On the Rocks

Responsibilities are like rocks to me. Each one has weight, and you carry them with you where ever you go, feeling them weigh on you. Every bill, every debt, every deadline, every chore, every mess that needs to be cleaned up, every project uncompleted, they're all rocks in my backpack. When I'm feeling strong, they don't bother me much, but when I'm down, depressed, vulnerable or feeling weak, it can feel like all those rocks will crush you under their load.

Some people don't accept responsibility. "That's not my job." "Wasn't me who broke that." "Have someone else take care of it."

I don't want to be that person. If something is my responsibility, I do my best to fulfill it. Some people deny their responsibilities, or run away, or lose themselves in booze or drugs, or they fake their deaths, or seek their death. They shuck the bag of rocks and run. I just can't do that.

I'm careful about what rocks I put in my pack. I try to avoid adding rocks unnecessarily. Like monthly fees. XM Radio? No thank you. Ancestry.com? No thank you. Magazine subscriptions? No thank you. Another pet? No thank you. When I'm feeling the weight more than usual, I sort through the bag of rocks and see if there are any I can eliminate. "Do I really need to start that new project? I think not. Do I still need that monthly service? Nuh-uh."

This morning I had a strange dream. I came out of the house, and there were cars parked along both sides of the street in every space available. Nice ones, like Cadillacs and Rolls Royces. Somehow I knew that they were there for the graduation at the local high school. And in my driveway was an old, beat up pickup truck with a trailer that didn't belong to me, parked in my driveway and full of rags and buckets of paint, and it made me mad. I decided to approach it, and when I did, the truck backed up into the street and drove away. It left a mess in the driveway, filthy rags and globs of paint that I would have to clean up. I chased the truck down the street but couldn't catch it. (This sure beats those dreams I had as a kid where things chased me and I couldn't outrun them.)

I've always empathized with Sisyphus, pushing that big rock up a hill and then it just chases him back down the hill and he has to start all over again. Now that's torture.

It bothered me that I'd have to clean up the driveway. Another load to bear. And then, in a lucid moment, I realized that I was dreaming. I stuck a pin in the dream, and it popped. poof! No more driveway to clean up! I love that. I've done that before: regained my wits when I didn't like a dream and just banished it. It's such a relief. Like a load of rocks off my shoulders.

There are times when I ponder world events and wish I could wake up and things would be better. Don't you wish you could just WAKE UP?


Posted by Dave    Blog Tag: Blather