Well, my brother lost custody of his daughter. It hasn't even been court-ordered yet, but it's basically over. I'm frustrated on many levels. It is an internal struggle between my knowledge of abusive situations versus my emotions about my brother and his marriage. It's very hard for me to talk about this because I feel like people talk down to me every time I try. I DO feel like she is getting away with a lot of lies. I also feel like my brother isn't making the right decisions about what the court needs to know about his marriage. I feel like the court wouldn't care anyway. Let's break down some of these FEELINGS:
1. On one hand, on the hand connected to my head, I know that in a domestic violence situation, most of the surrounding family/friends never know about the abuse. I KNOW that. I know the laws that are protecting my SIL are in place for a reason, to protect women (people) from abusive situations, and that everything my family thinks she's "getting away with," such as being given emergency government housing, a free lawyer, and "all of her lies just believed without proof" is necessary, and I would want all of those things provided for me if I ever found myself escaping an abusive relationship. I know that it looks like I am only siding with my brother because he's my brother and that it looks like I am one of those naive, blind, or angry family members.
2. On this same hand, I KNOW my brother isn't a peach to live with. He has a quick tongue. He cusses, he makes inappropriate comments, he yells and calls people stupid. I know all of that is verbal abuse. I know he's difficult and a bit self-centered. I know he has punched walls and went through a period of cutting himself. I know it was probably awful to live in a house where at any moment he might start yelling. I know that verbal abuse is just as debilitating as physical abuse.
3. On this same hand, I KNOW that the court and the officers of the court are treating this case like they would any other divorce, and that they can only take what they see and make decisions from that. Right now my SIL has a two-bedroom apartment that she has kept clean, where she cooks and has a babysitter and appears to have bettered herself. My brother lives with his mommy and, at the time the court-appointed lawyer for my niece came to visit him, had all of his belongings shoved into a tiny bedroom because he had to move quickly. It was a mess and looked trashy. Many people lived with us, which was pointed out in detail in the court documents, and the house in general was disorganized and cluttered. We have since moved, but still my brother lives with his mommy and doesn't have a separate bedroom for my niece. They have separate beds, but share a bedroom when she comes. At this time, it appears that my SIL will be providing the "better life" for my niece.
4. On this same hand, I KNOW the things my mother and brother told my niece's lawyer were mistakes, and that they came across sounding vindictive, because instead of talking about the living situation my SIL created while they were married, my brother instead said things like, "She turned lesbian on me," and "She's obsessed with our daughter," and my mother said things like, "She's crazy," and "She's jealous of my relationship with her daughter." They didn't talk about the frustration of my SIL refusing to get a job for years, or how her children ganged up on my brother and other members of our family to tell him what a failure he was every day, or how my SIL allowed random people to just move in with them all the time because "it's the Christian thing to do." Nope. And, when my brother told the lawyer that my SIL's ex-husband could tell her how this same thing happened to him, and how his stepson's girlfriend could testify to the frustration of living in that house with my SIL and her children, the lawyer asked if she needed to speak to those two people and my brother said NO. NO! And so it sounds like he made all of those things up because, you know, no, she can't actually go corroborate his story.
5. BUT on the other hand, the hand that holds my heart, I BELIEVE my brother never hit or sexually abused his wife. It isn't in him. Even when we were little, he was all bark and no bite. We would fight, verbally, and when he felt overwhelmed or when he felt angry he would hide in his room and cry. Or he would shout about me being stupid, or spoiled, or what have you. He is an extremely neurotic and sarcastic individual. He also has asthma, tremors, and acid reflux so bad he once tried to change his oil and ended up vomiting horribly in our kitchen sink (due to having to lie on his back for an extended period). When we lived in our old apartment he couldn't walk up the stairs without getting winded. He helped me move my dresser six inches the other day and was winded at the end of that. He only eats once or twice a day because otherwise, he throws up. I find it hard to believe he would be capable of holding someone down.
6. In this same hand, I believe that my SIL DID create frustrating living situations as well. She hopped from job to job, and at one point refused to get a job because she was worried that my niece would stop loving her if she couldn't be home with her every single possible moment (I'm not kidding, she said that). She refused to use her child support for her older children on any bills, food, or other necessities. She said that money was for those children, not for my brother and their child, and so it couldn't be spent on things that benefited them (I'm not kidding, she said that). She said it was the man's duty to get a job that pays well enough so his wife doesn't have to work, and that if he can't be the sole provider he's a failure (I'm not kidding, she said that). She allowed people to move in with them, random people, like some dude from their trailer park and his baby. When we found out he was on a sexual registry, she dismissed it. Dismissed it. And, she is a woman who claims that she and her older children were sexual abused. She said it wasn't Christian of us to judge him (I'm not kidding, she said THAT). Her children would bring home their friends and make two sandwiches for each person. She said she couldn't let people go hungry. She said that if my brother had a better job they would be able to afford feeding anyone without having to worry about feeding themselves.
7. In this same hand, I believe she has manipulated the justice system. She sat in our living room a few weeks ago and admitted she just let the woman from the domestic violence shelter write down whatever she wanted to, and that she just signed the paper without reading it. When we asked her about specific situations she had alleged in the papers, she told us she didn't even know what we were talking about and that she never said any of those things. Look, I KNOW she may have felt uncomfortable and like she was "behind enemy lines" and what have you, but her children have come to us to tell us she did this exact same thing to their father, and to several other men. They told us she has filed charges against every man she has ever known. Furthermore, in the court papers from my niece's lawyer, any specific situation my brother talked about, like the time my SIL "refused to take her daughter to the emergency room" is in quotation marks, is alleged, and is treated like a "he said, she said" situation. Everything that my SIL says is not in quotation marks, and appears as though it's fact. Like the time my brother "slammed his daughter's face into a dog cage door," except not in quotations. That did not happen. My brother was horrified. He wants the court to do a taped interview with my niece, where they ask her about things like that, but the court is refusing. It is frustrating, this feeling like there is nothing my brother could EVER do to prove he was not violent. It does FEEL like my SIL can just make stuff up and it HAS to be taken as the truth. And it also FEELS like she knows it.
8. In this same hand, I believe my brother needed to talk about his own abusive past, and to talk about how he vowed he would never be like his father (we have different fathers). My SIL talked about her abusive past and my niece's lawyer made a long statement to the court about how much she respects my SIL for wanting to learn from her abusive past and get out from under the cycle of violence. Which, on the other hand, the one connected to my head, I KNOW abuse is a pattern and women who have been abused find hard to break free from it. But my brother needed to talk about how it was equally verbally abusive for my SIL and her other children to call him a failure on a daily basis, and for them to tell him they were better off without him, and that they made him feel worthless and, at times, suicidal. When he did talk about those feelings, the ones where he felt suicidal, the lawyer turned that in to a concern for his stability. Also, in the court documents, my brother is, and I'm not kidding, NEVER ALLOWED TO MOVE OUT ON HIS OWN. Because he works third shift, and therefore my niece would be home alone at night. When my SIL goes to work, she has a nice babysitter named Misty, and this is talked about at length in the court documents as being very responsible and good. But...why couldn't my brother get a babysitter, or bring my niece to my parents or me or what have you? It also states in the documents that even though my brother lives with his mother, my niece wouldn't be properly supervised if she went swimming at our apartment's pool because...I don't understand that one. My brother works third shift, he would be there if she went swimming, she's not swimming at night. It's just...it just FEELS like there is nothing my brother could do to defend himself.
So, in conclusion, I'm conflicted. The justice system is in place for a good reason. Abused women need the upper hand because it is often hard to prove abuse, and so the court is only doing what is necessary and right in the name of abused women. I feel like a horrible person because I don't believe my SIL. But the truth is, I don't. I don't know what to do, and I don't know how to help my brother. The court is accusing him of being "fun dad" (that is the actual phrase they use several times in the documents, complete with quotations marks). They say he buys her too many presents when she comes to stay with him. Well, he buys her things, yeah. Is he buying her affection? Maybe. But he's just nervous that, for any reason, his daughter will get used to his absence and fade out of his life. It is a real fear. My SIL has already asked that visitation be reduced from the normal visitation rights to only one day every two weeks and that's it. She doesn't want him to have her ever in the summer or for any holidays. Thankfully, the court ignored that. The lawyer for my niece said she sees no reason why visitation cannot continue as it has. But...I just don't know what to do about my FEELINGS that my SIL is manipulating the system. Can we do anything? Or are we defeated? Will there be a way to appeal this decision and ask for joint custody someday down the line? Should I turn the other cheek and ignore my brother's pain because the system has to work this way? I have been writing this for two and a half hours, since 6:00 in the morning, because I couldn't sleep after reading the lawyer's referendum. But...are all of these FEELINGS just normal when custody is involved? How can I help my brother see that? I've never been on this end...my sisters always got custody, no questions, no fighting, their boyfriends couldn't have cared less about custody. My brother cares. His daughter means everything to him. I don't know what to do.
Showing posts with label FEELINGS. Show all posts
Showing posts with label FEELINGS. Show all posts
May 17, 2014
January 16, 2014
The Short, Short Version #7
Ending the year 2013:
Fear: My father wants to apply for a loan for a house through the Veteran's Association. He is convinced they will give him a $200,000 loan. Of course, no they won't, but that's beside the point. He keeps talking about how he wants to put the house in my name, so that if anything happens I will have a house. He talks about how he, my mother, and I will all live together and be happy. The fear comes from the fact that I don't want to live with my parents forever. But the last time I told him this, he started crying. We were in the car together and I was talking about saving up to find an apartment, and when I looked over at him he was wiping tears away from his face. He gets even more emotional now over little things. I will have to tell him. But how is he going to take it?
Disgust: On Christmas Eve, we opened presents as my youngest niece was not going to be with us for long enough on Christmas Day for the whole family to be together. It was fine. At somewhere around 4:00 p.m. my sister got a phone call from her boyfriend. They had to see each other because a day apart was JUST TOO MUCH. These are 30- and 40-year-olds. Anyway, the disgust comes from the fact that as soon as he came in, NO ONE ELSE MATTERED. Apparently, that's how it goes. My pregnant niece became upset, because this was supposed to be our family time. But my sister didn't care. She actually shoved my youngest niece off of her lap because she was in the boyfriend's way. Boyfriend and Sister sat cuddling on the couch, making lovey-dovey noises and other displays. When Boyfriend went to the bathroom, Sister Bear asked me if I thought he was cute, and when I said, "Sure," she got PISSED, and said, "You don't think he's cute. Fine." And thus the entire day was ruined.
Sadness: My father just wants to be part of it all again. When my mother plays games on Facebook, usually things like guessing a celebrity, song, or movie, and she gets stuck, he will search all over the internet trying to find the answer, usually going off of something she said that isn't even related to what she's trying to figure out. He is clearly sad when he thinks he's found her answer and she's either moved on or the clue he was using was completely irrelevant.
Anger: Fucking Janet got some chickens and she was supplying us with farm fresh eggs for $2 a carton. That was very fair. Well, not too long ago, while she was out to dinner with her husband, their dogs got into the chicken coop and killed about half their chickens. That was sad, so that's not the 'anger' part. So, Fucking Janet started going down the road to a neighbor's farm and asking him to supply us eggs in the mean time. Fine, or so we thought. They are NOT as good as Fucking Janet's eggs. They are, in fact, worse than store-bought eggs. That is not the 'anger' part. We (meaning my boss and I) approached Fucking Janet and told her that we would wait for her eggs from now on, as she had just gotten new chickens but they weren't producing right now. We said, "When you have enough for a carton to spare, we'll take turns buying your eggs." Fucking Janet got very upset at this. That is the 'anger' part. Not the fact that she was upset, but the fact that she was upset when we were telling her that her eggs were superior and that we were willing to wait for quality eggs. She just kept telling us we were being ridiculous. That we needed to get over it. And it's like, well, we don't have to buy eggs from him. Or YOU, Fucking Janet.
Happiness: Music. Music...makes the people...come together. / Music...makes the bourgeoisie and the rebel. A lot of my 'happiness' entries revolve around it. So it should come as no surprise that my favorite gift this Christmas was Garth Brooks's Blame It All On My Roots boxed set. I actually sat hugging it after I was done unwrapping my other presents. When I first heard about it, and some of the songs on it, I began hearing those songs in my head but in Garth's voice. Maggie May ceased to be sung by Rod Stewart. The whole set is, as could be predicted, wonderful and brilliant and exciting. Too bad Garth made his stupid deal with Walmart. I even suspect he will not license his songs to mix radio stations at all. That...is so disappointing.
Surprise: I'm one of those people. Who says, "When I was your age..." or, "Kids these days..." Where is that line? Is it an age we reach? Is it a technological advancement that puts distance between 'us' and 'them?' Is it because I constantly see five-year-olds playing with their iPhones while their parents blissfully ignore them? A former teenage employee of ours used to pretend to be my daughter because it could be true. Another teenage employee said, "Since computers weren't invented until, like, the '90s..." I just glared at her and shouted, "COMPUTERS WHERE INVENTED IN, LIKE, THE 1800s!" One of my first memories is ET at the drive-in. What are the comparable memories for the kids today? Anyway, technology marches on, and since I used to be someone who felt I was on the cutting edge of it (video game systems, etc.), it surprises me when I feel so left out, or insulted, or nostalgic, or old.
Randomness: I can't stand to watch HDTV. It...isn't natural. I'll be watching a TV show with my mom and sister, and I often have to turn away because I feel nauseated. They think I'm crazy. I'll say, "It moves like a soap opera." And they just stare at me. But I found out why! And I was right. Because soap operas use 48 frames per second, while TV shows before HDTV used only 24. Now, HDTV runs at a much higher frame rate than old TV shows (that's what the 1080p, 360p, etc. means on Youtube videos). It reminds me of when Tom and Jerry was directed by Gene Deitch and the animation was all fast, choppy, and weird. Those old cartoons were the stuff of nightmares.
Fear: My father wants to apply for a loan for a house through the Veteran's Association. He is convinced they will give him a $200,000 loan. Of course, no they won't, but that's beside the point. He keeps talking about how he wants to put the house in my name, so that if anything happens I will have a house. He talks about how he, my mother, and I will all live together and be happy. The fear comes from the fact that I don't want to live with my parents forever. But the last time I told him this, he started crying. We were in the car together and I was talking about saving up to find an apartment, and when I looked over at him he was wiping tears away from his face. He gets even more emotional now over little things. I will have to tell him. But how is he going to take it?
Disgust: On Christmas Eve, we opened presents as my youngest niece was not going to be with us for long enough on Christmas Day for the whole family to be together. It was fine. At somewhere around 4:00 p.m. my sister got a phone call from her boyfriend. They had to see each other because a day apart was JUST TOO MUCH. These are 30- and 40-year-olds. Anyway, the disgust comes from the fact that as soon as he came in, NO ONE ELSE MATTERED. Apparently, that's how it goes. My pregnant niece became upset, because this was supposed to be our family time. But my sister didn't care. She actually shoved my youngest niece off of her lap because she was in the boyfriend's way. Boyfriend and Sister sat cuddling on the couch, making lovey-dovey noises and other displays. When Boyfriend went to the bathroom, Sister Bear asked me if I thought he was cute, and when I said, "Sure," she got PISSED, and said, "You don't think he's cute. Fine." And thus the entire day was ruined.
Sadness: My father just wants to be part of it all again. When my mother plays games on Facebook, usually things like guessing a celebrity, song, or movie, and she gets stuck, he will search all over the internet trying to find the answer, usually going off of something she said that isn't even related to what she's trying to figure out. He is clearly sad when he thinks he's found her answer and she's either moved on or the clue he was using was completely irrelevant.
Anger: Fucking Janet got some chickens and she was supplying us with farm fresh eggs for $2 a carton. That was very fair. Well, not too long ago, while she was out to dinner with her husband, their dogs got into the chicken coop and killed about half their chickens. That was sad, so that's not the 'anger' part. So, Fucking Janet started going down the road to a neighbor's farm and asking him to supply us eggs in the mean time. Fine, or so we thought. They are NOT as good as Fucking Janet's eggs. They are, in fact, worse than store-bought eggs. That is not the 'anger' part. We (meaning my boss and I) approached Fucking Janet and told her that we would wait for her eggs from now on, as she had just gotten new chickens but they weren't producing right now. We said, "When you have enough for a carton to spare, we'll take turns buying your eggs." Fucking Janet got very upset at this. That is the 'anger' part. Not the fact that she was upset, but the fact that she was upset when we were telling her that her eggs were superior and that we were willing to wait for quality eggs. She just kept telling us we were being ridiculous. That we needed to get over it. And it's like, well, we don't have to buy eggs from him. Or YOU, Fucking Janet.
Happiness: Music. Music...makes the people...come together. / Music...makes the bourgeoisie and the rebel. A lot of my 'happiness' entries revolve around it. So it should come as no surprise that my favorite gift this Christmas was Garth Brooks's Blame It All On My Roots boxed set. I actually sat hugging it after I was done unwrapping my other presents. When I first heard about it, and some of the songs on it, I began hearing those songs in my head but in Garth's voice. Maggie May ceased to be sung by Rod Stewart. The whole set is, as could be predicted, wonderful and brilliant and exciting. Too bad Garth made his stupid deal with Walmart. I even suspect he will not license his songs to mix radio stations at all. That...is so disappointing.
Surprise: I'm one of those people. Who says, "When I was your age..." or, "Kids these days..." Where is that line? Is it an age we reach? Is it a technological advancement that puts distance between 'us' and 'them?' Is it because I constantly see five-year-olds playing with their iPhones while their parents blissfully ignore them? A former teenage employee of ours used to pretend to be my daughter because it could be true. Another teenage employee said, "Since computers weren't invented until, like, the '90s..." I just glared at her and shouted, "COMPUTERS WHERE INVENTED IN, LIKE, THE 1800s!" One of my first memories is ET at the drive-in. What are the comparable memories for the kids today? Anyway, technology marches on, and since I used to be someone who felt I was on the cutting edge of it (video game systems, etc.), it surprises me when I feel so left out, or insulted, or nostalgic, or old.
Randomness: I can't stand to watch HDTV. It...isn't natural. I'll be watching a TV show with my mom and sister, and I often have to turn away because I feel nauseated. They think I'm crazy. I'll say, "It moves like a soap opera." And they just stare at me. But I found out why! And I was right. Because soap operas use 48 frames per second, while TV shows before HDTV used only 24. Now, HDTV runs at a much higher frame rate than old TV shows (that's what the 1080p, 360p, etc. means on Youtube videos). It reminds me of when Tom and Jerry was directed by Gene Deitch and the animation was all fast, choppy, and weird. Those old cartoons were the stuff of nightmares.
November 18, 2013
The Short, Short Version #5
Week Ending 11/17/2013
Fear: The electrical sockets have been shorting out and sparking lately, and I live with people stupid enough to say, out loud, "If it hasn't caught fire yet, it won't."
Disgust: Several members of my family play an interesting musical instrument called the Hacking Cough Bagpipes. These are instruments grown in the pectoral area, and notes are produced by smoking, living in filth, running around outside in the snow with no shirt, and hysterical overreactions to daily events. Pitch and force are determined by size, vocal structure, and body strength. It is amazing to hear the symphony at night.
Sadness: Another year, another Christmas CD at work with no Dig that Crazy Santa Claus.
Anger: The vet. I could not get a hold of the vet for almost two weeks, and when I left a message that she didn't get for days, she told me to make sure next time to leave a message with a real person. I told her several times that I called over and over, and no one picked up, and so how was I supposed to do so? Her response was just, well, keep calling. And I was like, no, this isn't my fault. Then she told me to e-mail her, because she would definitely get that, and so I did, and she claimed she didn't see it for, like, 36 hours.
Happiness: "IT'S THE EYE OF THE TIGER / IT'S THE THRILL OF THE FIGHT / RISING UP TO THE CHALLENGE OF OUR RIVAL / AND THE LAST KNOWN SURVIVOR STALKS HIS PREY IN THE NIGHT / AND HE'S WATCHING US ALL WITH THE EYE...OF THE TIGER!" Sung as loudly as that in the car when it came on and I was able to hear the WHOLE song.
Surprise: I have outgrown skulls, horror, goth, etc. I still gravitate toward punk rock looks, but more sophisticated. I am disappointed in half of my wardrobe. I need to be more picky and yet more open-minded, because lately clothes I would have rolled my eyes at five years ago are super flattering and adorable.
Randomness: In the Zombie Apocalypse, I will be the first to go. Babies bite me whenever I pick them up, and children and even grown, random adults have told me how good I smell. I have had customers lean in to smell me, or pet me, or play with my hair. I am frequently asked what my perfume is, and when I say I'm not wearing perfume, there is a glint, a gleam, as they imagine how delicious I am.
Fear: The electrical sockets have been shorting out and sparking lately, and I live with people stupid enough to say, out loud, "If it hasn't caught fire yet, it won't."
Disgust: Several members of my family play an interesting musical instrument called the Hacking Cough Bagpipes. These are instruments grown in the pectoral area, and notes are produced by smoking, living in filth, running around outside in the snow with no shirt, and hysterical overreactions to daily events. Pitch and force are determined by size, vocal structure, and body strength. It is amazing to hear the symphony at night.
Sadness: Another year, another Christmas CD at work with no Dig that Crazy Santa Claus.
Anger: The vet. I could not get a hold of the vet for almost two weeks, and when I left a message that she didn't get for days, she told me to make sure next time to leave a message with a real person. I told her several times that I called over and over, and no one picked up, and so how was I supposed to do so? Her response was just, well, keep calling. And I was like, no, this isn't my fault. Then she told me to e-mail her, because she would definitely get that, and so I did, and she claimed she didn't see it for, like, 36 hours.
Happiness: "IT'S THE EYE OF THE TIGER / IT'S THE THRILL OF THE FIGHT / RISING UP TO THE CHALLENGE OF OUR RIVAL / AND THE LAST KNOWN SURVIVOR STALKS HIS PREY IN THE NIGHT / AND HE'S WATCHING US ALL WITH THE EYE...OF THE TIGER!" Sung as loudly as that in the car when it came on and I was able to hear the WHOLE song.
Surprise: I have outgrown skulls, horror, goth, etc. I still gravitate toward punk rock looks, but more sophisticated. I am disappointed in half of my wardrobe. I need to be more picky and yet more open-minded, because lately clothes I would have rolled my eyes at five years ago are super flattering and adorable.
Randomness: In the Zombie Apocalypse, I will be the first to go. Babies bite me whenever I pick them up, and children and even grown, random adults have told me how good I smell. I have had customers lean in to smell me, or pet me, or play with my hair. I am frequently asked what my perfume is, and when I say I'm not wearing perfume, there is a glint, a gleam, as they imagine how delicious I am.
November 12, 2013
The Short, Short Version #4
Week Ending 11/10/2013
Fear: I have made friends with a customer from my work. She gives me presents now for Christmas. Now, I have to be worried that this might be conceived of as "tipping" and that I could be reprimanded/fired over it. But, I wonder, if my friends from before I worked at this job came in and shopped, would they have to stop giving me Christmas presents because now, technically, they are customers? It's such a fine line.
Disgust: If you are a size XS/0 and a shirt fits "tight," and you tell me you wish you could put it on a fat girl so it would stretch out and fit you, I will be mentally punching you.
Sadness: My step-niece, who was still bringing her baby over for us to see, has stopped doing so. It is both my mother's fault and her mother's fault (my sister-in-law). My mother won't stop grilling her with questions about where her mother is living, and her mother doesn't think she needs any other family.
Anger: Long ago my boss forced a woman (whom I LOVED) to quit because this woman was requesting too many days off a month. She told her she couldn't have set days and that she couldn't "dictate" her own schedule. Cut to two years later, where two girls just got hired with the promise of set days and they are already requesting off here, there, everywhere.
Happiness: I finally got a letter where a customer called in to the company and gave me a compliment. Everyone else at work, even teenage girls who have only worked there for, like, a week, have gotten letters. But not me. In eight years. Even though my manager has told me before that absolutely no one receives more compliments (by word of mouth) than I do. Sometimes it's nice to get that little extra validation.
Surprise: There is a man who comes into my work to buy women's jeans. At first he told us they were for his wife, but eventually he admitted they were for him. Men's jeans don't fit him. He is...interesting. But I applaud a man who can admit what he needs and not be ashamed. Now, he comes in, chats us up, calls us Darling, but he is clearly not a homosexual. This is an important fact, because I think it is up to everyone to break down gender barriers.
Randomness: I will criticize the lyrics of your songs, singers. Make sure none of them are a stupid as "I bet you think this song is about you" or "But who cares? She walks like Rihanna!"
P.S. - There were a lot of issues with work this week!
Fear: I have made friends with a customer from my work. She gives me presents now for Christmas. Now, I have to be worried that this might be conceived of as "tipping" and that I could be reprimanded/fired over it. But, I wonder, if my friends from before I worked at this job came in and shopped, would they have to stop giving me Christmas presents because now, technically, they are customers? It's such a fine line.
Disgust: If you are a size XS/0 and a shirt fits "tight," and you tell me you wish you could put it on a fat girl so it would stretch out and fit you, I will be mentally punching you.
Sadness: My step-niece, who was still bringing her baby over for us to see, has stopped doing so. It is both my mother's fault and her mother's fault (my sister-in-law). My mother won't stop grilling her with questions about where her mother is living, and her mother doesn't think she needs any other family.
Anger: Long ago my boss forced a woman (whom I LOVED) to quit because this woman was requesting too many days off a month. She told her she couldn't have set days and that she couldn't "dictate" her own schedule. Cut to two years later, where two girls just got hired with the promise of set days and they are already requesting off here, there, everywhere.
Happiness: I finally got a letter where a customer called in to the company and gave me a compliment. Everyone else at work, even teenage girls who have only worked there for, like, a week, have gotten letters. But not me. In eight years. Even though my manager has told me before that absolutely no one receives more compliments (by word of mouth) than I do. Sometimes it's nice to get that little extra validation.
Surprise: There is a man who comes into my work to buy women's jeans. At first he told us they were for his wife, but eventually he admitted they were for him. Men's jeans don't fit him. He is...interesting. But I applaud a man who can admit what he needs and not be ashamed. Now, he comes in, chats us up, calls us Darling, but he is clearly not a homosexual. This is an important fact, because I think it is up to everyone to break down gender barriers.
Randomness: I will criticize the lyrics of your songs, singers. Make sure none of them are a stupid as "I bet you think this song is about you" or "But who cares? She walks like Rihanna!"
P.S. - There were a lot of issues with work this week!
November 4, 2013
The Short, Short Version #3
Week Ending 11/3/2013
Fear: I have a tiny chip in one of my front teeth. It is also slightly stained, so that when I look in the mirror I constantly worry it is a cavity and that, like my mother and sisters before me, I will someday be a toothless hillbilly. This week, something got caught in the chip and made it look THAT MUCH worse and I freaked out and almost started crying in the bathroom at work. Then I ran my tongue over it and it went back 'normal'.
Disgust: I don't want to see pictures of the boil on your ass, Brother.
Sadness: My father used to surprise me at work with a chicken sandwich and an orange float from Wendy's, usually on Sundays. Last Sunday, when I was kinda hungry and we were busy and I wasn't sure when I'd get to run out for lunch, I started wishing he would show up again. But...he won't. Possibly ever again. Because he's blind in one eye now and he can't drive and it's sad, the little things I never thought would come to an end.
Anger: A few years ago, my brother found a camera in the park and turned it into the police. No one claimed it and so they let my brother keep it. He found out it was worth around $2000. It was the find of a lifetime. He loved that camera. He had hundreds of pictures on it. This week, he set it down on a table in our living room and - POOF! - it was gone. Of course we can't prove who stole it, but it's obvious and frustrating and after everything he's going through right now it just broke his heart.
Happiness: We got an extra discount on ONE sweater this week and I hemmed and hawed over what sweater to buy, because I'm not much of a sweater girl. I decided to buy this long black cardigan with a long printed lapel. It is the BEST DECISION EVER. Warm, comfortable, and I feel like Janis Joplin. Now, Lord, won't you buy me a Mercedes Benz?
Surprise: I found out on Facebook that some friends of mine had a second child. Like, he's a year-and-a-half or something. Am I that dysfunctional? Maybe...I should look into some therapy for my extreme anti-social behavioral issues.
Randomness: I can't tell whether cars coming at me have their high beams on. I also can't tell whether they're flashing their lights at me. It is all so bright and every time they hit bumps it looks like the lights are flashing and I begin wondering what's wrong with my car and when I'm going to blow up.
Fear: I have a tiny chip in one of my front teeth. It is also slightly stained, so that when I look in the mirror I constantly worry it is a cavity and that, like my mother and sisters before me, I will someday be a toothless hillbilly. This week, something got caught in the chip and made it look THAT MUCH worse and I freaked out and almost started crying in the bathroom at work. Then I ran my tongue over it and it went back 'normal'.
Disgust: I don't want to see pictures of the boil on your ass, Brother.
Sadness: My father used to surprise me at work with a chicken sandwich and an orange float from Wendy's, usually on Sundays. Last Sunday, when I was kinda hungry and we were busy and I wasn't sure when I'd get to run out for lunch, I started wishing he would show up again. But...he won't. Possibly ever again. Because he's blind in one eye now and he can't drive and it's sad, the little things I never thought would come to an end.
Anger: A few years ago, my brother found a camera in the park and turned it into the police. No one claimed it and so they let my brother keep it. He found out it was worth around $2000. It was the find of a lifetime. He loved that camera. He had hundreds of pictures on it. This week, he set it down on a table in our living room and - POOF! - it was gone. Of course we can't prove who stole it, but it's obvious and frustrating and after everything he's going through right now it just broke his heart.
Happiness: We got an extra discount on ONE sweater this week and I hemmed and hawed over what sweater to buy, because I'm not much of a sweater girl. I decided to buy this long black cardigan with a long printed lapel. It is the BEST DECISION EVER. Warm, comfortable, and I feel like Janis Joplin. Now, Lord, won't you buy me a Mercedes Benz?
Surprise: I found out on Facebook that some friends of mine had a second child. Like, he's a year-and-a-half or something. Am I that dysfunctional? Maybe...I should look into some therapy for my extreme anti-social behavioral issues.
Randomness: I can't tell whether cars coming at me have their high beams on. I also can't tell whether they're flashing their lights at me. It is all so bright and every time they hit bumps it looks like the lights are flashing and I begin wondering what's wrong with my car and when I'm going to blow up.
October 28, 2013
The Short, Short Version #2
Week ending 10/27/2013.
Fear: I can't sleep between 4:00 a.m. and 5:00 a.m. Why? Night Terrors. Often, outright hallucinations, usually about clothing, towels, and curtains. Patterns turn into faces, people in pictures move, a crumpled pair of jeans is really a demon. The truth is, for that hour, I watch the clock like a fucking maniac, because at 5:00 I will be safe again. Nothing can get me at 5:00 a.m.
Disgust: A frequent customer (who...does not have a rockin' body) came out of the fitting room on Tuesday wearing only her sweatshirt, her underwear, and a pair of cowboy boots she was trying on. She wanted to try other sizes in the boots. So she bent over to read box sizes and exchange between the sizes. Pink granny panties, FYI.
Sadness: A teenager called me middle-aged. She was talking to me and two other ladies. We are 34, 31, and 49 years old. The teenager was talking about technology, and said, "Middle-aged people like you all just didn't grow up with it like we did." I...don't want to be one of those women who can't face her age, but sometimes reminders creep up on me that I'm not exactly young anymore and that I need to get going with my life.
Anger: I have a plane ticket from Seattle to home. Not one from home to Seattle, though. Because at the time when I had just enough money for one ticket, the flights there numbered twenty and the flights back numbered five. I thought, I'd better secure a seat on one of those five planes and I'll have the money for one of the outgoing planes soon. Nope! That was June. Every time I have the money something happens. Is it a sign? I've never been on a vacation, not really, especially one on my own. I want this so badly.
Happiness: A real phone! With texting! I was tired of all these people around me, who have no jobs, who steal and sell other people's possessions for drug money, having phones worth hundreds of dollars while I had a five-year-old flip phone. So, I sucked it up and got a Smartphone. It isn't the greatest one out there, but it will do and it will do everything theirs will do without the hefty $600 or so price. How do they even get these phones? Whatever, it doesn't matter because now I have a real phone, too!
Surprise: The cat lady asked me to babysit her cats again while she's on vacation for a week. She pays well. This is at a time when I'm a little stretched, monetarily, and her offer was just amazing timing. She...always seems to make these offers at the exact time I need a little extra cash. It gives me pause.
Random Fact: If you want to kill me, lock me in a room with only canned food and an electric can opener. I do not understand how to work them. My mother once threw away all the manual can openers and that night we had to go buy a new one so I could open cans when no one else was home.
Fear: I can't sleep between 4:00 a.m. and 5:00 a.m. Why? Night Terrors. Often, outright hallucinations, usually about clothing, towels, and curtains. Patterns turn into faces, people in pictures move, a crumpled pair of jeans is really a demon. The truth is, for that hour, I watch the clock like a fucking maniac, because at 5:00 I will be safe again. Nothing can get me at 5:00 a.m.
Disgust: A frequent customer (who...does not have a rockin' body) came out of the fitting room on Tuesday wearing only her sweatshirt, her underwear, and a pair of cowboy boots she was trying on. She wanted to try other sizes in the boots. So she bent over to read box sizes and exchange between the sizes. Pink granny panties, FYI.
Sadness: A teenager called me middle-aged. She was talking to me and two other ladies. We are 34, 31, and 49 years old. The teenager was talking about technology, and said, "Middle-aged people like you all just didn't grow up with it like we did." I...don't want to be one of those women who can't face her age, but sometimes reminders creep up on me that I'm not exactly young anymore and that I need to get going with my life.
Anger: I have a plane ticket from Seattle to home. Not one from home to Seattle, though. Because at the time when I had just enough money for one ticket, the flights there numbered twenty and the flights back numbered five. I thought, I'd better secure a seat on one of those five planes and I'll have the money for one of the outgoing planes soon. Nope! That was June. Every time I have the money something happens. Is it a sign? I've never been on a vacation, not really, especially one on my own. I want this so badly.
Happiness: A real phone! With texting! I was tired of all these people around me, who have no jobs, who steal and sell other people's possessions for drug money, having phones worth hundreds of dollars while I had a five-year-old flip phone. So, I sucked it up and got a Smartphone. It isn't the greatest one out there, but it will do and it will do everything theirs will do without the hefty $600 or so price. How do they even get these phones? Whatever, it doesn't matter because now I have a real phone, too!
Surprise: The cat lady asked me to babysit her cats again while she's on vacation for a week. She pays well. This is at a time when I'm a little stretched, monetarily, and her offer was just amazing timing. She...always seems to make these offers at the exact time I need a little extra cash. It gives me pause.
Random Fact: If you want to kill me, lock me in a room with only canned food and an electric can opener. I do not understand how to work them. My mother once threw away all the manual can openers and that night we had to go buy a new one so I could open cans when no one else was home.
October 24, 2013
The Short, Short Version #1
Week ending 10/20/2013.
Yes, I end weeks on Sunday. Because Sunday is the last day of the week, not the first.
Fear: My father ran into a wall on Saturday and cut his head open. There were times on Sunday where we would ask him a question and he would just stare at us for a minute or so, then finally answer. I told my mom he could have a concussion, or even have brought on another stroke somehow. Did she take him to the ER? Nope. She let him sleep, a lot, for the next few days. Sleep.
Disgust: My nephew and my sister often don't flush the toilet. After doing #2. Because they do #2 before taking a shower, and they can't wait the thirty seconds it will take for the commode to stop interfering with the water. I imagine them jumping - leaping - from the toilet to the shower because they can't lose thirty seconds. Then they forget they did #2, and whoever goes in next has to take care of that.
Sadness: I cried and cried the day I thought for certain we were finally going to have to take the cat the Humane Society. After going for over a week without peeing on the steps, he suddenly peed on every one of them. Thursday morning I got up and bawled in the recliner, clutching the cat, and it was an ugly, snotty, hitching, long sobbing session. But he's still here.
Anger: So, I'm a homebody. I like to read, write, play video games, surf the net, etc. I'm quiet and introverted and that's what I enjoy and what boils my blood is when people make snide comments about my hobbies. The other day, Fucking Janet was talking to a friend of hers who had made a cute scarf after seeing how-to on Pinterest. So Fucking Janet asked me, "Don't you go on Pinterest?" Yes. So she said, "Well, I don't have time to just sit in front of my computer doing nothing." I told her lots of people do it from their phone and that a friend of ours who has three jobs is on there way more than I am. Janet just rolled her eyes and asked who has time to do nothing like that? Then later, our boss and her boss told Janet they go on Pinterest, and guess who asked me to help her set up an account and who denied that she ever made fun of it when I called her out on being two-faced?
Happiness: (There was a long, depressing silence as I thought hard about this.) The cat is still here. (Another pause as I decide there must be something else.) (Oh!) I finally bought the dry erase board / cork board combo I've been wanting at the local department store. I have monthly, weekly, and daily goals. One monthly goal is reading at least 5 books (it is thusly underlined on the dry erase board). Weekly goals include writing so many pages, reading the Profile in the New Yorker, summarizing reading notes in my journal. A particular daily goal is making sure I log into Facebook. Once.
Surprise: My eighteen-year-old niece wants a sex-change operation. That's fine by me, whatever makes her comfortable in her own skin. But, if you are going to reinvent yourself, and you can choose any name in the world, why...Brandon?
Yes, I end weeks on Sunday. Because Sunday is the last day of the week, not the first.
Fear: My father ran into a wall on Saturday and cut his head open. There were times on Sunday where we would ask him a question and he would just stare at us for a minute or so, then finally answer. I told my mom he could have a concussion, or even have brought on another stroke somehow. Did she take him to the ER? Nope. She let him sleep, a lot, for the next few days. Sleep.
Disgust: My nephew and my sister often don't flush the toilet. After doing #2. Because they do #2 before taking a shower, and they can't wait the thirty seconds it will take for the commode to stop interfering with the water. I imagine them jumping - leaping - from the toilet to the shower because they can't lose thirty seconds. Then they forget they did #2, and whoever goes in next has to take care of that.
Sadness: I cried and cried the day I thought for certain we were finally going to have to take the cat the Humane Society. After going for over a week without peeing on the steps, he suddenly peed on every one of them. Thursday morning I got up and bawled in the recliner, clutching the cat, and it was an ugly, snotty, hitching, long sobbing session. But he's still here.
Anger: So, I'm a homebody. I like to read, write, play video games, surf the net, etc. I'm quiet and introverted and that's what I enjoy and what boils my blood is when people make snide comments about my hobbies. The other day, Fucking Janet was talking to a friend of hers who had made a cute scarf after seeing how-to on Pinterest. So Fucking Janet asked me, "Don't you go on Pinterest?" Yes. So she said, "Well, I don't have time to just sit in front of my computer doing nothing." I told her lots of people do it from their phone and that a friend of ours who has three jobs is on there way more than I am. Janet just rolled her eyes and asked who has time to do nothing like that? Then later, our boss and her boss told Janet they go on Pinterest, and guess who asked me to help her set up an account and who denied that she ever made fun of it when I called her out on being two-faced?
Happiness: (There was a long, depressing silence as I thought hard about this.) The cat is still here. (Another pause as I decide there must be something else.) (Oh!) I finally bought the dry erase board / cork board combo I've been wanting at the local department store. I have monthly, weekly, and daily goals. One monthly goal is reading at least 5 books (it is thusly underlined on the dry erase board). Weekly goals include writing so many pages, reading the Profile in the New Yorker, summarizing reading notes in my journal. A particular daily goal is making sure I log into Facebook. Once.
Surprise: My eighteen-year-old niece wants a sex-change operation. That's fine by me, whatever makes her comfortable in her own skin. But, if you are going to reinvent yourself, and you can choose any name in the world, why...Brandon?
July 31, 2013
Patience
Boy, are we going to learn patience.
My father was moved to a regular room last night. I got out of work late and had to go the grocery store afterward, so I called him at about 11:00 p.m. to see how he was doing. He kept asking me to bring him his computer and some toilet paper. I tried to explain that he couldn't have his computer (a desktop) because there was nowhere to put his huge tower. I didn't even comment on the toilet paper. I explained that we would see about finding him a laptop. He asked me if I was on my way with it and I told him I wouldn't be able to come see him until the next day. He said okay, said "I love you," and hung up.
So today....
We drove to the hospital. We had a laptop with a mouse, because I knew he wouldn't be able to use the laptop's scrolling mouse. That was the first thing he asked about when we came in. "Where's my computer?" We explained that we had called the hospital to ask them if he could have his desktop and of course they had said no, but they said he could have a laptop. He asked why he couldn't have a desktop. We explained, again, that there was nowhere to put the tower because it was bulky and if they needed to move it quickly they wouldn't be able to. He said they could put it on the table, the rolling table that he eats off of and then they could just roll it away. We told him that wasn't an option and he looked like he was going to cry. He stared off into space and almost started crying.
We tried to show him how to use the laptop. He couldn't figure out where the keyboard was, even when I would point to it. He just kept asking me how he was supposed to find the 'H' and 'I' keys when he didn't know where they were. He just wanted to type 'HI.' I had tried to show him how to turn it on and how to use the mouse, but the mouse was too fast and he couldn't get it to move slowly and so finally he just said, "Why can't you just get me to my poker? There's no reason you can't do it for me." So I did it, but he couldn't even type the word 'HI.' I asked him what he would do if I wasn't there to get him to his poker and he couldn't answer. So, the laptop came right back home with us.
Then he complained, loudly and often, about the fact that the nurse told him she would bring him a roast beef sandwich, and he was expecting a sandwich from Arby's and what they brought was an open-faced roast beef sandwich on white bread. Then he started asking us to bring him some food, and when we explained that we couldn't because his diet is restricted, he started accusing us of just not wanting to be bothered with doing something for him, and calling us lazy, and explaining to us how easy it would be and that we needed to just go do it. We spent an entire two hours arguing this point with him.
Then we ordered him some fish for dinner. He actually ate that fairly well, but did complain that it wasn't from Long John Silvers.
As we were leaving, he asked us if we were going to bring him some real food when we come back tomorrow. We told him we'd ask the doctor what we might be able to bring him and he said he knew we wouldn't really bring him anything. We just told him we loved him and left.
Earlier this week, Fucking Janet (her new official name) made a comment about how if it was her dad, she'd be there every minute of every day and no job or amount of money or whatever would stop her. But you know what? It was really hard being there today. It was harder being there. Because he was frustrating, and he can't help it, but sometimes he was rude to us and to the nurse and it was hard not to snap at him a little. And because he doesn't understand what's happened, and because he thinks he's been there for months, and because watching him trying move the mouse or type the word 'HI' was really sad.
What if he's like this forever? What if he will never again be able to even push a button? My mother said with physical therapy his motor skills will come back, but what about his memory? He told us the same story about the Arby's sandwich several times today, each time like he was telling it for the first time. He couldn't remember what shrimp were called. He couldn't remember the word 'biscuit.' He kept calling my niece by my name. He kept asking where I had gone.
I keep trying not to ask that question back.
My father was moved to a regular room last night. I got out of work late and had to go the grocery store afterward, so I called him at about 11:00 p.m. to see how he was doing. He kept asking me to bring him his computer and some toilet paper. I tried to explain that he couldn't have his computer (a desktop) because there was nowhere to put his huge tower. I didn't even comment on the toilet paper. I explained that we would see about finding him a laptop. He asked me if I was on my way with it and I told him I wouldn't be able to come see him until the next day. He said okay, said "I love you," and hung up.
So today....
We drove to the hospital. We had a laptop with a mouse, because I knew he wouldn't be able to use the laptop's scrolling mouse. That was the first thing he asked about when we came in. "Where's my computer?" We explained that we had called the hospital to ask them if he could have his desktop and of course they had said no, but they said he could have a laptop. He asked why he couldn't have a desktop. We explained, again, that there was nowhere to put the tower because it was bulky and if they needed to move it quickly they wouldn't be able to. He said they could put it on the table, the rolling table that he eats off of and then they could just roll it away. We told him that wasn't an option and he looked like he was going to cry. He stared off into space and almost started crying.
We tried to show him how to use the laptop. He couldn't figure out where the keyboard was, even when I would point to it. He just kept asking me how he was supposed to find the 'H' and 'I' keys when he didn't know where they were. He just wanted to type 'HI.' I had tried to show him how to turn it on and how to use the mouse, but the mouse was too fast and he couldn't get it to move slowly and so finally he just said, "Why can't you just get me to my poker? There's no reason you can't do it for me." So I did it, but he couldn't even type the word 'HI.' I asked him what he would do if I wasn't there to get him to his poker and he couldn't answer. So, the laptop came right back home with us.
Then he complained, loudly and often, about the fact that the nurse told him she would bring him a roast beef sandwich, and he was expecting a sandwich from Arby's and what they brought was an open-faced roast beef sandwich on white bread. Then he started asking us to bring him some food, and when we explained that we couldn't because his diet is restricted, he started accusing us of just not wanting to be bothered with doing something for him, and calling us lazy, and explaining to us how easy it would be and that we needed to just go do it. We spent an entire two hours arguing this point with him.
Then we ordered him some fish for dinner. He actually ate that fairly well, but did complain that it wasn't from Long John Silvers.
As we were leaving, he asked us if we were going to bring him some real food when we come back tomorrow. We told him we'd ask the doctor what we might be able to bring him and he said he knew we wouldn't really bring him anything. We just told him we loved him and left.
Earlier this week, Fucking Janet (her new official name) made a comment about how if it was her dad, she'd be there every minute of every day and no job or amount of money or whatever would stop her. But you know what? It was really hard being there today. It was harder being there. Because he was frustrating, and he can't help it, but sometimes he was rude to us and to the nurse and it was hard not to snap at him a little. And because he doesn't understand what's happened, and because he thinks he's been there for months, and because watching him trying move the mouse or type the word 'HI' was really sad.
What if he's like this forever? What if he will never again be able to even push a button? My mother said with physical therapy his motor skills will come back, but what about his memory? He told us the same story about the Arby's sandwich several times today, each time like he was telling it for the first time. He couldn't remember what shrimp were called. He couldn't remember the word 'biscuit.' He kept calling my niece by my name. He kept asking where I had gone.
I keep trying not to ask that question back.
July 27, 2013
Hospital Etiquette
Lesson #1 -
It isn't about you.
I went to see my father today. Yesterday, at about 1:00 p.m., he went to get in his car and felt sick, then realized he could not get back into the house and laid down in the back seat. A neighbor saw him and came to tell my mom there was something wrong. He'd had a stroke.
He was transferred to a bigger hospital. I drove my mom and sister down to see him in the neural critical care unit. He was somewhat responsive. He threw up several times. We asked for a popsicle and that seemed to make him feel better. He slept and we just kind of talked quietly amongst ourselves and read.
Then, a woman who has only just rekindled a relationship with my mother decided she HAD to come to the hospital. This is the wife of the brother of my mother's ex-husband. Yeah. And when my sister was in the hospital earlier this year, this woman realized she knew my sister, that she remembered her from when my sister was little, and wanted to get back in touch with my family.
Fine. That's fine. But now is not the time to try to be the center of attention. When she called us, we were at the hospital, and when she asked my mother if she could come my mother told her yes. I was in the background mouthing to my mother to say "no" because my father was not going to want her there right now. After my mother hung up, she asked my father if it was okay and he said, "As long as she doesn't talk too much."
Enter this woman. Talking loudly. Talking about things that we couldn't care less about. Some girl's wedding. Some picnic. Some fight she was having with someone. LOUDLY. Her husband sat down in a rolling chair and accidentally went flying, knocking into my father's IV pole.
In the middle of this, my father suddenly said, "I want to be alone." I knew this would happen. Then he starting telling the nurse he wanted to sit on the commode, so he could be alone. The nurse told him he didn't need to sit on the commode because he needed to use the bed pan, but I understood that "the commode" at home would be a place he would escape to where no one would bother him. So pretty much right after they got there we all had to leave.
Then we got downstairs and I said I was going to go get my car and bring it around because it was on the third floor of the parking garage. This woman said, "I don't understand why." I was like, "What part of that is confusing?" "You can't bring it here." (At that very moment we were standing near the elevators kind of far from the entrance.) "By the time I get to the parking garage, get up three flights of stairs, and pay for parking you all will be right there at the entrance and it will be convenient for everyone." "Well, I just don't understand. Are you parked in the green garage? So are we." "Yes, that's where I'm parked, and I just want to go get the car." "Well, wait, well, why?" And at that I just walked away.
BECAUSE I WANT TO AND I'M 34 YEARS OLD. And because it isn't about you. And I don't know you. And because I'm pissed that you upset my father and he asked everyone to leave.
Moral: Be the help someone needs, not the help YOU want to be.
It isn't about you.
I went to see my father today. Yesterday, at about 1:00 p.m., he went to get in his car and felt sick, then realized he could not get back into the house and laid down in the back seat. A neighbor saw him and came to tell my mom there was something wrong. He'd had a stroke.
He was transferred to a bigger hospital. I drove my mom and sister down to see him in the neural critical care unit. He was somewhat responsive. He threw up several times. We asked for a popsicle and that seemed to make him feel better. He slept and we just kind of talked quietly amongst ourselves and read.
Then, a woman who has only just rekindled a relationship with my mother decided she HAD to come to the hospital. This is the wife of the brother of my mother's ex-husband. Yeah. And when my sister was in the hospital earlier this year, this woman realized she knew my sister, that she remembered her from when my sister was little, and wanted to get back in touch with my family.
Fine. That's fine. But now is not the time to try to be the center of attention. When she called us, we were at the hospital, and when she asked my mother if she could come my mother told her yes. I was in the background mouthing to my mother to say "no" because my father was not going to want her there right now. After my mother hung up, she asked my father if it was okay and he said, "As long as she doesn't talk too much."
Enter this woman. Talking loudly. Talking about things that we couldn't care less about. Some girl's wedding. Some picnic. Some fight she was having with someone. LOUDLY. Her husband sat down in a rolling chair and accidentally went flying, knocking into my father's IV pole.
In the middle of this, my father suddenly said, "I want to be alone." I knew this would happen. Then he starting telling the nurse he wanted to sit on the commode, so he could be alone. The nurse told him he didn't need to sit on the commode because he needed to use the bed pan, but I understood that "the commode" at home would be a place he would escape to where no one would bother him. So pretty much right after they got there we all had to leave.
Then we got downstairs and I said I was going to go get my car and bring it around because it was on the third floor of the parking garage. This woman said, "I don't understand why." I was like, "What part of that is confusing?" "You can't bring it here." (At that very moment we were standing near the elevators kind of far from the entrance.) "By the time I get to the parking garage, get up three flights of stairs, and pay for parking you all will be right there at the entrance and it will be convenient for everyone." "Well, I just don't understand. Are you parked in the green garage? So are we." "Yes, that's where I'm parked, and I just want to go get the car." "Well, wait, well, why?" And at that I just walked away.
BECAUSE I WANT TO AND I'M 34 YEARS OLD. And because it isn't about you. And I don't know you. And because I'm pissed that you upset my father and he asked everyone to leave.
Moral: Be the help someone needs, not the help YOU want to be.
April 13, 2013
A Poor Situation
My sister is in the hospital with Spinal Meningitis. She is extremely weak, heavily medicated, and in a lot of pain. Wednesday she underwent surgery to reroute her intestines so her fecal matter would deposit into pouches instead of going through her colon and into her anal cavity. The reason she needed this surgery was because some time ago she broke her tailbone and bacteria from her bowels was seeping into the wound and infecting it. Eventually, the caused an infection so severe it made a sore that went all the way to her spine and that's how she contracted Spinal Meningitis.
Last Sunday and Monday, it looked very bad. My mother even thought that she could die. It was touch and go. The infection had already spread to her brain. Our local hospital wasn't sure they could treat the Meningitis. She was transported to a bigger hospital in another city. This was a touch move since bouncing around in the ambulance caused her agonizing pain. At the new hospital they plied her with antibiotics and did a thousand tests.
Then they formulated a plan to treat the Meningitis, then do this surgery she had, then continue treating the Meningitis, then figure out where to go from there to start curing the wound surrounding her tailbone.
Right now, my mother goes down almost daily to see her. The thing is, we don't really have the money to drive to the city every day. It's about a forty minute drive and we can't afford it daily. We also have to take care of her daughters, we have to go to work, etc. So sometimes, we can't go every day. I know it seems harsh, but she sleeps for most of the time we're there and is disoriented due to pain, pain medication, and the infection in her brain.
The problem with this is when I tell people that I'm going to see her, say, Monday, they ask me, "Well, aren't you going today?" When I answer with "no" they stare at me as though I'm an awful human being. The worst culprit for this is Janet, aforementioned in a previous post. I say something like, "We don't have the money to go there every day. If we went there every day we'd already have spent hundreds in gas and we just can't afford that right now." Then she just glares at me. I mean, usually someone goes every day. Either my nieces (her daughters), my mother, my sister, me, my father, my brother. But we can't all go every day.
I also try to explain that when she's having surgery, the last thing the doctors and nurses need is fifteen people in their way. I also don't really want to go with my older sister because she's an angry person and all she does is yell at the doctors and nurses for not preventing this from happening. (For the record, my sister, the one who's sick, was told about a year ago that something like this would happen if she didn't get the intestine surgery.) Well, anyway, when I say we don't ALL need to be there EVERY DAY Janet launches into a story about how when her mother was dying, she forced the nurses to let her stay with her mother past visiting hours, for as long as she wanted, and forced them to let every person in regardless of time, relationship, or how many people were already there. When I reply that I think it's better for my sister to get some rest, and, besides, we can't afford to take three cars to another city every day, Janet just rolls her eyes and says, "Whatever, honey. So you're not going today? Whatever."
You know what, FUCK YOU JANET. First of all, I've tried to tell everyone at work: we are not trying to treat this like she's dying. A) We've been through several situations like this throughout the years since my sister was paralyzed in an accident twenty-six years ago. B) We can't believe she won't get better because if we break, particularly in front of her daughters, it will just be too much. C) We don't have any evidence it won't get better. We don't have any that it won't get worse, but we're hanging on to the threads we can reach right now. D) This isn't about you, JANET. What I need right now is if I say, "I can go see her on Monday," people try to help me arrange my schedule so I can go see her on Monday.
The other worry is when I say, "We can't afford to go to the city every day," Janet might think I'm trying to manipulate her into giving me money. This has happened before. She told our manager once that because I was trying to decide on whether I had the money to buy this vest I wanted, Janet just KNEW I was actually hinting I wanted her to buy it for me. I'm sorry, but, WHAT? Then my boss wrote ME up. Because actually thinking about your budget out loud is automatically a manipulation technique. I'm sorry that Janet has infinite money and, like, ten credit cards, but I don't. I was just thinking out loud. But after that, I wasn't allowed to even try on a piece of clothing unless I knew I could buy it, because if I had to put it back and Janet found out I put it back because I couldn't afford it, I'd get written up again for manipulation. YEAH.
But what I NEED is for the people who are around me to say, "Whatever you need, let us know." And then I will. And then they will accommodate that. I can't just take every day off from work. I can't afford to work half-shifts for the next few weeks. I can't fill up the gas tank every single day. I can't succumb to the stress of both worrying about my sister and worrying about how people are judging my choices in this situation. I'm trying to handle it all and if I don't have support, the kind of support I NEED, then I'm going lose my handle on it all.
Last Sunday and Monday, it looked very bad. My mother even thought that she could die. It was touch and go. The infection had already spread to her brain. Our local hospital wasn't sure they could treat the Meningitis. She was transported to a bigger hospital in another city. This was a touch move since bouncing around in the ambulance caused her agonizing pain. At the new hospital they plied her with antibiotics and did a thousand tests.
Then they formulated a plan to treat the Meningitis, then do this surgery she had, then continue treating the Meningitis, then figure out where to go from there to start curing the wound surrounding her tailbone.
Right now, my mother goes down almost daily to see her. The thing is, we don't really have the money to drive to the city every day. It's about a forty minute drive and we can't afford it daily. We also have to take care of her daughters, we have to go to work, etc. So sometimes, we can't go every day. I know it seems harsh, but she sleeps for most of the time we're there and is disoriented due to pain, pain medication, and the infection in her brain.
The problem with this is when I tell people that I'm going to see her, say, Monday, they ask me, "Well, aren't you going today?" When I answer with "no" they stare at me as though I'm an awful human being. The worst culprit for this is Janet, aforementioned in a previous post. I say something like, "We don't have the money to go there every day. If we went there every day we'd already have spent hundreds in gas and we just can't afford that right now." Then she just glares at me. I mean, usually someone goes every day. Either my nieces (her daughters), my mother, my sister, me, my father, my brother. But we can't all go every day.
I also try to explain that when she's having surgery, the last thing the doctors and nurses need is fifteen people in their way. I also don't really want to go with my older sister because she's an angry person and all she does is yell at the doctors and nurses for not preventing this from happening. (For the record, my sister, the one who's sick, was told about a year ago that something like this would happen if she didn't get the intestine surgery.) Well, anyway, when I say we don't ALL need to be there EVERY DAY Janet launches into a story about how when her mother was dying, she forced the nurses to let her stay with her mother past visiting hours, for as long as she wanted, and forced them to let every person in regardless of time, relationship, or how many people were already there. When I reply that I think it's better for my sister to get some rest, and, besides, we can't afford to take three cars to another city every day, Janet just rolls her eyes and says, "Whatever, honey. So you're not going today? Whatever."
You know what, FUCK YOU JANET. First of all, I've tried to tell everyone at work: we are not trying to treat this like she's dying. A) We've been through several situations like this throughout the years since my sister was paralyzed in an accident twenty-six years ago. B) We can't believe she won't get better because if we break, particularly in front of her daughters, it will just be too much. C) We don't have any evidence it won't get better. We don't have any that it won't get worse, but we're hanging on to the threads we can reach right now. D) This isn't about you, JANET. What I need right now is if I say, "I can go see her on Monday," people try to help me arrange my schedule so I can go see her on Monday.
The other worry is when I say, "We can't afford to go to the city every day," Janet might think I'm trying to manipulate her into giving me money. This has happened before. She told our manager once that because I was trying to decide on whether I had the money to buy this vest I wanted, Janet just KNEW I was actually hinting I wanted her to buy it for me. I'm sorry, but, WHAT? Then my boss wrote ME up. Because actually thinking about your budget out loud is automatically a manipulation technique. I'm sorry that Janet has infinite money and, like, ten credit cards, but I don't. I was just thinking out loud. But after that, I wasn't allowed to even try on a piece of clothing unless I knew I could buy it, because if I had to put it back and Janet found out I put it back because I couldn't afford it, I'd get written up again for manipulation. YEAH.
But what I NEED is for the people who are around me to say, "Whatever you need, let us know." And then I will. And then they will accommodate that. I can't just take every day off from work. I can't afford to work half-shifts for the next few weeks. I can't fill up the gas tank every single day. I can't succumb to the stress of both worrying about my sister and worrying about how people are judging my choices in this situation. I'm trying to handle it all and if I don't have support, the kind of support I NEED, then I'm going lose my handle on it all.
March 25, 2013
To Vent Again
Why....would anyone asking for money scream and cuss at the person they're asking help from?
Sometimes people are so frustrating and dealing with them makes me want to crawl into bed and never come back out again. Tonight, I had three people ask for money in the course of an hour. One of them asked for five dollars, one asked for ten dollars, and one asked for fifty dollars.
The five dollars, fine. My mother needed me to pick up her medicine and it was going to cost five dollars. No big deal and she needs her medicine and since there isn't anyone else willing to help her, fine.
The ten dollars was actually the one I was most upset by. At first. It will be the one I'm most bothered by in the long run. My father needed to put gas in his car. He needed to do so because he takes EVERYONE ON THE PLANET where they need to go, daily. He takes people an estimated thirty places every day. Well, except he doesn't take me anywhere. I have a car. I put gas in my own car. No one else puts gas in my car. But I have to put gas in the car that takes them everywhere? I told my father I didn't really have ten dollars but if he really needed it I would give it to him. But I told him I had just enough money and that I supposed it would be fine.
Then THIS happened: My sister called to ask for fifty dollars. Now look, she's disabled with two amputated legs and sometimes she needs help but mostly she takes care of herself. By herself. On her own. So when she needs help, that's fine with me.
The problem: she did not call me directly. Instead, she called my mother. My father overheard the one-sided conversation and asked my mother whether my sister was calling to ask for money. When my mother wouldn't answer him, he asked more forcefully and more angrily. So my sister heard him say, "Is she calling to ask for money?" in an angry tone and assumed he was mad because she was asking for money. So my sister, and my niece who was eavesdropping on my sister's side of the phone, started crying, screaming, and cussing. This is all before I ever get on the phone. They also hang up on my mother.
So she calls them back. I get on the phone. They are screaming at me, cussing about how they aren't ever going to fucking ask for any fucking help from any fucking person again and we can all just die and such. I say they need to calm down. That doesn't turn out so well. I tell them I will call them back after I talk to my mother for a minute.
THAT doesn't go well, either. Because when I explain that I think they need to apologize to me because they had no right to scream and cuss at me, my mother goes off on ME. She says that when you're broke and frustrated sometimes you can't help but get angry. I say, I still had nothing to do with that. Then my mother starts yelling at me about how I need to stop trying to explain the world to her and how I need to stop talking to her like she's a child. I say, "All I want from you is for you to admit I had every right to be angry they were cussing at me." She REFUSED. She yelled about how my father shouldn't have said what he said. I remind her that STILL has nothing to do with me. They called to ask me for money, cussed at me, and are still going to get their way and won't have to apologize?
I tell my mother how I feel like my feelings don't matter. They should apologize to me. She screams her tired old, "Tomorrow I'm going to leave all of you behind and get out of this bullshit." Now SHE'S the victim. Because of how I'M treating HER.
I went and got the money. I got my mother's medicine and got sixty dollars cash so my father could put ten dollars in the gas tank and take the other fifty to my sister. I came home and, again, asked my mother to admit that I had the right to be angry. She wouldn't even look at me. In a voice like a child who has to recite some rule her parents have told her, my mother gritted her teeth and "admitted" it. I talked to her for a few more minutes and she never once looked at me. It was so frustrating.
Meanwhile, here's the conversation I had with my father in the car on the way back from getting my mother's medicine: My father told me he had asked whether my sister was calling for money because since I had told him I didn't have any money earlier he was going to save everyone the hassle and let my sister know I didn't have any money. This enraged me for several reasons -
a) I did have the money. I just didn't want to give it to my father for gas. Because it isn't fair that I should have to pay for gas for a car I never use. But now I was forced to admit I told him I didn't have money when I did because I didn't want to give it to him for that reason.
b) He should have known how it was going to sound if someone overheard him. But he doesn't care. He's never wrong, he always has to insert himself in the middle of things, and in case I didn't mention it, he's never wrong.
c) He didn't have the right to tell anyone whether I had money or not. He doesn't have the right to make decisions for me. I know he thought he was protecting me but I should get to tell people what I have or don't have, what I can or can't do, what I will or won't do. That's MY decision.
d) Now EVERYONE knows that I have money. Because when it's a big blowup EVERYONE hears about it. So the money I tried to save for an emergency is just going to get blown away because now they are all going to crawl out of the woodwork. And I won't be able to say no because they'll call me selfish and a liar. And while there's a part of me that knows I shouldn't care, I do, and it's hard.
Sometimes people are so frustrating and dealing with them makes me want to crawl into bed and never come back out again. Tonight, I had three people ask for money in the course of an hour. One of them asked for five dollars, one asked for ten dollars, and one asked for fifty dollars.
The five dollars, fine. My mother needed me to pick up her medicine and it was going to cost five dollars. No big deal and she needs her medicine and since there isn't anyone else willing to help her, fine.
The ten dollars was actually the one I was most upset by. At first. It will be the one I'm most bothered by in the long run. My father needed to put gas in his car. He needed to do so because he takes EVERYONE ON THE PLANET where they need to go, daily. He takes people an estimated thirty places every day. Well, except he doesn't take me anywhere. I have a car. I put gas in my own car. No one else puts gas in my car. But I have to put gas in the car that takes them everywhere? I told my father I didn't really have ten dollars but if he really needed it I would give it to him. But I told him I had just enough money and that I supposed it would be fine.
Then THIS happened: My sister called to ask for fifty dollars. Now look, she's disabled with two amputated legs and sometimes she needs help but mostly she takes care of herself. By herself. On her own. So when she needs help, that's fine with me.
The problem: she did not call me directly. Instead, she called my mother. My father overheard the one-sided conversation and asked my mother whether my sister was calling to ask for money. When my mother wouldn't answer him, he asked more forcefully and more angrily. So my sister heard him say, "Is she calling to ask for money?" in an angry tone and assumed he was mad because she was asking for money. So my sister, and my niece who was eavesdropping on my sister's side of the phone, started crying, screaming, and cussing. This is all before I ever get on the phone. They also hang up on my mother.
So she calls them back. I get on the phone. They are screaming at me, cussing about how they aren't ever going to fucking ask for any fucking help from any fucking person again and we can all just die and such. I say they need to calm down. That doesn't turn out so well. I tell them I will call them back after I talk to my mother for a minute.
THAT doesn't go well, either. Because when I explain that I think they need to apologize to me because they had no right to scream and cuss at me, my mother goes off on ME. She says that when you're broke and frustrated sometimes you can't help but get angry. I say, I still had nothing to do with that. Then my mother starts yelling at me about how I need to stop trying to explain the world to her and how I need to stop talking to her like she's a child. I say, "All I want from you is for you to admit I had every right to be angry they were cussing at me." She REFUSED. She yelled about how my father shouldn't have said what he said. I remind her that STILL has nothing to do with me. They called to ask me for money, cussed at me, and are still going to get their way and won't have to apologize?
I tell my mother how I feel like my feelings don't matter. They should apologize to me. She screams her tired old, "Tomorrow I'm going to leave all of you behind and get out of this bullshit." Now SHE'S the victim. Because of how I'M treating HER.
I went and got the money. I got my mother's medicine and got sixty dollars cash so my father could put ten dollars in the gas tank and take the other fifty to my sister. I came home and, again, asked my mother to admit that I had the right to be angry. She wouldn't even look at me. In a voice like a child who has to recite some rule her parents have told her, my mother gritted her teeth and "admitted" it. I talked to her for a few more minutes and she never once looked at me. It was so frustrating.
Meanwhile, here's the conversation I had with my father in the car on the way back from getting my mother's medicine: My father told me he had asked whether my sister was calling for money because since I had told him I didn't have any money earlier he was going to save everyone the hassle and let my sister know I didn't have any money. This enraged me for several reasons -
a) I did have the money. I just didn't want to give it to my father for gas. Because it isn't fair that I should have to pay for gas for a car I never use. But now I was forced to admit I told him I didn't have money when I did because I didn't want to give it to him for that reason.
b) He should have known how it was going to sound if someone overheard him. But he doesn't care. He's never wrong, he always has to insert himself in the middle of things, and in case I didn't mention it, he's never wrong.
c) He didn't have the right to tell anyone whether I had money or not. He doesn't have the right to make decisions for me. I know he thought he was protecting me but I should get to tell people what I have or don't have, what I can or can't do, what I will or won't do. That's MY decision.
d) Now EVERYONE knows that I have money. Because when it's a big blowup EVERYONE hears about it. So the money I tried to save for an emergency is just going to get blown away because now they are all going to crawl out of the woodwork. And I won't be able to say no because they'll call me selfish and a liar. And while there's a part of me that knows I shouldn't care, I do, and it's hard.
January 27, 2013
Service
Tonight I went out to dinner with most of my coworkers. Our boss takes us out to eat every year for Christmas, which we usually do in January because it's less stressful for most of us to schedule a day and gives us extra time to buy a Secret Santa gift. You know, we work in the customer service field and you would think that would make us more patient when we have service that is good but not perfect. Let me lay out the situation for you.
We went to the Olive Garden. It's a Sunday. We were a group of seven, possibly eight. We didn't have a reservation, but my boss - at the last minute - phoned ahead about a half an hour and asked if they had a wait. Of friggin' course they did, it's a Sunday in an area with several malls. The wait was an hour and twenty minutes. But, they said, if we gave them a name they would make us the first priority when we got there and as soon as a table big enough for us opened up we'd be the first people they seated.
We arrived at the restaraunt. Some of my coworkers complained about having to wait. We waited about ten minutes. On a busy Sunday evening. They let us know multiple times how long we'd be waiting, telling us the table they were going to use for us had been given their bill, then telling us the table was being cleaned off, then seating us. From the time we got there to the time we were seated was no more than about ten minutes. Meanwhile, people who arrived BEFORE us had to wait longer.
We sat. Our waiter told us about the day's wine we could sample. One of my coworkers, let's call her Janet, made a snarky comment about how she doesn't drink red wine, it's disgusting, she needs something sweeter, she only drinks Zinfadel, etc. She couldn't just say, no, thank you. The waiter tried to chat with us as he took our drink order. He asked us if we were celebrating anything. No one answered. I answered and then there were also some mumbled, "Yeah, Christmas." Then he asked how we all knew each other. Again, no one answered. Finally, our boss said we all worked retail. He took our drink orders and said he'd get those and give us time to look over the menu. Our boss said she thought we could order now, and he said, oh, okay, but Janet and another girl weren't ready so they got rude with the WAITER about needing more time.
So, let me just say, Olive Garden was packed. It was loud, there was a HUGE birthday party going on (there must have been thirty or forty people celebrating). Waiters were getting into traffic jams trying to take care of multiple tables at once. It took maybe five minutes for us to get our drinks. My boss and I ordered special drinks (everyone else just had tea or lemonade) so ours were on a list to be made at the bar - even though they were non-alcoholic they were the kind of drinks that have to be MADE and MIXED: some kind of special juice and a smoothie. Janet complained about the fact that my boss and I didn't have our drinks yet. I said, well, they're special, and the waiter did try to reassure us that they were being made as quickly as possible. While we were waiting, the waiter brought us our salad and breadsticks.
And here is where the really frustrating part begins. Two of our coworkers had asked for salad with salad dressing on the side, so the waiter told us he would bring us one salad with dressing and one with it on the side. My coworkers all agreed to this. We said, oh, great, that would be great. So he brings it, just as promised. Quickly, it is obvious it will not be quite enough for seven people, so we politely ask for an extra salad, right? No, the snarky fucking comment to the poor waiter, from Janet, is "Did you really think two salads was going to be enough?" The waiter says he'll bring another salad. He asks if we want it to have dressing on the side. We don't. When he leaves, Janet continues to complain about the amount of salad. I say, "He's getting us another one. He's fixing the problem." She says, yeah, but still, you know? And I'm like, no.
During this time, also, another waiter brought our special drinks. Janet says, "I was starting to think we'd be done with our salads before you guys got those drinks." I say, again, well, they had to be specially made. At this point, everyone can tell that I'm getting angry. It's uncomfortable. But I'm not going to just let her make those comments. The waiter is doing the best he can. Another coworker who used to work in a restaurant tries to diffuse the situation (though moments before she was snarking on the poor waiter, too) by saying that it's hard on the waiters because they can only go as fast as the kitchen/bar can go.
We get our extra salad. Our boss tries to make a joke that I get first dibbs because I let everyone else take the first salads. The truth is I didn't want any salad, really, but I took a little just to make everyone happy. I ate, maybe, two bites. As we're spooning out our new salad, our dinners come. Janet, FUCKING JANET, has to make a comment that we aren't even done eating salad. I don't know what this woman wants. I say that we can eat salads along side our meals. She says most people want to eat their salads first and then eat their meals. I say, not the people I know. She just glares at me.
We eat in mostly silence. Oh, but let me add this: during the entire meal - the ENTIRE meal - every one of my coworkers is playing on her cell phone. Except me, as I have an ancient flip phone with no texting or internet nor do I have the desire for a phone with either of those capabilities. They are texting; sometimes they are texting EACH OTHER. They decide to "friend" each other on Facebook and so there is a mini-marathon of passing phones around so each woman can type her name into everyone else's phone. Meanwhile, the waiter is trying to ask questions (like taking our orders) but is getting no answers or just annoyed looks because, you know, we're busy. I was so FUCKING embarrassed.
Let me back up. As soon as we sat down Janet wanted to know where the dessert menu was. At this time, chaos is going on because we're all getting situated, asking each other how we're doing, looking at our menus, the waiter is trying to get our drink orders, etc. Janet just keeps complaining about that dessert menu.
But now, back to the future, we've eaten and it's traditionally time for dessert. The waiter tells us about the desserts (I admit to being annoyed by no menu). He tells us the first dessert and Janet interrupts him to say, "Chocolate. We want chocolate." I tell him that I, in fact, don't want chocolate but want Tiramisu. Everyone asks what that is and so he continues on with the desserts and eventually says there is chocolate cake. CHAOS ENSUES as everyone asks him how big the cake is, how many calories, etc. What the fuck, it's a dessert! You know it has a lot of calories, deal! As he's walking away our teenager says, "Excuse me, but I want some water." He asks if she wants lemon in it and she GLARES at him and just says, "Whatever, no, um, just no." I say, he just asked if we wanted refills and you didn't speak up then. She just stares at me. He puts in our orders and brings the check.
And here, ladies and gentlemen, is where I begin to throw a fit. Because an audible bitchfest begins about how bad the service was. The drinks were too slow. There wasn't enough salad. Our food came too quickly. Janet didn't like him (he was, by the way, clearly gay and it is known she's uncomfortable with gay men - you know what, men in general). The girl who used to work in a restaurant begins detailing all the ways she would have been in trouble if she had served like he had served.
I am PISSED. I start reminding them that the restaurant is busy, they got a party of seven seated within ten minutes, they filled all of our requests, and the waiter tried to be friendly. The whole time my boss is watching my face and she can see that I'm upset and so she tries to ask if 25% is too much. Now look: YES. I feel 15% - 20% is fine for good service and I think he did the best he could with the situation he had. My coworkers, especially Janet, get loud about how they would only give 15% for really good service, and according to them, he was not good service. I reiterate that he did a fine job given the situation and that 15% would be fine.
Again, meanwhile, and I know this is long but I need to vent, the waiter is boxing up our food, writing what it was and the date on it, boxing up the extra salad, giving us bags for the breadsticks. He even wrote us a little note on the comment card that recalled every detail we had told him the few times we did actually chat with him. So, anyway, our boss gives him 20% and we leave. On our way out he taps me on the shoulder and says that Janet forgot her box, so could I make sure she gets it? I say sure and thank him for everything. When I catch up to Janet and tell her she forgot her box, she says, "I didn't want that. He didn't even ask me if I wanted that. What the hell?" So I just snatch it out of her hands and walk to the car.
Our boss paid for everything. She picked up the whole bill. I tried to call her to talk to her, but she didn't answer. I know she knows I'm upset. I know she's avoiding me. So I will have to talk to her tomorrow. I'm going to ask her if she wants me to pay her back for my meal because it will make it easier for me to tell her I'm never going out with them again. This happens every fucking time. We've gone out for a few occasions this year and this happens EVERY FUCKING TIME. And I'm finally done with it. I'm done being completely embarrassed. It isn't a mandatory dinner so maybe they'll have more fun next year when they can complain about nonsense without being interrupted. I know I'll have more fun reading a book or watching TV.
We went to the Olive Garden. It's a Sunday. We were a group of seven, possibly eight. We didn't have a reservation, but my boss - at the last minute - phoned ahead about a half an hour and asked if they had a wait. Of friggin' course they did, it's a Sunday in an area with several malls. The wait was an hour and twenty minutes. But, they said, if we gave them a name they would make us the first priority when we got there and as soon as a table big enough for us opened up we'd be the first people they seated.
We arrived at the restaraunt. Some of my coworkers complained about having to wait. We waited about ten minutes. On a busy Sunday evening. They let us know multiple times how long we'd be waiting, telling us the table they were going to use for us had been given their bill, then telling us the table was being cleaned off, then seating us. From the time we got there to the time we were seated was no more than about ten minutes. Meanwhile, people who arrived BEFORE us had to wait longer.
We sat. Our waiter told us about the day's wine we could sample. One of my coworkers, let's call her Janet, made a snarky comment about how she doesn't drink red wine, it's disgusting, she needs something sweeter, she only drinks Zinfadel, etc. She couldn't just say, no, thank you. The waiter tried to chat with us as he took our drink order. He asked us if we were celebrating anything. No one answered. I answered and then there were also some mumbled, "Yeah, Christmas." Then he asked how we all knew each other. Again, no one answered. Finally, our boss said we all worked retail. He took our drink orders and said he'd get those and give us time to look over the menu. Our boss said she thought we could order now, and he said, oh, okay, but Janet and another girl weren't ready so they got rude with the WAITER about needing more time.
So, let me just say, Olive Garden was packed. It was loud, there was a HUGE birthday party going on (there must have been thirty or forty people celebrating). Waiters were getting into traffic jams trying to take care of multiple tables at once. It took maybe five minutes for us to get our drinks. My boss and I ordered special drinks (everyone else just had tea or lemonade) so ours were on a list to be made at the bar - even though they were non-alcoholic they were the kind of drinks that have to be MADE and MIXED: some kind of special juice and a smoothie. Janet complained about the fact that my boss and I didn't have our drinks yet. I said, well, they're special, and the waiter did try to reassure us that they were being made as quickly as possible. While we were waiting, the waiter brought us our salad and breadsticks.
And here is where the really frustrating part begins. Two of our coworkers had asked for salad with salad dressing on the side, so the waiter told us he would bring us one salad with dressing and one with it on the side. My coworkers all agreed to this. We said, oh, great, that would be great. So he brings it, just as promised. Quickly, it is obvious it will not be quite enough for seven people, so we politely ask for an extra salad, right? No, the snarky fucking comment to the poor waiter, from Janet, is "Did you really think two salads was going to be enough?" The waiter says he'll bring another salad. He asks if we want it to have dressing on the side. We don't. When he leaves, Janet continues to complain about the amount of salad. I say, "He's getting us another one. He's fixing the problem." She says, yeah, but still, you know? And I'm like, no.
During this time, also, another waiter brought our special drinks. Janet says, "I was starting to think we'd be done with our salads before you guys got those drinks." I say, again, well, they had to be specially made. At this point, everyone can tell that I'm getting angry. It's uncomfortable. But I'm not going to just let her make those comments. The waiter is doing the best he can. Another coworker who used to work in a restaurant tries to diffuse the situation (though moments before she was snarking on the poor waiter, too) by saying that it's hard on the waiters because they can only go as fast as the kitchen/bar can go.
We get our extra salad. Our boss tries to make a joke that I get first dibbs because I let everyone else take the first salads. The truth is I didn't want any salad, really, but I took a little just to make everyone happy. I ate, maybe, two bites. As we're spooning out our new salad, our dinners come. Janet, FUCKING JANET, has to make a comment that we aren't even done eating salad. I don't know what this woman wants. I say that we can eat salads along side our meals. She says most people want to eat their salads first and then eat their meals. I say, not the people I know. She just glares at me.
We eat in mostly silence. Oh, but let me add this: during the entire meal - the ENTIRE meal - every one of my coworkers is playing on her cell phone. Except me, as I have an ancient flip phone with no texting or internet nor do I have the desire for a phone with either of those capabilities. They are texting; sometimes they are texting EACH OTHER. They decide to "friend" each other on Facebook and so there is a mini-marathon of passing phones around so each woman can type her name into everyone else's phone. Meanwhile, the waiter is trying to ask questions (like taking our orders) but is getting no answers or just annoyed looks because, you know, we're busy. I was so FUCKING embarrassed.
Let me back up. As soon as we sat down Janet wanted to know where the dessert menu was. At this time, chaos is going on because we're all getting situated, asking each other how we're doing, looking at our menus, the waiter is trying to get our drink orders, etc. Janet just keeps complaining about that dessert menu.
But now, back to the future, we've eaten and it's traditionally time for dessert. The waiter tells us about the desserts (I admit to being annoyed by no menu). He tells us the first dessert and Janet interrupts him to say, "Chocolate. We want chocolate." I tell him that I, in fact, don't want chocolate but want Tiramisu. Everyone asks what that is and so he continues on with the desserts and eventually says there is chocolate cake. CHAOS ENSUES as everyone asks him how big the cake is, how many calories, etc. What the fuck, it's a dessert! You know it has a lot of calories, deal! As he's walking away our teenager says, "Excuse me, but I want some water." He asks if she wants lemon in it and she GLARES at him and just says, "Whatever, no, um, just no." I say, he just asked if we wanted refills and you didn't speak up then. She just stares at me. He puts in our orders and brings the check.
And here, ladies and gentlemen, is where I begin to throw a fit. Because an audible bitchfest begins about how bad the service was. The drinks were too slow. There wasn't enough salad. Our food came too quickly. Janet didn't like him (he was, by the way, clearly gay and it is known she's uncomfortable with gay men - you know what, men in general). The girl who used to work in a restaurant begins detailing all the ways she would have been in trouble if she had served like he had served.
I am PISSED. I start reminding them that the restaurant is busy, they got a party of seven seated within ten minutes, they filled all of our requests, and the waiter tried to be friendly. The whole time my boss is watching my face and she can see that I'm upset and so she tries to ask if 25% is too much. Now look: YES. I feel 15% - 20% is fine for good service and I think he did the best he could with the situation he had. My coworkers, especially Janet, get loud about how they would only give 15% for really good service, and according to them, he was not good service. I reiterate that he did a fine job given the situation and that 15% would be fine.
Again, meanwhile, and I know this is long but I need to vent, the waiter is boxing up our food, writing what it was and the date on it, boxing up the extra salad, giving us bags for the breadsticks. He even wrote us a little note on the comment card that recalled every detail we had told him the few times we did actually chat with him. So, anyway, our boss gives him 20% and we leave. On our way out he taps me on the shoulder and says that Janet forgot her box, so could I make sure she gets it? I say sure and thank him for everything. When I catch up to Janet and tell her she forgot her box, she says, "I didn't want that. He didn't even ask me if I wanted that. What the hell?" So I just snatch it out of her hands and walk to the car.
Our boss paid for everything. She picked up the whole bill. I tried to call her to talk to her, but she didn't answer. I know she knows I'm upset. I know she's avoiding me. So I will have to talk to her tomorrow. I'm going to ask her if she wants me to pay her back for my meal because it will make it easier for me to tell her I'm never going out with them again. This happens every fucking time. We've gone out for a few occasions this year and this happens EVERY FUCKING TIME. And I'm finally done with it. I'm done being completely embarrassed. It isn't a mandatory dinner so maybe they'll have more fun next year when they can complain about nonsense without being interrupted. I know I'll have more fun reading a book or watching TV.
December 31, 2012
New Year's Resolutions/Confessions
Happy New Year!
The past year has been one where I've been very unhappy. I don't know if it's been THE most miserable of my life, but it's up there. This year I learned how I look to creditors (like a wet-behind-the-ears child), I felt like a prisoner (had to give up my car for a few months when we lost our second car), I feared losing people I love (friends and family), and I struggled with money (having to support my sister and her brood when she blew through $10,000 and then again when she up and quit her job and didn't get another one for over a month). I've been very stressed out. Normally, I don't talk about my FEELINGS, so I don't really open up to many people. I've always felt a little like my problems are less than others' problems so I bottle myself up. This post is going to be about expressing some FEELINGS and making some resolutions.
First, I wanted to run through the six major emotions and give an example of how I've felt each one in the past twelve months. The six emotions are fear, disgust, sadness, anger, happiness, and surprise. I've said it before (though somewhere else, I believe), those are some depressing emotions. The only chance for happiness is, well, happiness, and possibly surprise. Let's see if I was surprised for the better this year -
1) Fear: This year I've been afraid that I'm just a convenience to most people. I feel this way a lot, in every aspect of my life. From my house, where I feel like a convenient meal ticket, to my job, where I feel like a convenient filler, to my friendships, where I feel like a convenient backup. I wonder what's wrong with me? I fear that people often realize there isn't much to me, that I'm too boring, too shy, too nervous. I fear that I have to admit they're right. In the beginning, I meet new people and they want to go out after work or out to dinner on a weekend. We make plans a few times, we go out. Eventually I ask them to go out and they're busy. Then they aren't busy as long as someone else is coming. Then they make plans with that person right in front of me and don't invite me and that is very painful. But then I think how I'm not exciting. My hobbies are reading and video games. Who the hell would be interested in me? Sometimes later they ask me after they've been rejected and don't realize I was standing right there and now I know they're only asking me for their own convenience. I'm probably not even Plan B.
2) Disgust: I've felt disgusted with several members of my family. From my sister mooching from everyone around her to my niece's "I just tell the truth" piss-poor attitude, I've felt disgusted at a lot of the hypocrisy surrounding me on a daily basis. On Christmas my sister, who got pregnant at seventeen years old, told another niece she was a whore for getting pregnant at twenty-one. ON CHRISTMAS. Then, hours later, several members of my family decided to rant and rail about this WHORE in front of a guest, a somewhat stranger, a ninety-year-old invalid who my sister-in-law takes care of and who has no family and came to our house to celebrate Christmas with someone. I was so embarrassed. My mother was mortified. She tried to get them to stop but, you know, sorry, someone has to tell the truth and they're all just telling the truth. The truth hurts. It's also ugly. And often hypocritical. And disgusting.
3) Sadness: It was sad that my middle sister, who is handicapped but pretty much totally independent, was told she might have to make a choice between death and being bedridden for life. It's been frustrating and sad to see someone punished who is trying, who is taking care of her children, who helps her parents and everyone around her whenever she can. What force in the universe has decided this? I know it's just the luck of the draw, just circumstance, but where am I supposed to scream about the unfairness of it all? I'm somewhat sad that I have nowhere to turn for even cathartic blame. Luck. Fucking LUCK. So far my sister has staved off making this choice. I don't know when her LUCK will run out, though. It's sad that I know in my heart it will be soon.
4) Anger: Anger. I have felt a lot of anger. I'm angry at myself, mostly. I've made my bed. I've relied on my parents for too long and caused the situation where I have no substantial credit history. I've allowed myself to get comfortable in a mediocre job. I've procrastinated. I've wallowed in so-called "writer's block." I've secreted myself away and pushed away my friends. Isn't my sister who lives with me just projecting her internal FEELINGS when she calls people lazy, calls them stupid, calls them WHORES? My anger with her is anger with myself. I haven't saved money. I haven't endeavored for a better job or developed the discipline to turn my talent into something real. I haven't changed my routine of wake up, work, play on the computer, read, sleep. Again, who could be interested in me? Not just socially but financially, career-wise, etc.? Who am I and what am I doing? Where am I going, where have I been? I'll be thirty-four and I can't even FIND my diploma for graduate school. What the hell have I done with it?
5) Happiness: I don't know. There were little moments. I was happy when I got my car back after about six months of never being able to use it. I was happy when I discovered the writer Haruki Murakami. I was happy when I found a Chocolate Orange in a random place at the grocery store because I've searched up and down for them. I was happy listening to Gene Wilder read an audiobook. I was happy when an antibiotic finally cleared up the acne on my face (please let it last). I'm trying so hard to think of something big. To think of a moment that carried me through longer than a day or two. Maybe...maybe happiness is just those little moments? Maybe I should print that out and tape it above my bed. Maybe every day I need to sit down and remember the one thing that made me happy that day, even if it's just the hot UPS man calling me "dear."
6) Surprise: I was suprised to admit to myself it's okay to be unhappy. I've spent so much time being upset when my somewhat happier childhood was brushed off as though I was less of a person for feeling happy. Pain is supposedly what makes us human. I hated the words, "You don't know how that feels," because it was like my life was not valid because I hadn't experienced this or that. I still don't cater to that theory. Everyone, even happy people, are valid. Their opinions and FEELINGS are valid. But...I'm a little less happy than I have been in the past. And that doesn't break my theory. I don't feel stronger. I don't necessarily feel weaker, either. I feel...different. I feel...focused? I feel...exposed? I feel....
So I've made some resolutions. Some I've made before, like reading and writing schedules. It WILL happen. This time (I mean it) I don't have a goal as much as a routine. I will read one book, then take a day off to reflect on that book, then read another book, etc. One thing I've learned about myself recently is that I don't like to read books back-to-back. I like to ruminate. I like to bounce around ideas and uncover flaws and discover wonders. I like to return to particularly intriguing passages. When I was finished reading 1Q84 by Murakami, I tried immediately reading another book and what happened was I hated the newer book because I wanted to return to parts of 1Q84 and think. I know, it sounds like homework, this routine. It sounds like all of the pleasure is being taken out of picking up a book and getting lost in it. But I promise, for me, this is how I can make myself happy.
The next resolution is about money. I'm going to keep a ledger. I want to see where my money goes. I already started an informal one and for the most part my money goes toward the little groceries we need to keep the house running (milk, toilet paper, bread) and I go to the store for those things almost daily. Last week I bought five gallons of milk. FIVE GALLONS. Everyone at my job knows when my parents call me they're going to ask me to pick something up at the grocery store after work. So my resolution is this: I will keep two columns - one where I write down the exact amount I've spent and one where I round up to the next dollar. At the end of the month I will put the difference into a separate account. Also, any money left out of my paycheck at the end of every two weeks will go into my savings account. That's a third account, by the way. I will have two checking accounts and a savings account. The savings account is for absolute - and I mean life-and-death - emergencies. The second checking account is for smaller emergencies, though my plan is to try very hard not to touch it either. These two accounts are secret. I also have a 401(k) and life insurance. I WILL start saving money.
My final (big) resolution is to get out and do something. The local bookstore hosts readings, bands, and other events and I'm going to attend at least one of these events each month. There is a great wood-fired pizza place right down the street and the bookstore has wi-fi, coffee, and well, books. Yeah, I'll need some money. But when I look at how much money I spend getting Subway when I could be making cous-cous and salads that last for several meals and are awesomely fresh-sealed in a jar, I realize that splurging on a $7 pizza and a $10 book once a month isn't what will break my bank. And now that I have my car back, I can go anywhere I damn-well please for as long as it pleases me. And I WILL.
I need to do these things to put myself on some sort of track. These things aren't major life changes but they are what I feel I can do right now. Do what you can with what you have, right? Right.
I WILL have a happier new year.
The past year has been one where I've been very unhappy. I don't know if it's been THE most miserable of my life, but it's up there. This year I learned how I look to creditors (like a wet-behind-the-ears child), I felt like a prisoner (had to give up my car for a few months when we lost our second car), I feared losing people I love (friends and family), and I struggled with money (having to support my sister and her brood when she blew through $10,000 and then again when she up and quit her job and didn't get another one for over a month). I've been very stressed out. Normally, I don't talk about my FEELINGS, so I don't really open up to many people. I've always felt a little like my problems are less than others' problems so I bottle myself up. This post is going to be about expressing some FEELINGS and making some resolutions.
First, I wanted to run through the six major emotions and give an example of how I've felt each one in the past twelve months. The six emotions are fear, disgust, sadness, anger, happiness, and surprise. I've said it before (though somewhere else, I believe), those are some depressing emotions. The only chance for happiness is, well, happiness, and possibly surprise. Let's see if I was surprised for the better this year -
1) Fear: This year I've been afraid that I'm just a convenience to most people. I feel this way a lot, in every aspect of my life. From my house, where I feel like a convenient meal ticket, to my job, where I feel like a convenient filler, to my friendships, where I feel like a convenient backup. I wonder what's wrong with me? I fear that people often realize there isn't much to me, that I'm too boring, too shy, too nervous. I fear that I have to admit they're right. In the beginning, I meet new people and they want to go out after work or out to dinner on a weekend. We make plans a few times, we go out. Eventually I ask them to go out and they're busy. Then they aren't busy as long as someone else is coming. Then they make plans with that person right in front of me and don't invite me and that is very painful. But then I think how I'm not exciting. My hobbies are reading and video games. Who the hell would be interested in me? Sometimes later they ask me after they've been rejected and don't realize I was standing right there and now I know they're only asking me for their own convenience. I'm probably not even Plan B.
2) Disgust: I've felt disgusted with several members of my family. From my sister mooching from everyone around her to my niece's "I just tell the truth" piss-poor attitude, I've felt disgusted at a lot of the hypocrisy surrounding me on a daily basis. On Christmas my sister, who got pregnant at seventeen years old, told another niece she was a whore for getting pregnant at twenty-one. ON CHRISTMAS. Then, hours later, several members of my family decided to rant and rail about this WHORE in front of a guest, a somewhat stranger, a ninety-year-old invalid who my sister-in-law takes care of and who has no family and came to our house to celebrate Christmas with someone. I was so embarrassed. My mother was mortified. She tried to get them to stop but, you know, sorry, someone has to tell the truth and they're all just telling the truth. The truth hurts. It's also ugly. And often hypocritical. And disgusting.
3) Sadness: It was sad that my middle sister, who is handicapped but pretty much totally independent, was told she might have to make a choice between death and being bedridden for life. It's been frustrating and sad to see someone punished who is trying, who is taking care of her children, who helps her parents and everyone around her whenever she can. What force in the universe has decided this? I know it's just the luck of the draw, just circumstance, but where am I supposed to scream about the unfairness of it all? I'm somewhat sad that I have nowhere to turn for even cathartic blame. Luck. Fucking LUCK. So far my sister has staved off making this choice. I don't know when her LUCK will run out, though. It's sad that I know in my heart it will be soon.
4) Anger: Anger. I have felt a lot of anger. I'm angry at myself, mostly. I've made my bed. I've relied on my parents for too long and caused the situation where I have no substantial credit history. I've allowed myself to get comfortable in a mediocre job. I've procrastinated. I've wallowed in so-called "writer's block." I've secreted myself away and pushed away my friends. Isn't my sister who lives with me just projecting her internal FEELINGS when she calls people lazy, calls them stupid, calls them WHORES? My anger with her is anger with myself. I haven't saved money. I haven't endeavored for a better job or developed the discipline to turn my talent into something real. I haven't changed my routine of wake up, work, play on the computer, read, sleep. Again, who could be interested in me? Not just socially but financially, career-wise, etc.? Who am I and what am I doing? Where am I going, where have I been? I'll be thirty-four and I can't even FIND my diploma for graduate school. What the hell have I done with it?
5) Happiness: I don't know. There were little moments. I was happy when I got my car back after about six months of never being able to use it. I was happy when I discovered the writer Haruki Murakami. I was happy when I found a Chocolate Orange in a random place at the grocery store because I've searched up and down for them. I was happy listening to Gene Wilder read an audiobook. I was happy when an antibiotic finally cleared up the acne on my face (please let it last). I'm trying so hard to think of something big. To think of a moment that carried me through longer than a day or two. Maybe...maybe happiness is just those little moments? Maybe I should print that out and tape it above my bed. Maybe every day I need to sit down and remember the one thing that made me happy that day, even if it's just the hot UPS man calling me "dear."
6) Surprise: I was suprised to admit to myself it's okay to be unhappy. I've spent so much time being upset when my somewhat happier childhood was brushed off as though I was less of a person for feeling happy. Pain is supposedly what makes us human. I hated the words, "You don't know how that feels," because it was like my life was not valid because I hadn't experienced this or that. I still don't cater to that theory. Everyone, even happy people, are valid. Their opinions and FEELINGS are valid. But...I'm a little less happy than I have been in the past. And that doesn't break my theory. I don't feel stronger. I don't necessarily feel weaker, either. I feel...different. I feel...focused? I feel...exposed? I feel....
So I've made some resolutions. Some I've made before, like reading and writing schedules. It WILL happen. This time (I mean it) I don't have a goal as much as a routine. I will read one book, then take a day off to reflect on that book, then read another book, etc. One thing I've learned about myself recently is that I don't like to read books back-to-back. I like to ruminate. I like to bounce around ideas and uncover flaws and discover wonders. I like to return to particularly intriguing passages. When I was finished reading 1Q84 by Murakami, I tried immediately reading another book and what happened was I hated the newer book because I wanted to return to parts of 1Q84 and think. I know, it sounds like homework, this routine. It sounds like all of the pleasure is being taken out of picking up a book and getting lost in it. But I promise, for me, this is how I can make myself happy.
The next resolution is about money. I'm going to keep a ledger. I want to see where my money goes. I already started an informal one and for the most part my money goes toward the little groceries we need to keep the house running (milk, toilet paper, bread) and I go to the store for those things almost daily. Last week I bought five gallons of milk. FIVE GALLONS. Everyone at my job knows when my parents call me they're going to ask me to pick something up at the grocery store after work. So my resolution is this: I will keep two columns - one where I write down the exact amount I've spent and one where I round up to the next dollar. At the end of the month I will put the difference into a separate account. Also, any money left out of my paycheck at the end of every two weeks will go into my savings account. That's a third account, by the way. I will have two checking accounts and a savings account. The savings account is for absolute - and I mean life-and-death - emergencies. The second checking account is for smaller emergencies, though my plan is to try very hard not to touch it either. These two accounts are secret. I also have a 401(k) and life insurance. I WILL start saving money.
My final (big) resolution is to get out and do something. The local bookstore hosts readings, bands, and other events and I'm going to attend at least one of these events each month. There is a great wood-fired pizza place right down the street and the bookstore has wi-fi, coffee, and well, books. Yeah, I'll need some money. But when I look at how much money I spend getting Subway when I could be making cous-cous and salads that last for several meals and are awesomely fresh-sealed in a jar, I realize that splurging on a $7 pizza and a $10 book once a month isn't what will break my bank. And now that I have my car back, I can go anywhere I damn-well please for as long as it pleases me. And I WILL.
I need to do these things to put myself on some sort of track. These things aren't major life changes but they are what I feel I can do right now. Do what you can with what you have, right? Right.
I WILL have a happier new year.
November 29, 2012
Message
It's OKAY to have a phobia. Phobias are defined as irrational fears. Yet, most phobias are far from irrational. The best thing to do is find a competent, caring psychologist (or psychiatrist) who can help you through your fears. Or who can at least lend an ear to letting you vent about them.
I've never been able to find anyone who will listen about my own phobia: swallowing. Right now I'm having a seriously hard time eating because over the past few weeks I've developed some kind of fear that I will choke at any moment. As I'm chewing, my chest and stomach begin to feel bloated and I feel the need to burp. Just as I begin to swallow, I burp instead and it makes me start gagging and I don't know what to do. I try burping right before I swallow to see if that helps, but what I usually end up doing is gripping the edge of the table as I force myself to swallow, or gripping the arm of the chair. I also usually end up abandoning what I'm eating halfway through. I go through phases of the problem every few months. It makes eating at work tough because I'm embarrassed when people can see me eating.
I've tried to tell a few people about this. Namely, I've told some doctors and my psychology professor from college. They all laughed at me. My professor told me he had never, ever heard of something like this (and he was in his sixties). Another doctor told me I was just ridiculous. Another looked right at me and asked, "Are you a little sissy girl?"
Sometimes it gets so bad I can't swallow liquid. Once my mother took me out to eat and I couldn't even eat little pieces of crab. A lot of times I resort to crunchy food because it breaks down into smaller pieces as opposed to, say, bread, which becomes a giant clump in my mouth and I have to roll it around trying to separate it into smaller bites.
Crazy, right? I don't know what to do. I talk to those doctors, hoping they'll give me advice, like what they would tell someone with a narrow esophagus or an extremely sensitive gag reflex. But instead they laugh at me. One even told me, when I asked him to reassure me that I won't choke, that I could in fact choke on something as small as a pea. He said it quite dismissively. He could have lied. He could have tried to help me. Instead he just made the situation even worse.
It's exhausting to eat. It's a fight. Should I ask for some kind of anxiety pills that I take an hour or so before eating (which I would have to crush up and put in pudding)? Is there a trick to sort of hypnotize myself? Should I start collecting recipes that only use crunchy foods? I don't know what to do.
I've never been able to find anyone who will listen about my own phobia: swallowing. Right now I'm having a seriously hard time eating because over the past few weeks I've developed some kind of fear that I will choke at any moment. As I'm chewing, my chest and stomach begin to feel bloated and I feel the need to burp. Just as I begin to swallow, I burp instead and it makes me start gagging and I don't know what to do. I try burping right before I swallow to see if that helps, but what I usually end up doing is gripping the edge of the table as I force myself to swallow, or gripping the arm of the chair. I also usually end up abandoning what I'm eating halfway through. I go through phases of the problem every few months. It makes eating at work tough because I'm embarrassed when people can see me eating.
I've tried to tell a few people about this. Namely, I've told some doctors and my psychology professor from college. They all laughed at me. My professor told me he had never, ever heard of something like this (and he was in his sixties). Another doctor told me I was just ridiculous. Another looked right at me and asked, "Are you a little sissy girl?"
Sometimes it gets so bad I can't swallow liquid. Once my mother took me out to eat and I couldn't even eat little pieces of crab. A lot of times I resort to crunchy food because it breaks down into smaller pieces as opposed to, say, bread, which becomes a giant clump in my mouth and I have to roll it around trying to separate it into smaller bites.
Crazy, right? I don't know what to do. I talk to those doctors, hoping they'll give me advice, like what they would tell someone with a narrow esophagus or an extremely sensitive gag reflex. But instead they laugh at me. One even told me, when I asked him to reassure me that I won't choke, that I could in fact choke on something as small as a pea. He said it quite dismissively. He could have lied. He could have tried to help me. Instead he just made the situation even worse.
It's exhausting to eat. It's a fight. Should I ask for some kind of anxiety pills that I take an hour or so before eating (which I would have to crush up and put in pudding)? Is there a trick to sort of hypnotize myself? Should I start collecting recipes that only use crunchy foods? I don't know what to do.
June 7, 2012
Ownership
I am so upset right now. I came home from a crappy day at work to find that my parents, because they couldn't get the internet on my little netbook for a few hours, decided that the problem was the computer needed a complete system restore. My father - when my mother told him my sister had deleted some games that had been downloaded (without permission), had cleaned and defragmented the hard drive, and nothing had worked - told my mother that he could get the internet back for her. So, she handed him the machine and he did a system restore.
He lost everything I had saved on that computer. He lost files from when I was teaching. He lost stories I had started. He lost pictures we had taken of my sister-in-law's mother before she died.
The worst part? Remember my post a few weeks back about apologizing? He's angry at me for getting angry because HE DOES SYSTEM RESTORES ALL THE TIME on his computer and it's fine. It's how he gets the internet back if it isn't working for a few hours. EVERY TIME THE INTERNET IS DOWN HE DOES A COMPLETE, BACK-TO-FACTORY-SETTINGS RESTORE.
He said the computer should have backed up the files automatically. I said it doesn't do that. He YELLED at me that he didn't say it did, HE SAID IT SHOULD. Because his does. I told him that's because he has Windows 7 and my netbook only has Windows XP. Did he apologize? No. He just kept repeating that he couldn't have known my computer was different than his. I said he shouldn't have been messing with something that didn't belong to him - especially something that cost as much as that netbook.
I would have been home a few hours later. Why couldn't they live without the internet for a few hours? All I needed to do was start the wireless internet service and go to the advanced settings to let Windows reconfigure the wireless signals. I also pushed my sister for more information on whether she did a defragmentation (which would have taken hours) and she admitted she didn't, because the analysis said she didn't need to. I said really it had needed it and I had just been planning this morning to do a defragmentation when I got home. She just shrugged her shoulders.
This after another day where I was the bad person for getting frustrated when my boss interrupted me at work. Often, she starts talking to me as soon as I walk in the door. I can't even put my purse down, or take off my jacket in cold weather. Today she followed me to the back room and started talking at me about what we were going to do for the day, and I started a sentence and she interrupted me. I listened to what she said, waited for her to be done talking, waited a beat, started my sentence again, and she interrupted me again. This time I showed frustration, I think by pursing my lips, and she saw my face and asked if I was mad that she interrupted me. Instead of answering I just, for a third time, said what I was trying to say and when I was done she just kind of said, "Oh," and walked away and wouldn't talk to me for a while. I know she's going to say something about how I need to remember our talk about showing patience because interrupting is now a common behavior and I need to understand that I look egotistical when I "can't stand it" that someone has interrupted me. Except I think it's awfully convenient for her that she gets to excuse her rude behavior and I'm going to be held accountable for feeling frustrated. She has said that because she doesn't mean to interrupt me, that because she just thinks of something she wants to say and doesn't want to forget it, that that's different than interrupting someone maliciously. It's not. Why is her thought that needs to be expressed more important than the other person's thought that needs to be expressed? That's how she makes me feel - like I'm less important than she is. The whole day I made a point - a clear point - of not speaking when she was speaking, of looking her straight in the eye and nodding in the appropriate places. I doubt she'll pick up on the message, though.
So now, when I thought I was going to get home from work a little early and get to relax a little longer, instead I've already been yelled at and I've already spent forty minutes typing this stupid post. I'll probably end up just crawling into bed.
He lost everything I had saved on that computer. He lost files from when I was teaching. He lost stories I had started. He lost pictures we had taken of my sister-in-law's mother before she died.
The worst part? Remember my post a few weeks back about apologizing? He's angry at me for getting angry because HE DOES SYSTEM RESTORES ALL THE TIME on his computer and it's fine. It's how he gets the internet back if it isn't working for a few hours. EVERY TIME THE INTERNET IS DOWN HE DOES A COMPLETE, BACK-TO-FACTORY-SETTINGS RESTORE.
He said the computer should have backed up the files automatically. I said it doesn't do that. He YELLED at me that he didn't say it did, HE SAID IT SHOULD. Because his does. I told him that's because he has Windows 7 and my netbook only has Windows XP. Did he apologize? No. He just kept repeating that he couldn't have known my computer was different than his. I said he shouldn't have been messing with something that didn't belong to him - especially something that cost as much as that netbook.
I would have been home a few hours later. Why couldn't they live without the internet for a few hours? All I needed to do was start the wireless internet service and go to the advanced settings to let Windows reconfigure the wireless signals. I also pushed my sister for more information on whether she did a defragmentation (which would have taken hours) and she admitted she didn't, because the analysis said she didn't need to. I said really it had needed it and I had just been planning this morning to do a defragmentation when I got home. She just shrugged her shoulders.
This after another day where I was the bad person for getting frustrated when my boss interrupted me at work. Often, she starts talking to me as soon as I walk in the door. I can't even put my purse down, or take off my jacket in cold weather. Today she followed me to the back room and started talking at me about what we were going to do for the day, and I started a sentence and she interrupted me. I listened to what she said, waited for her to be done talking, waited a beat, started my sentence again, and she interrupted me again. This time I showed frustration, I think by pursing my lips, and she saw my face and asked if I was mad that she interrupted me. Instead of answering I just, for a third time, said what I was trying to say and when I was done she just kind of said, "Oh," and walked away and wouldn't talk to me for a while. I know she's going to say something about how I need to remember our talk about showing patience because interrupting is now a common behavior and I need to understand that I look egotistical when I "can't stand it" that someone has interrupted me. Except I think it's awfully convenient for her that she gets to excuse her rude behavior and I'm going to be held accountable for feeling frustrated. She has said that because she doesn't mean to interrupt me, that because she just thinks of something she wants to say and doesn't want to forget it, that that's different than interrupting someone maliciously. It's not. Why is her thought that needs to be expressed more important than the other person's thought that needs to be expressed? That's how she makes me feel - like I'm less important than she is. The whole day I made a point - a clear point - of not speaking when she was speaking, of looking her straight in the eye and nodding in the appropriate places. I doubt she'll pick up on the message, though.
So now, when I thought I was going to get home from work a little early and get to relax a little longer, instead I've already been yelled at and I've already spent forty minutes typing this stupid post. I'll probably end up just crawling into bed.
May 10, 2012
Sorry Speeches
Whenever I read a review of an author's lifetime work, it often includes certain themes the author revisits time and again. Stephen King, in his earlier work, often wrote about childhood innocence and coming of age. The author I'm reading now, Haruki Murakami, often writes about loneliness. Jorge Luis Borges focused on the labyrinths of time and memory. It's funny, because I think it was in King's memoir On Writing where he talks about hating when people ask him if there's a theme to his writing. That could have been in any number of interviews with various authors I've read over the years, though. Regardless of whether an author realizes it or not, often there is a moral or consciousness the author returns to, and sometimes it isn't recognizable until long after that author is gone.
I think quite often about what the themes of my writing would be. I understand the process of writing to be cathartic, and authors are really working through the issues they have with the world at large, or within themselves. I think one such issue I have is with regret or remorse.
There are often scenes in stories, television shows, and movies where a character, let's name him Bill, hurts the feelings of a second character, who shall be named Sally. Bill makes Sally cry herself to sleep, perhaps unintentionally. Sally shoulders the weight of her feelings for a long time, possibly years. Maybe she only shoulders that weight for twenty seconds, but the point is she shoulders it in a way Bill, at the time, doesn't, because he is most likely unaware or uncaring of how he made Sally feel. Eventually, Sally feels the need to expunge this weight from her chest and so, in a tearful and emotion-filled speech, she unburdens herself in Bill's face. Normally, within the context of storytelling, Bill will reach an epiphany about his actions and apologize, sincerely, to Sally. He will then endeavor to be more careful with Sally's feelings.
I call bullshit.
I call this, because in my own experience no one apologizes even when the injured person shines light on the past behavior. I know I can't base all writing on my own experiences, but personally, whenever I'm the audience for said scene, it just makes me angry and frustrated. I've never received an apology when I've told someone how he or she made me feel. It doesn't matter the situation.
Usually, the other person will instead justify why they performed said behavior. It can never be his fault. Someone else's feelings can never be his responsibility. It has become such a sore point in my life that I actually fear confronting someone who has hurt me because I know it will end in more pain for me. There was a reason said behavior was necessary, and no matter how prepared I am to combat any response, the other person is ready with more justification, or just ends the conversation by walking away, brushing me off, or calling me names. In most instances, instead of confronting the person, I retreat into my bedroom and cry in a ball, mentally enacting the scene from above with that person as Bill and myself as Sally, because the only apology I'll ever receieve is an imaginary one.
Professors in college asked me, time and again, why I had written the stories I had written. Most young authors give a flippant response, or a response that is so intense and pretentious it's almost laughable, because life for them is still a ball of chaos and confusion. I had no idea who I was or what I needed when I was twenty. I still don't completely understrand my own life. Whenever I get a rejection letter from a magazine I often get a hand-written note telling me it's well-written but that something is missing. I'm slowly concluding that something is purpose.
There are other themes I revisit. Imagination, longing, and identity are all tangled up with this idea of regret and remorse. They all seem to go hand-in-hand. I went through a writer's block for a very long time, so long I'm just now recovering from it, because for years I struggled with my identity as a writer, mainly because I was struggling with identity in general. Even now, I regret allowing any other person to try to define me, but that's what happened and why I became blocked. I imagined up a pseudonym, to the point of almost allowing that personality to take over my own personality. I'm leaving that imaginary person behind now and examining what it means to be myself.
I suppose that when I wait for an apology when someone hurts me, really I'm just waiting for that other person to define me. I also suppose I'm waiting to give a definition to that person. I want that person to justify my identity in the same way he or she is justifying his or her own identity by denying the behavior was wrong. The right thing for me to do would be to confront that person, but once I've confronted her, let her own subsequent behavior be what it will be without expectation. But to paraphrase Dumbledore, what is right is seldom what is easy.
I'm sure I will write scenes where Bill apologizes to Sally. I think maybe those scenes are written as some kind of guidance toward what is right. But real people often choose what is easy. But since my writing is, after all, fiction, and in fiction characters don't have to be realistic, I suppose I can try to define a behavior, I suppose I'm really the one defining these fictional people. As a catharsis for defining myself.
I think quite often about what the themes of my writing would be. I understand the process of writing to be cathartic, and authors are really working through the issues they have with the world at large, or within themselves. I think one such issue I have is with regret or remorse.
There are often scenes in stories, television shows, and movies where a character, let's name him Bill, hurts the feelings of a second character, who shall be named Sally. Bill makes Sally cry herself to sleep, perhaps unintentionally. Sally shoulders the weight of her feelings for a long time, possibly years. Maybe she only shoulders that weight for twenty seconds, but the point is she shoulders it in a way Bill, at the time, doesn't, because he is most likely unaware or uncaring of how he made Sally feel. Eventually, Sally feels the need to expunge this weight from her chest and so, in a tearful and emotion-filled speech, she unburdens herself in Bill's face. Normally, within the context of storytelling, Bill will reach an epiphany about his actions and apologize, sincerely, to Sally. He will then endeavor to be more careful with Sally's feelings.
I call bullshit.
I call this, because in my own experience no one apologizes even when the injured person shines light on the past behavior. I know I can't base all writing on my own experiences, but personally, whenever I'm the audience for said scene, it just makes me angry and frustrated. I've never received an apology when I've told someone how he or she made me feel. It doesn't matter the situation.
Usually, the other person will instead justify why they performed said behavior. It can never be his fault. Someone else's feelings can never be his responsibility. It has become such a sore point in my life that I actually fear confronting someone who has hurt me because I know it will end in more pain for me. There was a reason said behavior was necessary, and no matter how prepared I am to combat any response, the other person is ready with more justification, or just ends the conversation by walking away, brushing me off, or calling me names. In most instances, instead of confronting the person, I retreat into my bedroom and cry in a ball, mentally enacting the scene from above with that person as Bill and myself as Sally, because the only apology I'll ever receieve is an imaginary one.
Professors in college asked me, time and again, why I had written the stories I had written. Most young authors give a flippant response, or a response that is so intense and pretentious it's almost laughable, because life for them is still a ball of chaos and confusion. I had no idea who I was or what I needed when I was twenty. I still don't completely understrand my own life. Whenever I get a rejection letter from a magazine I often get a hand-written note telling me it's well-written but that something is missing. I'm slowly concluding that something is purpose.
There are other themes I revisit. Imagination, longing, and identity are all tangled up with this idea of regret and remorse. They all seem to go hand-in-hand. I went through a writer's block for a very long time, so long I'm just now recovering from it, because for years I struggled with my identity as a writer, mainly because I was struggling with identity in general. Even now, I regret allowing any other person to try to define me, but that's what happened and why I became blocked. I imagined up a pseudonym, to the point of almost allowing that personality to take over my own personality. I'm leaving that imaginary person behind now and examining what it means to be myself.
I suppose that when I wait for an apology when someone hurts me, really I'm just waiting for that other person to define me. I also suppose I'm waiting to give a definition to that person. I want that person to justify my identity in the same way he or she is justifying his or her own identity by denying the behavior was wrong. The right thing for me to do would be to confront that person, but once I've confronted her, let her own subsequent behavior be what it will be without expectation. But to paraphrase Dumbledore, what is right is seldom what is easy.
I'm sure I will write scenes where Bill apologizes to Sally. I think maybe those scenes are written as some kind of guidance toward what is right. But real people often choose what is easy. But since my writing is, after all, fiction, and in fiction characters don't have to be realistic, I suppose I can try to define a behavior, I suppose I'm really the one defining these fictional people. As a catharsis for defining myself.
May 7, 2012
The Remedial Honors Class
It may be emerging from my previous posts that I struggle quite a bit with FEELINGS of inadequacy. One constant struggle is the number of books I read in a year. My goal recently has been to read one hundred books or more every year, and to increase that number as time goes by. I've tried diligently to reach this goal, and have almost always nearly succeeded. If you noticed several qualifiers in that sentence, you're a smart cookie. The truth is I've never read one hundred books in a year. The reason is because I can't.
I think I may need professional therapy over this issue more than any other issue I have (some may disagree). Since I just read an article stating the average American reads four books a year, the fact that I read somewhere around sixty should not put me in such a state of anxiety. I read more books each month than an average person reads in a year. Shouldn't that make me feel good about myself?
Well, really, the problem is I'm not out to compare myself to the average person. I'm comparing myself to the average writer, the average scholar, the average "intellectual." I don't know what the average is for those individuals, but I assume it's higher than four. I assume it's higher than one hundred. I know another problem here is with me making an "ass" out of myself at least. Why am I making up an arbitrary average?
I've seen a few websites devoted to clubs where people document the one hundred books they've read in one year, and they form a community with the intention of encouraging each other toward that goal. That's noble and I wish I thought for one second I would be able to carry out that goal, because I would join one of those websites in a second.
A friend once asked me if I read every word. My reply of "of course" shocked her. Her response was that she basically speed-reads through most of the books she reads, and she goes back and reads every word of the ones she finds to be outstanding. She told me her husband reads every word, too, and so it takes him a long time to read, just like me. I wish I could read faster, especially since I find most books to be mediocre. But I can't. Maybe it's the writer in me, searching through the bad and mediocre just as thoroughly as the outstanding, knowing there are lessons in each.
Recently I conducted an experiment where I timed myself reading a page of fiction. I ended up consistently needing nearly two minutes to read one page. When I would try speed-reading I would just end up frustrated that I didn't know what was going on by about two or three paragraphs later, because I have to know what's going on at all given times. I can't just "get the gist" of a novel. Even a mediocre one.
Today I tried to push myself to a certain page goal, because I wanted to be through a certain part of the book I'm reading before I return to work tomorrow. The amount of pages to reach that goal was around 150. It took me nearly six hours. I know a lot of people would glare at me with contempt for whining about this so-called "problem," but it's like when my friend at work complains about having gained ten pounds and so now she has begun needing size 3 pants. It's a problem to her, and though I shush her when someone who is buying, say, a size 16 or so is around, I know that weight gain means something more to her, like it's the symbol of lost youth or the fall of her marriage. For me, the inability to read at a pace I feel is expected is the symbol of medocrity or laziness.
I devoted my entire attention to that book today and still it took me forever to get through it. It isn't the time spent reading that does me in, but my ability to perform. It's like having incredibly high metabolism, so that no matter how much I consume I gain nothing.
I've decided to accept the number of books I can read. I've decided for now to know my limits. That doesn't mean I won't ever challenge them, but I think a major step forward for me right now would be to stop punishing myself, especially for something I've made up in my head. I've decided to try to be happier with myself because ultimately, lately, I've been on a search for whom I'm supposed to be. I don't know entirely yet, but each day I learn a little more.
I think I may need professional therapy over this issue more than any other issue I have (some may disagree). Since I just read an article stating the average American reads four books a year, the fact that I read somewhere around sixty should not put me in such a state of anxiety. I read more books each month than an average person reads in a year. Shouldn't that make me feel good about myself?
Well, really, the problem is I'm not out to compare myself to the average person. I'm comparing myself to the average writer, the average scholar, the average "intellectual." I don't know what the average is for those individuals, but I assume it's higher than four. I assume it's higher than one hundred. I know another problem here is with me making an "ass" out of myself at least. Why am I making up an arbitrary average?
I've seen a few websites devoted to clubs where people document the one hundred books they've read in one year, and they form a community with the intention of encouraging each other toward that goal. That's noble and I wish I thought for one second I would be able to carry out that goal, because I would join one of those websites in a second.
A friend once asked me if I read every word. My reply of "of course" shocked her. Her response was that she basically speed-reads through most of the books she reads, and she goes back and reads every word of the ones she finds to be outstanding. She told me her husband reads every word, too, and so it takes him a long time to read, just like me. I wish I could read faster, especially since I find most books to be mediocre. But I can't. Maybe it's the writer in me, searching through the bad and mediocre just as thoroughly as the outstanding, knowing there are lessons in each.
Recently I conducted an experiment where I timed myself reading a page of fiction. I ended up consistently needing nearly two minutes to read one page. When I would try speed-reading I would just end up frustrated that I didn't know what was going on by about two or three paragraphs later, because I have to know what's going on at all given times. I can't just "get the gist" of a novel. Even a mediocre one.
Today I tried to push myself to a certain page goal, because I wanted to be through a certain part of the book I'm reading before I return to work tomorrow. The amount of pages to reach that goal was around 150. It took me nearly six hours. I know a lot of people would glare at me with contempt for whining about this so-called "problem," but it's like when my friend at work complains about having gained ten pounds and so now she has begun needing size 3 pants. It's a problem to her, and though I shush her when someone who is buying, say, a size 16 or so is around, I know that weight gain means something more to her, like it's the symbol of lost youth or the fall of her marriage. For me, the inability to read at a pace I feel is expected is the symbol of medocrity or laziness.
I devoted my entire attention to that book today and still it took me forever to get through it. It isn't the time spent reading that does me in, but my ability to perform. It's like having incredibly high metabolism, so that no matter how much I consume I gain nothing.
I've decided to accept the number of books I can read. I've decided for now to know my limits. That doesn't mean I won't ever challenge them, but I think a major step forward for me right now would be to stop punishing myself, especially for something I've made up in my head. I've decided to try to be happier with myself because ultimately, lately, I've been on a search for whom I'm supposed to be. I don't know entirely yet, but each day I learn a little more.
April 10, 2012
Guilt
One of the decisions I made after being turned down for a car loan, a bank loan, and an apartment recently was that I would trudge on, using the credit I do have and paying on it every month to establish a trustworthy credit history. Maybe if my parents can pay on the car loans, credit cards, and tax obligations they have and establish a history of trust they might be able to co-sign for me sometime in the near future. I don't know when that will be, but I'll just have to keep on truckin' and try again to get out of this situation a few months down the road.
So, since I've been good paying on my accounts for some time and I had paid my Dell account way down, I agonized for a long time about buying a Wii with that account. It was only $149. I talked this over with my parents - how would it look to the rest of those people who live in the basement if I did this? Would they get jealous? Would they understand I didn't horde money and that I would actually be paying the same amount I pay on this account every month? Then I had to agonize over the fact that I don't have a TV. Will I risk bringing the Wii downstairs and having all of them want me to leave it down there so they can play it all night (or steal it)? What if they get angry when I refuse to leave it downstairs? Won't it be a pain to have to lug it up and down, plugging it in and unplugging it every time I want to play? What if I want to play when someone is watching TV? What about the fact that someone is always watching TV?
So my parents encouraged me to go ahead and add a TV to the order. I sweated this decision for days on end. How big of a TV? Where will I put it? How much will all of this cost? Do I want to add this much debt?
In the end, after long talks and groans where my parents told me to just do it already, I ordered a Wii and a TV. They are on the way. One minute after I placed the order my mother asked me if my sister would think that I had used the money she gave us to put down for a car to buy myself a TV. Of course, this just stressed me out, because my mother encouraged me to do it. I didn't use any of that money, anyway. It didn't get put down on a car, but part of it did go toward buying food for the extra four people who live in the basement with my sister, people who she pretends she shouldn't have to be responsible for. Oh, it also went toward putting gas in the car to take them places. I began to plan to use the money to fix up my current car so it could last a little longer - it needs an oil change, a new fender, a front end alignment, and a tune-up. Four hundred dollars isn't going to do all of that, but it could help so the car lasts us through the months until something can be done about getting another car.
She wasted $8700, remember? Tonight, my sister came upstairs to me and asked me to give her $40 out of the $400. She held out her hand and I told her I didn't have cash on me. She asked me where the $400 was. I told her it was in the bank and she freaked out. Why is it in the bank? I told her that's where most people put their money, because they don't want thousands of dollars laying around in a purse for anyone to steal (like happened with some of her money). She asked me if it was all there. I told her it wasn't, because I had to buy food on multiple occasions when the people in the basement ate all of the food in the middle of the night, making an entire box of spaghetti and an entire jar of sauce for just one person and then leaving it out on the stove so the leftovers spoiled by morning. I told her I used some of that money but that most of it was still there and I would just replace what I used on Friday when I got paid. She just angrily stomped out of my room.
So now I feel totally stressed and guilty. You know, I have enough money. When I was calculating the money I would need to get a small apartment and live on my own, I added in the amount I pay on my credit lines. And I had enough to get by - not enough to be splurging left and right, but enough to buy food if I budgeted and maybe a book or something nice here and there. I could have given her $40 out of the bank. She didn't even give me a chance to explain that. And so now I have to feel guilty about the packages that will either come tomorrow or the next day, because I'm worried that she will think I spent her money.
I SHOULDN'T BE WORRIED ABOUT THIS. I didn't do anything wrong. She revealed to us the other day that she bought my nephew a Playstation 3 and $300 worth of games for it. She is also sporting a whole new wardrobe. She gave my other nephew $1500 and who knows what he did with that? She's renting a tux for my nephew to go to prom in and she's planning to buy him these fancy tennis shoes that look like "dressy" tennis shoes because he's refusing to wear real dress shoes. One day she spent $75 between three fast food places. My father drove her to Wal-Mart (she has no license) and said that by the amount of bags she brought out with her he wages she spent about $500. The other day I came home and there were eight twelve-packs of name-brand pop sitting in the hallway and they took them all downstairs into the basement. My father said he took her to buy cigarettes one day and she came out with hundreds of dollars worth of cartons.
But that $400, it's not fair that we didn't use it for what she gave it to us for. Why isn't the $400 a month she pays enough to buy food? There are five people in the basement. That's less than $100 each for an entire month. Last month, on top of paying the phone/cable/internet bill, I also paid on the electric bill and paid the insurance for the car. That was $300 and I bought food, probably around $200 worth (I usually spend around $50 a week buying little things here and there when we run out, like milk, bread, eggs, ham, cheese, etc.). I also put the majority of the gas in the one car we have right now. And here I am, agonizing because I did something nice for myself, something that I'm not even spending extra money on right now (I understand the principle that in the end, I will be spending that money), that I didn't use any of her precious $400 for. Why do I feel guilty?
Because I'm the only one who will.
So, since I've been good paying on my accounts for some time and I had paid my Dell account way down, I agonized for a long time about buying a Wii with that account. It was only $149. I talked this over with my parents - how would it look to the rest of those people who live in the basement if I did this? Would they get jealous? Would they understand I didn't horde money and that I would actually be paying the same amount I pay on this account every month? Then I had to agonize over the fact that I don't have a TV. Will I risk bringing the Wii downstairs and having all of them want me to leave it down there so they can play it all night (or steal it)? What if they get angry when I refuse to leave it downstairs? Won't it be a pain to have to lug it up and down, plugging it in and unplugging it every time I want to play? What if I want to play when someone is watching TV? What about the fact that someone is always watching TV?
So my parents encouraged me to go ahead and add a TV to the order. I sweated this decision for days on end. How big of a TV? Where will I put it? How much will all of this cost? Do I want to add this much debt?
In the end, after long talks and groans where my parents told me to just do it already, I ordered a Wii and a TV. They are on the way. One minute after I placed the order my mother asked me if my sister would think that I had used the money she gave us to put down for a car to buy myself a TV. Of course, this just stressed me out, because my mother encouraged me to do it. I didn't use any of that money, anyway. It didn't get put down on a car, but part of it did go toward buying food for the extra four people who live in the basement with my sister, people who she pretends she shouldn't have to be responsible for. Oh, it also went toward putting gas in the car to take them places. I began to plan to use the money to fix up my current car so it could last a little longer - it needs an oil change, a new fender, a front end alignment, and a tune-up. Four hundred dollars isn't going to do all of that, but it could help so the car lasts us through the months until something can be done about getting another car.
She wasted $8700, remember? Tonight, my sister came upstairs to me and asked me to give her $40 out of the $400. She held out her hand and I told her I didn't have cash on me. She asked me where the $400 was. I told her it was in the bank and she freaked out. Why is it in the bank? I told her that's where most people put their money, because they don't want thousands of dollars laying around in a purse for anyone to steal (like happened with some of her money). She asked me if it was all there. I told her it wasn't, because I had to buy food on multiple occasions when the people in the basement ate all of the food in the middle of the night, making an entire box of spaghetti and an entire jar of sauce for just one person and then leaving it out on the stove so the leftovers spoiled by morning. I told her I used some of that money but that most of it was still there and I would just replace what I used on Friday when I got paid. She just angrily stomped out of my room.
So now I feel totally stressed and guilty. You know, I have enough money. When I was calculating the money I would need to get a small apartment and live on my own, I added in the amount I pay on my credit lines. And I had enough to get by - not enough to be splurging left and right, but enough to buy food if I budgeted and maybe a book or something nice here and there. I could have given her $40 out of the bank. She didn't even give me a chance to explain that. And so now I have to feel guilty about the packages that will either come tomorrow or the next day, because I'm worried that she will think I spent her money.
I SHOULDN'T BE WORRIED ABOUT THIS. I didn't do anything wrong. She revealed to us the other day that she bought my nephew a Playstation 3 and $300 worth of games for it. She is also sporting a whole new wardrobe. She gave my other nephew $1500 and who knows what he did with that? She's renting a tux for my nephew to go to prom in and she's planning to buy him these fancy tennis shoes that look like "dressy" tennis shoes because he's refusing to wear real dress shoes. One day she spent $75 between three fast food places. My father drove her to Wal-Mart (she has no license) and said that by the amount of bags she brought out with her he wages she spent about $500. The other day I came home and there were eight twelve-packs of name-brand pop sitting in the hallway and they took them all downstairs into the basement. My father said he took her to buy cigarettes one day and she came out with hundreds of dollars worth of cartons.
But that $400, it's not fair that we didn't use it for what she gave it to us for. Why isn't the $400 a month she pays enough to buy food? There are five people in the basement. That's less than $100 each for an entire month. Last month, on top of paying the phone/cable/internet bill, I also paid on the electric bill and paid the insurance for the car. That was $300 and I bought food, probably around $200 worth (I usually spend around $50 a week buying little things here and there when we run out, like milk, bread, eggs, ham, cheese, etc.). I also put the majority of the gas in the one car we have right now. And here I am, agonizing because I did something nice for myself, something that I'm not even spending extra money on right now (I understand the principle that in the end, I will be spending that money), that I didn't use any of her precious $400 for. Why do I feel guilty?
Because I'm the only one who will.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
