I get so pissed watching HGTV anymore. All these people fixing their houses, selling their houses, buying new houses…
It puts me in a bad mood every time.
I hate the way I feel when I break down (which has been happening a lot lately).
Helpless
Hopeless
Weak
Out of control
Broken
Empty
Snotty
But man, I sure do feel better when the sobbing stops.
It’s strange to be on the other side of things. I remember being the oppressed, the controlled, the beaten-down. And now, apparently I’m the oppressor, the overbearing controller. And the sad thing is… you’re so wrong about me and my motivation, but you’ll never believe me.
I keep thinking about when I was in your shoes. Was I this wrong about my situation? I think I was maybe a little wrong, but no, considering there is still an oppressive, controlling attitude after all of these years, I don’t think I was this wrong.
So how can I blame you for bucking the system? History has a habit of repeating itself.
I just hope that you don’t end up self-destructing before you figure out how to stop fighting me for no reason and get on with your life. It is so sad that this is all my hopes for you have shrank to.
I sometimes wish that life was black and white. No shades of grey to muddle the resolve of decisions. No wondering if this or that was a little different then maybe… Just yes or no, right or wrong, stay or go. No endearing qualities to suck you back into unhealthy situations, or haunting memories of what I did or should have done, or glimmers of hope for something that just shouldn’t be. I wish second-guessing and what-if didn’t exist. I wish paths were clear and choices were simple and we could know what we’re going to get from our choices.
I guess I want a plastic life in a padded room. Clean and safe and simple and planned and predictable. Not really, though. But it would be nice for a second to just breathe, sure of myself and my life, before I dive back into the chaos.
Been searching for townhouses/apartments that are pet friendly, large enough for a family of 5, close enough to schools & work, and in a safe area.
This was agreed to be hubby’s job. But he is busy and overwhelmed. I get that. So I’ll do it for you. I am, too, by the way, not that anyone asked or is making accommodations for me about that. But anyway.
Is it passive aggressive that I put his name and contact info down for all of the inquiries I’ve made today?
Do I care?
I want to go camping.
I want to sleep in until whenever and be cozy in my bed because it’s nice and warm and fluffy while the house is just a tad too cool.
I want to go hiking and cliff diving at hat rock.
I want to go to the falls for a picnic.
I want to catch a matinee because there’s not much else to do.
I want to take the kids and spend the afternoon at the library.
I want to sit and read or do crossword puzzles while sipping my morning coffee because I can have a slow start in the morning.
I want to have a conversation that allows me to express a complete thought all the way through before being derailed or becoming disjointed.
I want to be able to say to the kids, “What do you want to do today?”
I want friends to be able to come over to play anytime because we don’t have pressing business to attend to.
But I won’t do any of that.
I’ll just keep rushing out of the house every morning to work and coming home to be a slave-driver and painting and building and sorting and packing and cleaning and directing and sweating in my too-hot house and attempting to provide my 10-year-old with jobs and entertainment while mis-communicating and under-communicating and listening to I want this ($$) and we need to that ($$) and oh by the way this other thing ($$$$) and taking a lot of deep breaths and counting to ten (or twenty or thirty) to avoid saying things I’ll regret and figuring out what to feed the family and attempting to retain control of the finances so bills keep getting paid and we can still buy food and sleeping fitfully because of the heat and stress and waking up and doing it all again the next day.
Happy summer vacay to me.
There, that’s better. Back to work.
Just realized why I’m not urgently working on the house to get it sold. It still feels hypothetical to me. It feels like maybe we’ll move, but most likely not…. Except we are! Need to get shit done. And I’m sitting around playing tiny tower instead of getting busy.
Perfect time to take a big family vacation.
Freakin first day of summer break feels like winter.
Baby boy left this morning for over a week. Will miss him, but this will be productive time.
So much to get started between now and September.
The excitement and anxiety of what’s to come is overwhelming.
There’s just so many stuffs to think about and consider and do and pay for and arrange and fix and clean. Where do we even start? I guess it can wait until after Chicago, but that feels like too late. I’ll be glad in six months, I’m sure, but right now I’m freaking.
Sometimes, when I get a glimpse of just how pitifully clueless I am, I imagine how lost I would be right now if I had used brain-cell killing drugs when I had the chance.
It kind of makes me feel better about myself. You know, to think that no matter how stupid I feel right now, I could have been stupider.
… I’ve had a fretful night of sleep with strange, strange stress dreams
… the bed is warm and toasty
… the cat is curled up beside me, gently kneading the blankets and purring
… its another day of hum-drum same-old same-old
… nobody has made coffee yet. I mean, really. What’s the point of waking up and getting out of bed without coffee being already made and waiting for me?
Why has time stopped? I just want to go home lie down. Why is today particularly busy with phones and people coming in? Don’t they know I have a headache and they should leave me alone? Why are these people Hubby has been meeting with seeming to take their sweet time in communicating with him? Don’t they know we are anxious? Why can’t I just go back to bed? I woke up this morning thinking it was Saturday… it’s only Tuesday. Doesn’t look very promising for the rest of the week.
So, not sure how to react/feel/respond/process. I mean, I know you didn’t get what you want. I know we messed up your plan. But to completely ignore us? Immature much? I feel like you might as well not come back. Just stay there, with them. They can be your family now. It’s what you want. Right? They support your choices. They support your lifestyle. So just go be with them. But then again, I know it’s not okay. I know you will regret it. I know where that road leads. No, you don’t have to live a conventional life. Yes, I understand you want a simple life. But why purposely make living the life you want difficult? I don’t understand. And I guess it’s not for me to understand. I think I feel like you owe me some respect/credit for supporting you in your self-discovery so far. I feel like you should know I’ll always want the best for you and for you to be free to be who you choose to be. But watching you settle is very difficult for me. You said once that people there have higher standards for themselves, and for you, than people from your past had. And yet, you seem to be setting the lowest possible standards for yourself. I don’t get it. I think I’m heartbroken about it. It’s possible that my heart is broken enough that its gone numb. And my ears feel like they’re going to start bleeding every time he and I talk about it. He needs to talk. He needs to control. He needs safety and routine and convention. After so many years of the same damn conversation, I think this one might break us. I don’t know how I can live with it. So, really, I guess all of my struggle with this is selfish. I don’t want to have to deal with the fall-out of your choices anymore. It’s not fair to me to have to listen to all of the lectures intended for you. I am not a therapist. I shouldn’t have to listen to people talk through their issues just because they’re verbal processors. When is it my turn to process things the way I need to process them? When is any consideration given to me?
I am shy. I am borderline (okay, extremely) social-phobic. I don’t like to talk. Anyone that knows me knows this.
This morning, my darling son (that never met a word he didn’t like to say, or a person he didn’t want to say these words to) wanted to play a game comparing spoonfuls of yogurt… Which is bigger, smaller, etc. And this game required me to say “Bigger” or “Smaller”. That’s it. Not anything I really needed to engage in or think about. Just look at the spoon and say one of those two words. Simple.
I lost patience with this game about three spoonfuls in, said I didn’t want to play this game and that we should be quiet and eat. Hrm.
So, I started thinking. Is it that I don’t like the game? No, the game is fine. Stupid, but fine. Is it that I don’t like the sound of my voice? No, I don’t have any sort of annoying tone to my voice (that I pick up on, anyway). So, why? Why am I objecting to this game? And it hit me. I don’t like to talk. I don’t like to use my vocal chords. I don’t like the way if feels. I purposely choose the shortest answers possible to avoid talking. I purposely use email and texting instead of phone calls to avoid talking. I avoid people I know in public situations to avoid talking.
Oh my word! I am an insane woman!
