Rabbit holes

For fuck’s sake. Why is it so god damn easy to send yourself down a rabbit hole?

(Can I just ask…how is it possible that Squarespace had this amazing stock photo of someone wearing a rabbit head with the perfect quote graffitied onto the steps? Gold star, SS)

One shitty informational interview led to the toppling of a lot of dominos that were standing up quite proud and shiny, thanks.

I can get to the interview another time but earlier I was asking myself how did a post about my fear of being demented and unloved sneak into a blog about wanting to find a new journey? Because I was thinking about how nothing - not even professional and soulful pursuits - matter if you’re unloved and demented. Nothing! That’s why. Says the six year old in me.

I was already peering down the rabbit hole. So I peered some more. I asked myself why even write this? A potential employer could discover me as the author behind this and read that I might want to be a Cam girl (which I did, in fact, claim) and then not want to hire me. I’m supposed to quit my job and find a new one! I’ve no idea how to make myself anonymous without really making an entirely anonymous blog with a fake gmail account and god forbid I mess that all up. And then I lost myself down a tunnel about how I don’t want any jobs that someone wouldn’t want to give me based on anything I write in here. This is the litmus test for the next generation of managers I’ll be employed by. I don't want a job where anyone would care (read, I’d like to walk dogs and bartend). When I got back from that mental tirade I then spun off into asking why I think it’s a good idea to add yet another webpage into the Interwebs when nobody cares and everyone is far too saturated as it is (remember my expressed disdain for Oversharing? And yet I clearly want to have sex with Oversharing). Could that be considered polluting the Internet? Then I dug in further and told myself that I can’t write, am not even sure I know what a preposition is, and that I have no business starting a blog when I can’t even figure out how to adjust the template such that the blog posts come up in cute little categories instead of a long scroll. And then when you try to google answers to all this stuff you are barraged with so many webpages that I feel the urgent need to shut my computer lid and say “Take me to a yurt please”. Preferably in Mongolia where I too can eat one of those raw Mongolian marmots that someone recently ate and then died of the plague.

But instead, I sat down. And I wrote a little story about rabbit holes. I will pull myself out of any rabbit hole I can, even if I have to dislocate my entire left (dominant) leg while I do it. Because there is nothing good to be found down those holes. No caramels. No gin and tonics. No sunsets. Nothing good.

We all need to climb out of the rabbit holes. For many reasons. But most of all because none of it matters anyway - loved or unloved - because at the end of the day we’re a teeny tiny fraction of a percentage of a star dust amount of the energy in our galaxy. We’re everything and nothing. And I find that more reassuring than I should.