My smudgy life (on unfairness, anger, and art): when rushing forward stops working

Update 2/10/15 I added the subtitle so aptly supplied by the folks at AJN because it's much better than my original one. Now, resume...

I feel like I should be writing brainy nursing posts, but I'm in a nursing hiatus. I'm in a productivity hiatus of most kinds (not all, because I'm writing book reviews and some other stuff). I should have taken it right after my dad died and I got fired, and I said at the time I was going to, but I couldn't stand my own company so I took the first job that came along.

Free advice? NEVER do that. Disaster. Timing aside, I got mad and quit within a month of when the position started. My bad, being mad. I stand fully accountable for this unprofessional behavior. There is no excuse for an adult to get mad enough to act in such haste. I tried to undo it and said I'd show up to cover my shifts, but they didn't want me.

So I decided not to reflexively freak out and vomit resumes everywhere. I figured if I'm that close to the anger edge, I should possibly simmer down a little.

I was angry. Like, really mad.

My life had been moving apace until I got a phone call in October from my dad saying it wouldn't be long. I took time off from a new job to be with him (and I'd do it again), he died, and when I returned to my job the next business day, they fired me. At the time I was so numb I figured, "oh well, who wants to go where they're not wanted?" Later, I got mad. I mean, who does that? Seriously? (Then the lady who fired ME quit, so I gave up trying to unravel those politics.)

Meanwhile, my grandpa had a stroke, so my family was completely torn up, and my boyfriend came home from work and moved out, out of the blue.

All of these things individually would probably be worth a pout or two, but en masse and rapid fire, they caused a lot of pouts. I have always been sensitive to things not being fair. Getting kicked in the teeth by politics at work at the VERY WORST time in my life? Was not fair. Apparently that made me angrier than usual at other things that are not fair, hence, "I quit."

My parents told me that life isn't fair the whole entire time I was growing up, but I guess I didn't take to it. I feel like life should BE fair. Often, it isn't. My parents were right.

Sitting around boiling with anger, with or without a job, is thankless. It seeped out of me. Only the bravest of friends attempted contact. Someone finally said, "You need to do something. Get a hobby." "I HAVE a hobby," I said. "I journal." (I obsessively wrote about how unfair everything was.) "Use the other half of your brain before you analyze yourself to death. Paint or something."

This made me angry.

I never took art classes, I have always been mocked at Pictionary, and my stick figures have rarely even been symmetrical. Art = frustration. But I was frustrated anyway, so I started to draw and play with paint. It really does shut down the brain chatter; I can feel the ca-chunk when my mind derails, and trust me, it NEEDS to derail.

Still Life with...Oil Filters?

Still Life with...Oil Filters?

There are a lot of things to play with in the art world. I figured I would like to create smooth, vibrant acryllic paintings. I hate acryllics. My psyche did smooth out considerably when my drawing teacher (commitment was required) gave us charcoal and kneaded erasers and told us to follow the light.

It turns out that I CAN draw! That means that ANYONE can draw---at least anyone with a high tolerance for risking total humiliation. The more paper I scribble on, paint, and tear, the more anger fades away.

It's actually nothing short of miraculous. Seriously, I never even had to peel the paper on my crayons as a child.