Freedom from Success

Today I rush into greater freedom. A wider, breezier, grassier paddock beckons me. and it is flowered with the daisies of failure.

Today I enthusiastically admit to my many failures.

Today I celebrate my astounding success at failing to manifest a human life.  I have completely failed to open the acorn of my youth, I miss the boat of my middle age cruise and I foresee desert-wandering in my older age rather than oasis-dwelling. 

I have magnificently circumvented every milestone set by the structures of this reality.  I refuse even to fall into the myopic stupor of anaesthesia offered by joy-inducing waveforms.  I 'go not quietly' all the way into my happy meadow made fertile by the manure of my failure to succeed.

Daily this construct stands cross-armed and scowling at me, demanding I give an accounting for my small list of successes, and to give a plan of goals as to how I shall rectify this poor performance standard.

Today, I laugh merrily at my list of failures, clap myself heartily on the back and search for no excuses.

What did I fail at? Shall I find the list?

# I failed to be passionate enough about anything to have a dream to fulfil.

# I then failed to pursue with vigor and passion a dream given to me by my innermost soul self, because I had none to pursue.

# I failed to learn to move this body with grace. I dance like a monkey drunk on fermented fruit, if I dance at all.

# I failed to join a choir, or to be a successful singer of any kind, although the potential existed.

# I failed to return to the work force after birthing children.

# I fail to attend parent/teacher interviews - oh stars spare me from ever stepping long on school grounds.

# I failed to turn any of my considerable inherent talents into anything profitable.

# I failed to learn how to use makeup - it makes my face hurt.

# I failed to learn how to dress smartly, cutely, funkily, to have any kind of sense of clothing style at all.

# I failed to find lasting connections with other humans in groups, I am not (no longer) held by a need to be community minded.

# I failed to like being around people.

# I failed to learn to like exercise.

# I failed to get through life with a healthy and exercised/competent body.

# I failed to learn to cook like Jamie Oliver.

# I failed to get comfortable with going to beauty salons and having my eyebrows shaped.

# I failed to get over my dislike of driving.

# I failed to travel to Bali - this seems to be a thing that is done by Australians.

# I failed to develop an invention to benefit humankind.

# I failed to become a proficient at any media of art. ( I have barely finished a thing. Human projects get boring fast).

# I failed to focus enough to get a degree in anything. I am just not interested in human subjects.

# I failed to find a soul group.

# I failed to entice any significant numbers of people to be interested enough in my creative outflow that they would give me enough money to make it worth the outlay of my time.

# I failed to be a popular person by any standard. Even the astrals avoid me - yeah run bitches!!!! I know your point positions!!!!

# I failed to write a book and publish it.

# I fail to understand wtf is going on most of the time.

# I failed to make money so my husband can buy a new car to commute to work in.

# I failed to be a person who opens doors for my children to walk into job positions.

# I failed to push my children to do sports or even just to leave their bedrooms. Hell I don't wanna leave the house, why the fuck should I make them? I do encourage adventures on the train to find a cafe or fun store, not that I would do that myself, but I am far more messed up than they are. They still have a chance to not fail at human interaction, or to at least figure out themselves how to fail spectacularly at it. I believe in the self-mastery of failure.

# I failed to have small perky boobs. (sigh)

# I failed to learn how to do a cartwheel - that's some scary messed up shit right there.

# I failed to learn to like having neighbours. Or to at least tolerate their screaming, booming, and barking.

# I failed to not be afraid about life in general.

# I failed to stay perpetually happy. I had to stop drinking vodka.

# I failed to learn to give much crap about politics.

# I failed to grasp how to keep my wit inside and not roast someone with words when given the opportunity. I am better at silence, but that has come through exhaustion I think.

# I failed to be known for anything.

# I failed to be someone people recommend to others.

# I have so far failed to finish a blasted mini-house. If I crocheted one, then maybe it would be finishable.

# I fail to see the point in each day.

# I fail to keep my undies from riding up my butt all the damn time.

# I fail to get my life to manifest outside my house and outside the small area of the internet I move in.

# I failed to like the Teletubbies.

# I have failed to learn a musical instrument though I long to be competent with one - I think.

# I have failed to learn to make a drum.

# I have failed to be bohemian, or to be quirkily endearing.

# I have failed to be sort after for my knowledge and understanding - except by a few who matter (so not really a failing, but we'll call it for the sake of the exercise). Ah yes, not called upon by masses with money in exchange for knowledge.

# I have failed after more than 3 years of effort to find more than 5 people who look regularly at the content of this website. (But 5 is certainly more than zero. And they are 5 etherically signigicant people.)

# I fail to give a fuck about these milestones and achievements. My field of fucks lies fallow.

Which is why:

# I shall fail to continue this list to its full completion, as the totally of my fucks to give has now been depleted.

Ahhhh the sweet release of accepting this world's failures rather than fight them and expend mammoth-sized chunks of energy in the process. I shall rest in this bed of non-success and add to my list of failings as the crabby task-master demands more of my human-ness.

There are two things I know I will have succeeded very well at by the close of this adventure - being born, and dying.

Daisies, Vincent Van Gogh