why can’t i wallow?
One of the things about myself i find irksome is my utter inability to remain either angry or depressed. i would, just once in my life, like to wallow. i’d like to curl up somewhere away from the world and cry and stare the wall and sniffle pitifully when no more tears will come. i’d like to mope around and have people ask me, “Oh, elise … what wrong darling?” and to be able to respond, in a small, helpless voice, “Oh, i’ll be all right. i’m just so sad right now.”
Never happens. My bouncbackishness knows no ~wry look~ bounds. Even the current difficulty i’m having with my writing cannot stay with me for any length of time. i try to write, i get frustrated, i pace a little, and then i either get busy working on something else, or laugh at my own frustration. One of my children will wander into my room looking for money, or a ride, or a new rationalization for “needing” the XBox 360, and my somewhat snide sense of humor will rear its head and i’ll begin a fondly sarcastic debate with him or her that ends up in laughter or an argument.
i’m the same way about my relationships, my feelings. The depth is there. When i am hurt, i am deeply hurt, when in love, gloriously in love. But when things are not going well … as is the case this week … i find it provokingly difficult to wallow.
And dammit … i really think i’d like to wallow.
Perhaps you can’t wallow because of the word itself. Some navigationally impared stork left me in an agricultural community, and to this day, say the word wallow and I think of pigs mucking around in thick mud. The only wallow I’d ever consider would be in a high priced spa where the mud bath bubbled like champagne and smelled like lavender or mint.
Kaz beat me to it: I read ‘wallow’ and immediately thought of pigs and mud.
So, you’re not a pig, and you don’t bathe in mud. These are good things, elise: embrace them.
Pigs. Mud. Hm.
Got it.
elise
Unless you make a career of it, wallowing in self pity is the best way to get rid of it. Feel the anger, hurt, injustice! Pull it in close, wrap it around you, and wallow. Ladle it on.
Usually doesn’t take long to get bored with that crap.
Actually, I agree with Buffalo, though I would add that ladling one’s wallowing into a piece of writing can also help one to not make a career of it. Unless, of course, one chooses to make a career of the writing of wallow-inducing stories :)
i think wallowing may simply not be one of my talents. But it’s okay. i’ve got other talents. ~smirk~
elise