...one to continue telling me in certain and ambiguous ways that I am defective and unfit for normal work-a-day worlds - - each and every one of them.
It would appear that my marked inability to work in the "regular world" should have been sufficiently clear by, say, 1990. Taking tongue-lashing after ass-kicking from humans and the Cosmic Frying Pan in the Sky, one would think I'd have "gotten it" by now. Hmmm? But, I go back repeatedly and beg for the whack on the head. Much like Oliver Twist asking for another bowl of hideous slop, I knew the outcome of my continued returning to a regular workplace. Ol' Ollie probably knew the slap to his head was but an arm's length away, but he had a hunger for more.
So am I stupid? Not hardly. Stubborn? Well, yes but not always in a good way. A do-gooder with a heart of gold who believes she can change not only the world but her Self each and every time she goes back to the hum-drumity of the work-a-day life? Pffffftttt!....yes, that's what I think or always thought. That the next place would be better, different, "the thing." Only I was still the same person trying to fit into an environment I had no business entering, much like a sex addict in a convent.
I once had a boss tell me bluntly that no matter where I went, if I was planning on doing the same damn thing in another location, I would fail. Each and every time. I mistakenly thought he was just a self-righteous and brilliant S.O.B. who couldn't be bothered to go get his OWN SANDWICH from 100 feet across the parking lot. But he was right and we both knew it.
My hunger will only be assuaged by taking a leap of faith that the writing life is mine. This is a lonely, scary existence, knowing this. God, the Universe, Mother Nature, the Cosmic Frying Pan in the Sky - - they all know how I feel. And they laugh.