I have trouble sometimes with having Too Many Feelings. My Feelings eff up a lot of things. Between My Feelings and my OCD and That Time of the Month, I'm an emotional wreck often. The thing is, though, I don't want to be. I hate that, and I try my damnedest not to let My Feelings spill over onto my blog. At least not too often.
I don't want to bitch and moan and cry about every little detail of my life that's bugging me at any given time. That's what my middle school/high school/college livejournal was for. Also, my old Blogger blog. I don't feel like that's what people read blogs to see. I don't think everything in the 'blogosphere' should be puppies and roses and mommy bloggers who think their Dear Offspring crap Skittles, but neither should it be daggers and skulls and. . .I was trying to think of an antithesis for Offspring Who Crap Skittles, but failed. You know what I mean.
I feel like people read my blog (or any blog) because they want to (a) Be Entertained; (b) Be Informed; (c) Be Stalkers; or (d) Some Combination Thereof. Therefore, when I write, I do it first and foremost because it's what I DO. I like telling stories, and I like people saying, hey, that was funny/sad/off the chain/etc. (I don't think anyone I've ever known has used the expression "off the chain." Maybe they should.)
I'm completely getting off whatever point I'd started out trying to make with this. The point is, I'm not happy with my current lot in life. But at the same time, I feel like I can't complain about ANYTHING, because I have a stack of 8 resumes I've received in 3 days, which tells me, "Hey, Sarah. Quit your bitching, because even if you don't 'feel satisfied' by it, at least you have a job."
Yeah, at least I have a job. A job that's contract, so I have no benefits and no vacation time, so if I want to, I don't know, get married and go on a week's honeymoon, guess what? That just means a week of no pay. No one gives a fuck if I'm getting married. They're not going to pay me so I can have time off to do it.
Or time off to do anything. I feel like I'm over here, drowning in my own self-loathing and self-pity, but I can't take any time off because guess what? I have bills to pay. Bills that aren't going to understand that I just need an em-effing BREAK.
But guess what? I can't complain about it. I can't complain about anything. Because you know what happens then? My friend, The Universe, decides to say, "Oh yeah? Let me REALLY give you something to complain about."
I just want to be doing something that means something right now. This job means nothing to me but a paycheck. I don't even get any benefits, so there's an extra $400 a month in health insurance. Just for me.
I'm going under, and there's not a thing I can do about it. But I can write about it, and risk turning my little Corner of the Interwebz into a Bitch Fest, alienating anyone who might have been otherwise interested and diminishing my chances that someone will happen across my blog and give me a book deal.*
So there it is, people. Take it or leave it.
*Yes, I know this is not a thing that really happens to most people.