I'm Certain I Still Have A Seat In Purgatory...
But, maybe a comfortable one. Like, plush. Probably.
If you’ve been with me for any length of time, you know about my current battle with karma. I keep trying to rid myself of the old, shitty type, and replace it with the shiny, awesome type. This has been a thing with me for a few years now. Like, ya know, since I stopped dealing oxycodone and generally being a reckless ass trap queen with a nasty temper.
I’ve spent the last few years really going at the karma farming, like I am some sort of crazed prairie dog, just digging the shit out at the roots from the inside. I had to. I’ve got a lot of shit I need to fucking pay the fines on.
Lately, though, a few things have been happening that have really led me to believe that either A. prison got me a lotta coin in karma repentance or B. someone has been trading in good deeds on my behalf.
Today, I had a fucking minor miracle happen on the personal side of shit, and I am just crying, like, really in disbelief because my life doesn’t work this way. It just doesn’t. I don’t count on the amazing things to come through, because that’s just not realistic in my world.
Also, this week I had a real leap forward in my professional life, and it has been ridiculously rewarding and smooth thus far, leading me to believe that I am probably dreaming right now, and I’m going to be fucking devastated when I wake up.
I don’t mean to imply that I deserve any sort of redemption; I don’t. I was a terrible person, a junkie, a dealer, and a cold and unfeeling woman. I will never say otherwise, and if you heard anything in addition to that, it’s probably true too.
But, I’m not her now. I’m this other woman. I don’t live that way, I don’t even remember how to live that way, because I’m on this other shit. I don’t see my people from back then. I literally left that life like it wasn’t even mine. And I don’t miss it. I got this other shit I’m on.
I do some things, a few of them I’m pretty proud of. I get up and get in it. I go out and get about it. And I certainly have been known to tell everything I think about it, because I ain’t got shit to hide, and I don’t really care who doesn’t like me.
The only thing I hold onto from that life is other people’s business because it ain’t mine to tell. Other than that, I did some exfoliating and applied some Peter Thomas Roth and got the fuck on with my life.
So, yes, I half-assed believed that it might get me a seat on the balcony of Purgatory. Somewhere the toes of my Betsey Johnsons aren’t getting stepped on so I have to punch someone in the throat, somewhere Puffin can lounge in the seat next to me and not have to have me punch someone in the throat for doing that stupid ass tsking noise about it.
You know, the shit that is the lawn seat equivalent, basically. I can kick it with enough room to feel like maybe Purgatory ain't all that bad.
That was it, though. I didn’t believe that shit would get easier, that it would ever be some fucking walk in the park, that I would end up with a less toned ass or soft ass hands. That’s just not my life. It’s not the way things happen.
But, some things have been going my way. Some times have gotten a little less stressful. Some days have been damned near perfect. I keep looking around for the second shoe in this equation, but it seems nothings getting fucking dropped.
Maybe my math has been off. Did I carry the 4? Who checked these fucking equations? If that’s a decimal point there, then… shit, it might be. Maybe.
It looks like I’m out of the red. I think the end-of-month balance sheet is going to reflect a credit entry. The fuck? I don’t know how to act. Hand me my fucking tiara and sash, sir, because I’m going to give this shit a victory lap around the stage.
Ho, hold my roses.
Y’all don’t tell St. Pete about this shit, though, because I’m fairly positive this was a bank error in my favor. I don’t need him running the tape on me again, Baby Jesus, it was like 5 minutes of paper rolling when he hit total. Then had the audacity to stand there looking at me the whole time it printed with what, hand to God, was a sneer on his face.
Saint, my ass.
Let’s just carry on like nobody noticed. Y’all know how to act cool right? Just don’t act suspicious. Don’t even look at him, let’s just head on out to the bubble Caprice like nothing happened.
Mash out, we gotta get some distance before he realizes he shorted himself something serious. I got it now, I ain’t fucking giving it back. He’s gonna have to come get it.
You deserve good things.
I’m totally your friend 💜