Yesterday, in spite of it all…I was in a semi good mood. No thoughts of doom and gloom. Moderate anxiety. No abysmal attitude toward humanity. I scooped my drive, chiseled off two solid inches of ice from the windshields, loaded the car up with kid, stuff, and my, and off I went. Okay, so I lie a little. I DID cop a slight attitude when R told me he was going to have me “tear into” some electronic device. I told him “It’s not gonna happen.” Not after him lording that mistake I made over my head all week. I get it, I fucked up, does he not know that repeating it over and over erodes self confidence? DERP. He accepted it. Because he had no choice. When I say no, I mean NO.
Nothing exciting happened. Few customers due to the weather, though the phone rang a bit much for my nerves. (I am hyper sensitive to noise.)
The anxiety kind of filtered in the closer to the end of the day it got, for I had committed to going to his house and having pizza with him and his wife so Spook could play with their granddaughter. Just to give an example of how opposite his wife and I are…She thinks he is negative. I call him “the most adorkable optimist ever.” She decorates her house in frilly penguins and bears. I decorate my house with skulls, rock music posters, and anatomically correct devil dolls. She watches “Say Yes To The Dress”. I watch “Dexter.”
Get the picture? About all we have in common is neither of us cut R any slack for being a douche sometimes and we both like this velvet red wine. That’s the extent of our common ground.
So going there…is uncomfortable for me.
But my kid wanted to play with L and I had made the commitment so we went.
When R’s daughter was dropping L off, I sat off to the side, focusing mainly on watching the girls play. I am far more comfortable with children than adults. Kids are innocent and funny and non judgmental. Adults are vile judgmental tarnished beasts. (Okay, so the goodwill toward men part faded out yesterday, sue me.) For the most part, they ignored me and I was fine with that. (Oh, and for the record, being more comfortable with kids than adults is not some creepy thing, I used to work in a daycare and kids just kinda have the same mentality I do at times )
They left, then his wife started in on him, do this, do that, get me this, get me that…I hate that shit. And I really hate the way he just takes it, albeit not silently, he mutters shit under his breath to show his irritation. It just gets old, because it’s every time we go there. If that’s his nightly life going home to her, he really deserves a kick in the shin for dumping me. I’m not that bad. Or at least I don’t think I am, unless you’re a certain Canadian, in which case I guess I am a total bitch ‘cos I don’t like you. Bygones.
Once she had some wine and I had some wine, things got a little less uncomfortable. But then came the complaints from her about how R and I banter too well together, he lets me insult him but she cant (she totally doesn’t get the concept of The That 70′s Show “burn” thing, it’s all done in jest.) Then she starts in about how he treats me, and again, telling me to get him a beer and sammich is a JOKE that we’ve had going for awhile now. There are plenty of times I tell him to get his own damn beer.
She makes my head hurt.
She then got bent because the grand daughter wanted a little too much to do with me, and started holding her instead of letting her walk around and choose who she wanted to hold her. Puh-leeze.
It was two hours of mixed “this isn’t so bad” and “oh my god get me out of here now or kill me”.
Kind of describes my entire existence.
Came home, almost fell asleep, kid woke up screaming bloody murder and wouldn’t tell me why or stop, so I put her in bed with me. She slept soundly in the middle of the bed, leaving me a wedge. I was up from 2 am til almost 5 because it’s very difficult to get comfy on the edge of the bed.
She got me up at 7am. Or demanded I get up because it’s “not dark anymore, mommy.”
I am still debating what my mood is today. Probably not gonna be good ‘cos it’s housework day. I fucking hate housework. And grocery shopping. The petri dish freaks me out. I feel jumpy already, no clue why, except tic-tac-o-pin ain’t working.
I have an appointment with the sunshine spewing counselor Monday I am dreading.
I go in, she sits back in her chair after typing a bunch of shit on the computer about my meds, etc, then asks, “What’s been going on?”
I tell her about the med changes, the side effects, the anxiety, the problems getting Spook to mind, my frustration with her dad for not wanting anything to do with her.
Sunshine spewer says, “We talked about this last time.”
Then comes 35 minutes of me babbling because I am just trying to fill the time and get the hell away from this totally not helpful person who is going to bill insurance whether I talk or not. Might as well torture her with my redundancy. She has basically told me I am redundant.
What is the point of therapy to help me deal with the problems I am having when all she does is remind me it was discussed last time and since I am out of bed and upright, all is hunky dory. WTF?
I still haven’t dealt with the job lady situation. Still haven’t worked up the nerve to open the letter she sent and get my berating for being a fuck up.
I’m a mess and I know I am mess, but what are you supposed to do when the professionals keep telling you that you “need to work, it will be good for you.” I am already have daily meltdowns from juggling so much, adding one more thing where there is no room for my disorder is not going to help. They’re fucking clueless.
And I am fucking exhausted trying to keep up with their expectations.
The one ray of sunshine in my otherwise bleak world is THE NEW WEDNESDAY 13 ALBUM DIXIE DEAD is fucking awesome. He always makes me smile. He is too funny. His music is considered dark. I find it enlightening. Because the song “Fuck You” sums up every emotion I have. Wednesday is a god.
To prove just how much I LOVE his music, this is my kid at 6 months old.
My email signature is WWWD. What Would Wednesday Do.
Guys in eyeliner are HOTTTT.
Guys in eyeliner who write songs about death are HOTTER.
I take great pride in being this warped.
Fuck the world.
Long inane rant done.