Time To Stupid

TBB is concerned that my cycle time is decreasing.   That’s engineer talk for time to failure, or at least time to maintinance.

I see it more as mean time to stupid, time to that craziness where the black hole caves in and I get so obsessed with the little stuggles in my life that I lose sight of the big picture, lose sight of the life.

“I totally get that,” TBB said when I explained that I had worked out that the Volvo was a Chick Choice, not an engineer choice.

“And I affirm you making woman choices,” she told me.

Yeah, well, I need to affirm me making woman choices.

I know that I won’t “own” the Volvo until I can put on my black tights and boots and eyeliner and drive it.  It’s a chick car.

But when I force myself not to make those chick choices, well, I get stupid, lost in the fight, not sharp or present.  You know, like Elaine Bennis when she didn’t have sex.

TBB offers blessings on the car.  If it works for a year, it has been paid for, in her estimation.

Me, well, I just feel stupid.

The other side of stigma is a kind of swampy obsession, dark and repeditive, trapped in the box of your own desires and going nowhere.  It’s hard for me to convey how much I have spun my wheels creating the rut of my life, because being constrained by walls of stigma stopped me from moving forward and beyond, the kind of explorations that bring new challenges, new balance and new life.  Trapped in the stigma I fight the swamp, and I feel myself get sluggish, lost and stupid, a waste of decades.

I can tell when I don’t feel clear, when I feel stupid, and it hurts.   My family wants me to act, but they want to believe it is more denial which makes that work, not trusting my own energy.

“I am not so happy when you start to spiral in,” TBB told me.

I need to reduce the time to stupid.

And I suspect that means making Chick Choices and to trust them, even when they may not feel supported.

But oh, the stupid, the stigma, the stupid.