When it rains it pours: so get your freaking floaties
I think it’s been a rough time for a few of us. The clouds have whipped through, bringing the rain, fallen trees, and many roads to home have been washed out. Lately, I know a lot of you (myself included) have felt like the warmth of the sun would never come. Oh sure, it’s 80 degrees for a day, because this is Indiana, but then the storms come again and another crisis hits. It either knocks you on your ass, or it hurts those closest to you and you feel powerless because you feel like you can’t help them.
There I was going about life, feeling pretty fantastic. About four days into the well-being feeling, I received a message that the house I’m renting was flooding. The basement had standing water and it was rising. Mix all that with my little brother’s dog passing away (look, I know that seems trite, but it’s a big deal…it really is), add a dash of unemployment, a pinch of family members being sick, and a heap load of maulings by my cat Samantha, a bout with a Grandpa with prostate cancer, and I was feeling like garbage. I’ve hit a plateau with the book as I’ve been doing a lot of Army things lately so I haven’t worked on it in about a month, despite thinking it would be published by now. I craved the sun, happy things, dryness, and laughter. I just wanted to go outside, and play and run and raise my hands towards the sky to feel the breeze on them. But the rain…
Also, ummm…apparently the world is losing it’s mind and I’m too lazy to even begin worrying about nuclear war with North Korea, nor can I bear to count all the casualties in fires, mass shootings, stabbings, or the gassing in Syria this world has going on. Also, Trump’s still a thing and I’m getting to the point I’m slightly convinced I’m in a coma and this isn’t the real world anymore as we’re still arguing the validity of global warming and class inequality.
I’m not going to lie. I freaked out a little about the flooding. I didn’t know where to start…I may have screamed, “I need an adult,” a couple times. Then, I got to work. I asked for help, I made the phone calls, signed the papers, and dried it all out. The price of water cleanup and a simple main line cleanout is astronomical. Did I have the money for all of this? Absolutely not. Will it even out with some hard work and a few more days working for the Army? Absofreakinglutely. Should I lie in bed and worry about how hard this life is hitting me? Fuck no.
Last week, before the sewage hit my basement, I packed a backpack with a fifteen-pound weight and some books for heft. I went to the park, even though the clouds clung to the air. I rucked four miles and my feet began to blister, but I let the rain wash away my doubt. I looked at the purple flowers along the past as the water washed away all the, “I cant’s,” all the “This is too hard,” all the “What do I do now’s.” The weight on my back gave me something to walk against, a reminder of what I was possible of carrying.
So, that’s what you have to do. You take the weight and carry it as far as you can. When you can’t carry it anymore, realize you might need some people along the way to be your floaties, to keep you above the water. When it’s time to rest, rest. Make jokes about all the scratches on your arms from the cat. Fucking fail. Then, go to bed. Get up and ask, “What do you got for me today world?” And expect it to be fantastic, but even if it’s not, you’ve failed before, you can do it again. Tomorrow might be the day you win. (I really resent that Mr. Sheen has made a mockery of the word but there it is). It’s not going to suck forever.