Time for the psychotropics

Today was another fun-filled day of 'work' (actually meetings). While my temper has substantially cooled over the course of the afternoon, it has only been banked, only to be restoked with an incendiary email I just read. I will be dueling with the Shitpile tomorrow, and actually feel pretty good about it. I'll just have to remember to wear my shit-kickin' clothes. The old adage that no one can make you feel or do anything except yourself has suddenly freed me from all this blockage. I don't feel guilty or chastised in the least tonight; for the first time in months, I came home with a smile on my face. Not a bad change from noon when I was suppressing tears by repeating "I will NOT give him the satisfaction of crying in front of him, I will NOT!!!" And I didn't. And I won't. The difference? I have a plan now. I'm not particularly frightened by Shitpiles. I'm older, and I have more insurance.

And, dude, NOBODY talks to me that way! N - O - B - O - D - Y . That saying from the "Incredible Hulk" TV show seems appropriate here: "Don't make me angry; you wouldn't like me when I'm angry." [I amused myself this morning by alternating "Don't cry" instructions with by Patrick Swayze's defiant "Nobody puts Baby in the corner!" statement. Whatever works, right?]

But anyway...since my own life is filled with stoopud-ity, and because I don't have enough drama of my own--I LOATHE drama--I've spent most of this week thinking off and on about a blog I read whenever the author gets around to publishing something. I won't link because...well, her blog is the closest thing to a straight-up diary I've ever found online. She is emphatically NOT writing for an audience. If you want to know where to find it, I'll tell you, but only via email.

I want to write her. I want to tell her than being 14 and female sucks for every woman. I want to tell her that all the stuff she's feeling is normal and that yes, it's awful. I want to tell her to cherish the real friends she has, to have faith in herself, and to not let anyone--including her friends--convince her that she is anything less than she is.

OK, I want her to survive adolescence without harm. Not asking much, am I?

She couldn't be more different from me. Her life is nothing like mine was at 14: she knows what she wants to do with her life, although as a female it will be hard to convince people to allow her to follow that dream; she has lived a negligently violent life; she's been expelled from her school and grounded to her house as a result....

At the same time I'm wishing I could help her out, I'm also wary of being taken in. Her whole story is so very literary and dramatic that it's hard to believe it's real. Whether or not it's true, she is a wonderful writer, if rough and untaught (spelling/grammar is atrocious, or at least erratic). Maybe that's why I'm so drawn to her infrequent entries; writing is not her dream--hers is much more physically challenging--but she would excel at it.

And since I feel like I'm dealing with 3-year-olds in other areas of my life, dealing with a 14-year-old bald hoodlum is actually an advancement of sorts.

Speaking of young teens....tonight was (ironically enough) Sparky's conference night at school. Same song, same verse: You have to turn in the homework for it to count, especially the more major projects!! Goofball. Otherwise, his teachers had really wonderful things to say to him; his Lit teacher was particularly effusive, but they all were appreciative of his attention in class and his abilities on tests and so forth.

He's a star. I'm glad other people think so, too. I'm really happy for him to hear those things from them, too.