 300 miles around Los Angeles, Orange, and San Bernardino counties then going home to a house sit. The center of my group of friends was 20 some miles away in the San Fernando Valley. I discussed this with a friend (who is 1800 miles from me): the scariest thought was that if I had decided to end my life, I would succeed because there would be no one around to stop me except myself. Yeah. Unsettling.

 I’m not trying to be the most popular person (and I am who I am. I bite my tongue a lot, but still…) and I know there are people who I like a lot and respect to the utmost who think I’m a loudmouth and a fool and tolerate me, rather than enjoy my company. That’s okay. I still like and respect them. I know that my words are better received than myself. That’s cool (buy my books. Trust me, you’ll love them). I do not suffer fools well. Nevertheless, I need human contact.

Since my move, I am part of a group of 7 people who get together on Saturday nights for dinner and some of us go for a walk at night at the local park. It’s wonderful.

I’ve reconnected with a friend from 25 years ago and she is still as warm and wonderful as she was then. My friend, Catalina Egan, known to you bookworms as M.C.V. Egan, is close enough that we can get together and do stuff. Author stuff, metaphysical stuff, just plain stuff. It’s excellent.

My soul, which had been withering a bit, is blossoming. I am grateful to be in this location, in this circle, in this situation. I am at peace in my life. And that’s where we all should go.

Peace and love and all that jazz

Peace and love and all that jazz

Somebody: free tickets! C’mon!

Shake It Off

I have not posted anything to this website (other than upcoming signing appearances) since August 2015. Quite remiss of me. I need to engage my audience or they will leave the theater.

I can make excuses: demands on my time exceeding my available time. They do, but I still found it in me to sit on my ass and watch TV or sleep on the couch in front of the TV (dozing off, noisily, runs in my family. Unfortunately, I have more in common with the men than the women in that regard).

I piss and moan how “I suck at marketing” yet make only a half-hearted attempt to engage.

I have a stack of books from other authors that I have set myself the task of reading and reviewing (in this space. Hey! Blog posts!) in the hopes that they will reciprocate. And a small part of me that feels like the world is tearing me to pieces for its own use and my wants and needs don’t matter just wants to be left the fuck alone. Those authors won’t review my books. The others promised and didn’t (says the small part).

Right now, the TV set is off. Yeah, I know: THOSE THINGS ACTUALLY DO HAVE AN OFF SWITCH! They don’t have to be on all the time! I don’t have the radio going, CDs, MP3s, Pandora, nothing. Just quiet (except for the soft whir of the ceiling fan. I may fall asleep shortly. That’s my white noise for sleeping). Don’t be afraid of quiet. Yes, you are there with your own thoughts, but you may as well process them and send them on their merry ways. Better during the day than lying (NOT LAYING. LAYING IS INCORRECT. OKAY? WHEN YOU PLANT YOURSELF IN A HORIZONTAL POSITION, YOU ARE LYING DOWN) awake when you need to sleep and having them pester you. Got decisions to make? Pen, paper, make a list of pros and cons. Worry? Fuggedaboutit: worry accomplishes nothing and robs you any joy you may find in the moment. Or just…be. That’s meditation. Sit and focus on breathing, or a ray of sunlight, or watch your dog sleep. It’s beneficial.

However, I digress.

I want books sales in the thousands of units, but as I am a one-woman show, marketing is up to me. Therefore, I will be engaging with readers (like giveaways! Ooh!), firing up a newsletter, more on Facebook, Twitter (when I am not ranting about politics. May need a new Twitter handle because for the next four years, I’ll be frothing at the mouth online unless I get jailed as a political prisoner. Oh, it can happen).

I know I can make this happen. I can manifest this if I get off my ass. I wrote books. I have a Facebook page called Medieval Merriment (and this is to make a point, not promote that page, so no link here) that I started as a goof with no expectations. That was August 2014. Today, it has 21,250 followers. That’s a lot of people. None of them buy my damned books, but that’s a lot of people. I made this happen, too:

Susan and George

I have had a couple of people tell me I should have a video podcast and/or Youtube channel. Oy. I have a face for radio and a voice for silent movies, but I’m funny. I’m smart. I know stuff. Maybe. (Catalina? Whitney? Let’s talk)

So, for the 2 or 3 people who read this and the thousands of spam comments about goose down parkas (I shit you not), let’s shake off the rust and do this. Mondays and Thursdays. Right here.

 

And now, Miss Taylor Swift.

Let Me Tell Your Story

“Finding Inner Strength” is the subtitle of my blog and a theme that underpins “These Foolish Things” and “At Last” (and probably a bunch of other stuff I’ll be writing).

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I been through my fair share of crap (and then some), but I’m not big on talking about myself (Hell, I’m not even good at selfies). I’ll invent a character and give him/her dialogue and scenes that I’ve observed in my life. However, it takes a while to come up with a finished product.

And I have to find content to populate this blog.

Tell you what; if you’ve been through trying or traumatic circumstances and come out the other side, I want to talk to you. I want to use this space to tell survivors’ stories, to give hope and inspiration to others who may be experiencing what you have.

Email me at sthatcher.author@gmail.com if you want to tell your story. I will change names, if you want to remain anonymous. But, I’ll make your story a star.

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And I’m including the next cartoon just because I’ve always loved it.

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