SORTED, SORT OF

by Lisa

I once gave a very sad person the advice, upon hearing from his own mouth that he was a loser, “What would you do if you weren’t?  What would a non-loser do?”

His answer was simple: he did a load of laundry.  He later used the laundry as a solution many times over when Loserville crept too close.

Very recently, I pulled my head out of the sand, or maybe my own butt, and noticed that I’d gone on autopilot.  Where did that plane land?  Loserville, or a suspiciously nearby suburb, possibly BarelyMakingEndsMeetVille, NotDoingYogaVille, DrinkingSodaWithEveryMealVille, SleepingNeverVille, or WhereIsMyOtherBootVille.  Time to move along, so I did.

I chose to  drop an extra concentration, to graduate in May.  Win!

I completed the terms of a random audit to get school money.  Win!

I checked the university’s website compulsively for weeks, to confirm my academic progress status.  Win!

I complied with the federal government to get an extension on credit hours to complete a degree. Win!

Then, I spoke to a Real Live Person about the consequences of getting some incompletes and completely not doing my summer class.  Not a win.

Today, I gathered the material for an appeal to the Gods of Financial Aid, and composed a letter of crow-eating and explaining my extenuating circumstances.  Sometimes, when your house is turned upside down and shaken for no good reason, you lose your shit.  That is precisely what I did: lost my shit.  Describing that process in a way that made me sound not nuts took a little care.  I also spoke in person to one of my lovely professors and rallied his support for my cause.  The other one has other life-things to manage right now, so we’ll talk in August.

This will get fixed, now or later.  I will graduate from school in May or maybe next December.  Next December is the worst case scenario.

When that worst case scenario isn’t so bad, anything is possible, and everything is doable.  When Loserville and its surrounding ‘burbs grow blurry in the distance, amazing transformations happen.  Even with the crow-eating of this morning, today has been a very good day.

Boxes of family china found safe homes in the basement, my car is clean, my kid is having a good time running the neighborhood in red ballerina slippers, and I’ve corrected some problems that come with having my bank card information “compromised”.  The automatic payments are all in their right places again.

Later, there will be fried chicken smells in my kitchen, and the plants will get watered in their new home on the back porch.  Win!

Thank you for listening.  I had to get it out.  This was a selfish, boorish post, but cathartic, as in, “My name is Lisa, and I lost my marbles very quietly over the summer and now I’m herding them back into the jar.”

I am steering clear of Loserville.  People stop in for a visit and sometimes never leave, chained by nothing but frustration made of a tightly knit or widely spread smattering of tiny failures.  Once you’re in, you don’t see that real life is made of such things, and without them, it’s not real.

I choose to take it all in, complete with the yucky bits.  I choose to consent to experience every last bit of everything.

I am loved.

I am capable.

I am fallible.

I didn’t do a load of laundry, but I did sort it out.

I did sort it out.

 

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