2008/03/17 – “I Was A Victim of Circumstance!”

This was the classic Three Stooges  line uttered by Curley after he’d fucked up something royally.  Sometimes it was even his own fault! Not that I consider myself a “victim of circumstance” in any way. I just like the post-ironic twist. Because it isn’t about circumstances. It’s about who we are as we walk through the events of our lives. 

 

Let me tell you all what went down over the weekend on the forum over at the Desteni forum. Pull up a chair. I want to talk to you…

 

Damn, it’s such a long story. Not really, but it seems like it will be at the start of this. Anyway, last Saturday morning, I was sitting at home in front of the computer engaged in the Desteni chatroom. I saw my sweetheart was there, and after a couple of minutes she left. Before she left, I typed “Call me!” She says she didn’t see it.

 

Anyway, an hour and a half later, she called. We got in a fight. She called me names and hung up on me. I won’t go into it what the fight was about-way too trivial-but I went back to the chatroom and complained to the others there that my sweetheart was being mean to me. And said some other things about her in my moment of venting, okay? Then I logged off, called my sweetheart and smoothed things over. Life went on. Or so I supposed…

 

Anyway, Thursday morning rolls around, and I’m pissed because I had some money owed to me by my employment agency that STILL hadn’t been deposited in my account. So, I’m pissed about that, see? And then I fire up the computer and check out what’s on the Desteni page. My jaw dropped when I saw the chat that I had been squawking about my sweetie had been posted on the forum by someone! What the Hell?

 

Now, I’m one of the mods on the forum, so believe me, the thought of deleting the whole damn thing crossed my mind more than once as I read through it. I looked at who posted it. Then I wondered why he would do that. There was no explanation on why he posted this except for the title of the thread: “D_____, No Secrets.”

Awesome. I imagined my sweetie going apeshit when she read this little beauty. The thought of deleting the thread were scrambling around my head again, but, no. I’m sure that would create more problems for me down the road. Some Process:Self-Honesty if I stooped to such subterfuge. This really sucked. 

 

I looked at the clock. My honey hadn’t called yet. She probably hadn’t seen the thread yet. I better call her before she finds out, you know, to soften the blow. Yet, right.

 

Anyway, she seemed okay with it. It had been something we both sorted out and was done with it. She couldn’t believe someone would do that. Then came the words that struck an primordial and sizeless terror in my heart.

 

“What did you say about me?”

 

“Uhm. Well, you know. Just stuff.” 

 

“You better tell me before I read it.” I stammered some lame approximation on what I had said. I don’t remember, exactly. Whatever I said, she laughed. “I bet you knew I would be mad if I read it and you hadn’t told me, huh?” Riiiight. 

 

I hung up and typed a chagrined reply to the forum and went to work and forgot about it. It wasn’t that big of a deal to me.

 

After I returned home after slaving over magazines and envelopes, I called my sweetheart, who’s was just getting home herself. She had a couple of beers on the way home and was pretty happy. We talked and joked a while before she decided to read the Post. 

 

Talk about a “mood swing.” Oh      my      “God.” My baby was not in the least bit pleased. She let me have it with BOTh barrels. She unloaded on me. She opened an Extra-Large can of “Whoop-Ass.” And that was before the yelling. And the cursing. And the screaming. You get the picture: she went apeshit. 

 

Right, and I had to stand there and take it because I felt it was my penance for the words I had said. The rest of the evening went through what seemed to be a never-ending cycle of yelling, cursing, yelling, cursing, hanging up-repeat. This went on clean through the next day before she calmed down. And then we talked it out. 

 

I was anxious and concerned over her process and talked about it with other people when she wasn’t there. I realized that this was a big mistake. I have to make sure my own shit is in a pile before helping my sweetie with her pile. Actually, even that goes to far. She gets to pile her shit up in her own way and in her own time. The stuff she does that I consider a detriment to her process, read: my lips are zipped. This was agreeable to my sweetheart, and so our spat was over. 

 

Oh, baby. Time to go into some Self-Forgiveness. Join me, won’t you? 

 

I forgive myself for allowing myself to think that venting about my sweetie to others was okay because I meant no harm by doing so.

I forgive myself for allowing myself to judge my sweetie as not being as committed to process as I thought she should.

I forgive myself for allowing myself to believe that I could say things about my sweetie that wouldn’t get back to her.

I forgive myself for allowing myself for feeling chagrined for being “busted.”

I forgive myself for allowing myself to deflect “blame” from my own actions because I considered myself a “victim of circumstance.”

I forgive myself for allowing myself to fear my sweetheart’s reaction which I termed: going apeshit on me. That was why I didn’t tell her everything about the comments I had made.

I forgive myself for allowing myself to give my sweetie a “reason” for going apeshit on me.

I forgive myself for allowing myself to worry about my sweetie’s process.

I forgive myself for allowing myself to act from a starting point of the Mother Matrix System in participating in that worry.

I forgive myself for allowing myself to consider leaving the agreement with my sweetheart because I was getting tired of her going apeshit on me.

I forgive myself for allowing myself for being annoyed with my sweetheart because I felt she didn’t see the “larger picture” in this situation, which was that we shouldn’t let outside forces affect the way we go about our business. 

I forgive myself for allowing myself to feel victimized by what I thought was a busy-body. He was just “trying to help.” 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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