Welcome to my pity party. Let me take your coat.

Last night I spent my evening wallowing in self-pity, listening to sad, sad music, feeling like a failure, and wondering how the heck I was going to move from point A to point B.

It was sad. Like this:

No, I do not know why the croissant/biscuit/turnover thingy is sad. Nor do I know why it has poor eyesight.

No, I do not know why the croissant/biscuit/turnover thingy is sad. Nor do I know why it has poor eyesight.

But not quite like this:

Close, but not quite.

Close, but not quite.

My thought processes were something like this:

  • 31 and living with your MOM? LOSER.
  • I’ll bet the ass hat thinks you’re a super-duper loser, living with your MOM and all.
  • I’m sad. Only Norah Jones and Adele understand my pain.
  • My life sucks. I watch Fox News with my MOM on a regular basis. How lame am I?
  • I also have a cat. Cats are lame. Cats are for old maids who never get married again.
  • Holy crappers… what if I never get married again? What if no one will love me?
  • I’m not even employed. Wow. This just gets better and better.
  • I eat the same thing for breakfast every morning. Who does that?
  • I wonder if people feel sorry for me. The only thing worse than feeling sorry for myself is having other people feel sorry for me.
  • If my life were a movie, they’d probably be playing the whimsical music montage right about now, all about how lame my life is. Because even though it’s lame, it’s pretty funny.
  • Unless it was a sad Lifetime movie, in which case there would be no music montage. Just me moping around waiting for Mr. Right to walk into my life and save me from myself. I wish my life were a Lifetime movie.
  • My life is like that movie “Girl Most Likely” except it’s not… and Kristen Wiig is way funnier.
  • If I’m 31, have my ovaries shriveled up and died yet? And if not, how long does that take?
  • Do I look old? I’m 31. Is this mid-life? Will I start getting wrinkles and cellulite in unspeakable places?
  • At least my boobs won’t sag. They’re too little to sag.
  • I probably shouldn’t be happy about my boobs being too little to sag.

Somewhere around the boob mark, I started to fall asleep. Thankfully. Because all that self-pity was getting me nowhere.

So, this morning I shook it off… (I really need to watch that Taylor Swift video everyone keeps talking about…) and decided to move forward. No matter what. I was not going to fail. I was going to keep moving forward and do it. Whatever “it” was. And I would show them all. Whoever “them” is. And yes, I do have something to prove. (But just what that is yet, I do not know.)

For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the LORD, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.  –Jeremiah 29:11.

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6 thoughts on “Welcome to my pity party. Let me take your coat.

  1. Jana says:

    “I’m sad. Only Norah Jones and Adele understand my pain.” This made me laugh out loud and snort a little at my desk at work. PS – I also understand your pain and sometimes you just gotta wallow in it!

    Liked by 1 person

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