its happened

Not good news, no, of course not. I have come to the realization that something about me is allergic to that. Just the other day I was thinking about the last time tears of joy actually happened. I do get a little misty when people I like accept the Academy (though that has not happened in a long time) and I do get a little teary watching American Idol, but for me to have such good news that I get teary about it, and just bawl over the good news, I would say it's been about 2 years.

So what happened? Not good news, it was more like bad news, the kind that floors me and shatters me, and makes me not want to leave the house, face the outside world, and do a thing for days, the kind that cripples you mentally and physically. I feel like Wesley Snipes who yells out in anger during his battle scene with Sly Stallone in Demolition Man, "What am I doing wrong?"

Yes it's that kind of bad news. I don't know what the fuck is wrong with this career thing? If I knew I would have grasped it by now, I would not still be searching, I would not be switching jobs like it's underwear, I would have a grasp on what it is I am supposed to be doing and I would be doing it well. I would be thanking and loving and living, less searching. So what is it that I am doing wrong?

I am a good writer. I know I am. I do not give mself enough kudos in many departments, but in writing, I know that I try. I am not excellent, not Stephen King, I am not to be ranked among the greatest speech writers, I am also no as good as the proverbial Carrie Bradshaw. I am just good at it, it's one of the things I am better at than say, cooking, or cleaning, or running. I write. I may not speak well, but I write it pretty darn good. So what am I doing wrong? Beats me. Every once in awhile a defeat like this comes along that just makes you feel the gut being ripped out of you and you think, maybe I am not good enough, maybe I am not cut out for this career thing, maybe I cannot actually grasp it. If I cannot, then what can I grasp? I have not done any good in grasping a man that is for sure. It's been hell's bells all through that. So what else is there? Just a hopeless floating existence filled with my continous search for wholeness in something I should be good at.

Why is that the sad stories always come through? The good ones not so much, but the sad ones, are sure as stone. Why?

Let's hope I don't stay floored all weekend.