I fucked up big time yesterday. I let my privileged self slobber all over the damn place — someone else’s damn place, worse yet. No, I’m not going into details. If you were there, you know.

But if you haven’t figured it out, I have a mental problem (I like to call it a psychiatric disability), and yesterday I was about as low as I’ve been in months. Ready to give up the whole trying-to-be-published shit, because I have this huge Achilles heel that never seems to let go. Namely, me. I can just see it now: get published, and then do some godawful thing or say something completely … WRONG … and ruin everything.

But I didn’t binge or get drunk or scream at my spouse or children or hit anyone or do any of the other fucked-up things I’ve done in the past. So that was encouraging. I ranted on my LJ (thanks to you few who read it, sorry to rant at you, but you’re the only ones I trusted with it right then), went out and pulled weeds and pulled onions and yeah, shed a few pissed-off tears, and felt better. I was all set to quit, though. Not writing, but publishing, even this blog. I was done. I even had the post all set up in my mind to write on here.

But then I slept on it (always a good idea for me not to get impulsive), and did all the day things I get to do as the one who stays home with kids. They’re teenagers, so it’s not bad having them home over the summer. I guess I’m one of the few people who likes their kids.

And yet I still felt so pissed about the unfairness of it all that I went and spent several hours on Wikipedia this morning making this. I really felt better after that.

Then I went back to face the music and the man apologizes to me.

Well, that was different.

So I go back here looking for something and read a bunch of old posts, and thought, “hey, this isn’t all that bad”. And then a buddy of mine came on IM after reading my rant on LJ and made me laugh, and I think I’m okay.

Perfection and I are not in the same space-time continuum, but maybe this can work anyway.