Let’s Throw a Pity Party!
Hell. We’ve earned it.
Adversity. We’ve had plenty of that dumped on us the last few months, have we not? Shit on shit and then, more shit.
That’s a lot of shit!
Covid. Quarantine. Trump. Racial division. Unemployment. Trump. You get the picture all too well.
We all handle adversity in different ways. Some of us are stoic, giving it the old “stiff upper lip,” while others crumble like an Oreo in milk.
And then there are those of us who trod the line in between. I believe that’s where I’m hovering right now. Some days, I bounce out of bed with vim and vigor, ready to take on anything that comes my way. Other days, I feel like drinking myself into a coma.
Where are you at, right now? Feeling, well…shitty, I’d guess. You know, normally, I’m not one to cry in my beer. I’m pretty good at dusting myself off and getting back up when I’ve been knocked down, in my life. I suck in an emergency though, I will say that.
But that said, even though we’re pulling out all the punches and baking and enjoying “family time” and learning new languages and filling journal after journal, there comes a time when you just have to say, “Fuck it.”
I think that time is right now, right here, because sometimes, wallowing is the way to go.
I’m going to kick it off by bitching about some of the things that are making me feel like shit, lately. Some of the are obvious, others, not so much. My hope is that my fellow Rogues will pick up the baton and join me.
Ready? In no particular order, let’s go.
I feel bad that:
Donald Trump is still breathing while so many have died on his “watch.”
Trump could once again steal the election, thereby inciting countless suicides across our great nation.
Good cops are being maligned by the loose cannons.
So many “human beings” are anything but.
Summer is almost over and I missed the whole freakin’ season.
I’m beginning to look like a Banshee.
Wearing the same clothes for three days in a row is no biggie.
Many of my friends here, excellent writers all, don’t get their due.
I’ll be in hock to my dentist for the rest of my life.
I wasn’t able to trap and rescue the mama fox. (See story, below.)
“Sex” is in the rearview mirror of my life.
Even though I’m an Inadvertent Intermittent Faster, I’ve gained five pounds.
I’ve developed an inordinate fondness for jalapeno poppers. (Hence the five pounds.)
I haven’t heard from my manager in months.
I’ve tossed my latest script aside to concentrate on Medium. (Maybe that’s why I haven’t heard from my manager in months.)
I sometimes take the “low road.”
I often dig taking the “low road.”
I kill every plant I come into contact with.
I can’t seem to part with the hoard of beauty products that never see the light of day.
My red lipsticks are gathering dust in said hoard.
I’m often short with my husband.
Way too many people go to bed hungry at night.
I glower at people in the grocery store when they get too close.
I haven’t decluttered. Not even close.
People don’t give a damn where their “meat” comes from.
Even though my writing has been described as “Gillian Flynn meets Nora Ephron,” I still can’t get my female-driven thriller made. (WTF???)
Boo Hoo is me. Now it’s your turn to let it out, fellow Rogues. Your turn to wallow in some righteous self-pity. In other words, write your own story and we’ll share it in this splendid publication. (P.G. Barnett and Kristi Keller, you gonna help me out, here?)
It’s time to pity-party, y’all. Giddy-up!
Sherry McGuinn is a slightly-twisted, longtime Chicago-area writer and award-winning screenwriter. Her work has appeared in The Chicago Tribune, Chicago Sun-Times, and numerous other publications. Sherry’s manager is currently pitching her newest screenplay, a drama with dark, comedic overtones and inspired by a true story.
Yes. I’ve officially lost it. But thanks for reading, anyway. If you’re up for more:
