Wednesday, November 15, 2006

records & spaces

okay at the new job, i've inherited a mess. have i mentioned that? if i'm repeating myself, i'll edit the post. but for now, i'll vent.

it's a mess.


so big i cant get into it all.

but the upside is:

I get my own parking space.



I (was) a dancing machine

Whenever I see people dance, it makes me sad.
A wistful sad, like "that used to be/could be/should be me."

I thought about getting back into it.

Maybe next year.

Something's brewing with me. Dunno what it is yet, but it's big.

I'll let you know when I find out.


Monday, November 13, 2006

That actually felt good

Telling people what you think about them is great.

the devil

credit cards are the devil.
I've had one, then (because I wasn't raised understanding money, the value of it, and wtf credit means) I ended up with debt. Not too much, considering what real people go through, but 200$ was a lot back then when I had a card I'd used twice, forgotten about cause I'd only used it twice & moved & didn't get the statements. 150$ of that was interest. At the time, I made less than 8$/hr & only got it b/c my dad suggested I make small purchases & pay them off rapidly to establish a line of credit. Decent suggestion, but I sucked at it.

Lesson learned. I vowed never to have a credit card again. If I can't afford it, I can't afford it. Plain & simple. MY finances are straight. My family's aren't.

And my family's are my responsibility.

So here we go again.


when it's not your fault, it's your responsibility

I'm pretty sure we're all clear on how I moonlight as a workaholic, holding several jobs down to support my family, blah blah blah.

It's not the work that bothers me. It's the "supporting my family" that does. I get how men of old must've felt; busting their asses & getting shit when they got home. Sure, they don't know all that'd gone on in their absence, but neither party sees it that way.

I did something... I had authorization to do it, but apparently the person who gave me the authorization feels she wouldnt have done it had she known a particular part. Well, that part didnt come up in the consultation about wether or not I should do this thing, and she never asked, so I didn't think to bring it up. So we agree for me to go ahead, and I went ahead.

This past saturday, what was left hit the fan. Now I said I'd try to take care of it today, and I rushed & made a 50 min commute in 20 (during rush hour no less) to make sure I got there with time to spare to sort it all out. It didn't get sorted out. It might tomorrow, but here, "tomorrow" is a taboo word that is likely to put you out on the street. And then where were you when I called you 17 times? Whatever executive decision I made, bite me. You weren't there, and when I called you for input, you still weren't there. You're never there.

Thing that I dont get is, you said I could, so I did. So why is this all my fault? Why am I the bad one? Why do you think I deliberately made a move when I refuse to do that very thing without your expressed permission, and without deliberation as to the consequences? We deliberated the consequences, is it my fault you didn't ask? I didn't think to bring it up, else I would have.

Oh, but you see that as deliberate, too.

Why is everything so Goddamn serious?

What happened to laughter and light?

Why are you always the victim?

Sure, this particular situation isn't funny, but when's the last time you laughed? Hell, when's the last time I laughed?

I'm sorry you think I'm ruining your life, or my life, or our life.

Oh well.

I'd move out, but 1. I dont think I could afford it, and 2. Even if I could afford it, I'd still feel obligated to share my money with you and then #1 again.

It's either me or you. I'm not quite there yet, but I'm close.

Very close.


Saturday, November 11, 2006

completely forgot!

monday, day one: not much to mention, no kids present
tuesday, holiday: holiday, therefore nothing to mention
wednesday, personal day: personal day therefore nothing to mention
thursday, technical day two: two bloody noses, a pencil through a hand and a bumped head
friday, technical day three: one sprained ankle, disintegrated glasses and irate parents.

This wednesday: tater tots
This friday: rib sandwich.

Can't wait.

In other news, it's really cute to see grown men blush when they speak to you. It was really touching. I tried not to go for pity, but whatever. Really pulled at my heartstrings, in a milo & otis kind of way. Awwww.


Wednesday, November 08, 2006

Do not read this entry because I guarantee you will not understand it.

edited to add disclaimer: If you read this, please don't respond to it. There is no place else for me to put this, so I wrote it here. Like the title says, you will not understand it. This is not written for you. This is written for me.

I don't know how to love you anymore.
All I've wanted was for you to love me
and I realize now, that that day will never come.
you will never look at me and say you're proud of me
or that you love me
because you are not capable of saying those words.

Whatever it is you think I'm going through,
I'm going through way more than what I let on.
And I let on alot.
I let on alot because those are the things I *can* talk about.
They're not important. I know that they're not important,
but those are the elements I can control, that I can think about, and hash out out loud until I find a way to bend myself around & make it work.
for once, in my life,
I would like for someone to stop telling me to man up
& that I'm overreacting because everything is going to be okay.
I, for once, would like to stop being patronized for going crazy over
"the little stuff"
I KNOW that there are people in MUCH worse situations than I am.
I pray that those people have a better support system than I found in you.
For ONCE, stop acting like I'm petty and just acknowledge that I'm going through something. I am not other people. Don't judge me that way.

That is all I want. I KNOW that I'll adapt to whatever life throws at me. I've been fucking adapting since I was born, and I'M FUCKING TIRED OF IT.

All I want is for someone to look at me and NOT tell me I'm strong and I'll get through it. To NOT see a pity case. To NOT see a looney girl who doesn't know a good thing or can't appreciate one.

You don't have to save me. Not that you tried. I just need an ear to talk out loud to, to try to focus on one aspect of life and work it out. Your version of a pep talk sucks. Do you read me? I AM TIRED OF BEING THE STRONG ONE.

I just want someone to be able to acknowledge whatever it is I say I'm going through. Because no one yet has noticed that the bullshit I give on the surface has nothing to do with what I'm really scared of. I ramble because I can't put into words the things that actually bother me. I haven't studied the language yet that conjugates the images that my mind races through. I'm trapped in my throbbing head with headaches that don't go away and face people that don't get that I'm in pain, or that I haven't felt my arm in two weeks, and that I'm scared to death, and that I have no idea what is going to happen to me and I'm in a situation I have no control over and I'm terrified that everything is going wrong, and that at the end of every day, I wonder if I've just made the biggest mistake of my life. It's everything and nothing all at once; it's everyone and no one. Only one other time in my LIFE have I felt so helpless. I went through that time alone, and it looks like I've got to go through this alone as well.

But you don't care. So long as I sit there and do what you feel I'm supposed to, and not get on your nerves, or interfere, you're happy. That's not love. Yet you don't share with me what you feel I ought to know, and then we do our dance again, with me tripping up mines I didn't know existed, spending energy figuring out ways to make it up to you and get you to love me again.

I loved you the best I could. I tried, and today you made it clear that I will never and can never make you happy. So, I'll make it easy for you. I will never again mention anything that bothers me, because I'm just going to "be strong" and get over it anyway. No point mentioning it to anyone. I cannot love you anymore, because there isn't room. You hurt me just by looking at me. I was better when I walled myself up. But I made the mistake of opening up to you. Don't worry, my mistake. it won't happen again.

I don't love you anymore. I feel nothing now. It's a dull pain, like the one in my head. Don't worry, I'll still do my duty towards you, whatever that may be. I'll make sure you're okay, thought of, looked after, fed. But there's no love in it.

My love died. The tears that I'm shedding now are the last you'll never see.
I tried to make you happy.
I failed.
But you already predicted that, didn't you.

I'd say it hurts to say goodbye to you, but you can't feel pain when you're dead inside.

I loved you. I really did. But I give up. And in the end, it feels like I'm more like you than I want to admit. And that scares me more. Not that I'll ever tell you about it.