Should I die, this blog will serve as my son's source of virtual mama.

If I live, I won't have to repeat myself.

sigers writes fiction and nags her son in austin, texas. 

I want you to know how to DESTROY those who have wronged you.

I want you to know how to DESTROY those who have wronged you.

Surprisingly enough, this post is not about punching people in the face.

This is a story about a friend of a friend of a friend who used to relay the constant headlines from his office politics. So much drama from a company that makes hats.

Sooooo “Jeff” was a total diva. Sometimes with good reason. Sometimes for no good reason. This dude would turn into an episode of the Real Housewives of Atlanta. There was a very straight-laced woman at that company who wanted everything done by the book. Her name was “Sheila.” While Jeff didn’t know how to navigate the system to get what he wanted, Sheila did. And she wanted Jeff gone. 

And she got what she wanted.

So what do you think happened next? 

Probably some bubbly. A renewed spark of happiness when she walked in the door of her job, knowing that this Mariah Carey in Vegas motherfucker was gone. And then she moved on to the next chapter of her life now that she had freed herself from all the turmoil, all the combat, and all the frustration that Jeff brought into her life.

She. Won.

But do you know what she does now with her spare time? She finds out what Jeff is doing and she talks about it. What kind of projects he is involved with. How he is probably screwing those up. Trying to suss out any future wrongdoing. Reliving how horrible he was.

And you know what Jeff is busy doing? 

I’m sure he would rather have clawed some eyeballs, thrown a drink in somebody’s face and then gone sweeping out of the room in his gauchos. Divas like to make a good exit. 

So I’m sure that he felt a little sorry for himself. But then he got back on it. He’s doing what he loves. And most importantly? He is not giving a good goddamn about what Sheila is doing. That boy is out there living his life like it is golden.

No going over and over what was wrong with Sheila. No long, wine-soaked conversations with his friends about how he was right. No peeking back to see what his enemies are up to. No flaming bag of dog shit on the company’s elevator.

He let it go. And that makes him the winner.

Letting go. Not always easy to do. Sometimes even when the irritant is removed, you don’t want to let it go. You’ll find that your role in the situation has become comfortable for you. You begin to see yourself as martyr. You are the victim. You’re just fucking right and everybody else is fucked up. And everytime the topic comes up, you’re reliving battles …

That anger still owns you. That hurt is still there. Let it go.

Look at it this way, the object of the game is to live as many happy, wonderful days on the planet as possible. To replay the happy memories and juuuust enough of the bad memories to keep you from wearing bell sleeves over an open fire again or forgetting to clear the cache after watching porn. Again.

Spend too long dwelling in the memories of a bad day turns it into two bad days. It removes you from a day or an hour or fifteen minutes you could have been happy.

As you know, your grandmother, Hey Lady, knows all the best methods of warfare. Remind me to tell you the one where she made a weapon out of a pop bottle.

When I was a kid, she put up a sign that said, “Living well is the best revenge." And you can’t live well when you’re holding on to anger and hurt.

 Live well, Llama Llama. Live well.

I want you to be less of a pain in the ass to your future PR team.

I want you to be less of a pain in the ass to your future PR team.