Wednesday, June 15, 2011

If You Give a Pig a Pancake...

Anyone who has had the pleasure of reading regularly to a child, likely knows the story I've premised in my title. For those of you who do not have that pleasure, it is loosely based on the old adage: If you give an inch, they'll take a mile.

Is everyone tired of hearing me bitch and moan about my rather wonderful life yet? 

Anyone? 

Anyone? 

Because I am about to bitch about my otherwise rather wonderful life ... and if you can't stomach it, you really should go now.

Run along.

Chickens.

So ... my weekend. I had a very lengthy purge typed out on this page regarding every slight perpetrated against me this past weekend. A very lengthy purge. I have opted to spare you, my bleeps, the eye strain.

You have AA to thank for this act of charity on my part.

Everyone take a moment and say "Thank you, AA ... for takin' one for the team". Seriously ... it was a long and painful rant. Thanks AA.

So that you don't feel totally left out of my pity party (heaven forbid such an atrocity) I have conceded to provide you with more of a Coles Notes version and hope that this format takes the edge off the scrimey, self pitying tone that my original post carried.

~My mother and sister pestered me into having a dinner party for my sister's birthday.
~When asked which day, I stated Sunday... they wanted Saturday ... Saturday, it was.
~Mom decided she wanted lobster, and when I wasn't on board for that, she got pissy with me (namely, because she wanted me to pay for them).
~Comments were made ... many, many comments that are grinding my soul and making my chest burn.
~Brand new boyfriends showed up ... prepared to spend the night ... and when both my husband and myself stated that they could not sleep "together" in the bedroom directly adjacent to my 6 and 8 year old daughters, there was an "issue" with our rules.

 I could go on ... and did in great detail, but what I have learned is: It really doesn't help. I'm still every bit as mad as I was. And it doesn't end there ... nope - there is more.

Two days ago, Minion took a call pertaining to the private mortgage fund we have started up. He spoke to the client for about 3 - 5 minutes and then emailed me instructions to call this person back and take an application.

Perhaps this does not carry the impact on you, that it did to me. But WHOTHEFUCKAREYOU to be a) issuing orders to me, b) too lazy to take your own fucking application and, c) just in general - who THA FUCK R U? I have my hands full enough with Narci as a boss ... I do NOT need another!

THEN - after I called and left a message for this client to call me back ... Narci comes to me the next morning and is all over me about whether or not I had gotten back to this guy. Uh ... HULLO, arsehole ... I have worked for you for seven bloody years, here ... how often do I just simply NOT call clients? If it was so goddamned important that an application be taken "post haste", why in the livin' friggen fuck didn't MINION TAKE IT??? And I DID call the guy - he WASN'T AVAILABLE.

I can't do this. I can't. Ima break in half ... or possibly quarters ... or just fracture into splinters soon. I've been struggling with the whole medication issue, but honestly ... I just started taking my anti depressants again on Monday ... in the hope that I can numb some of this stuff. I'd have taken almost anything to make this stop. It hasn't worked yet. Nothing does. Not even self medicating (with alcohol). 

I'm not sleeping, I'm not able to eat (and I can ALWAYS eat). It's like there is this giant ball of static electricity stuck in the pit of my stomach. I can't swallow anything - there's no room for food with all of this anger in there. Cripes almighty, I can't even poop, I'm so friggen uptight.  I need sleep. If for no other reason, just to escape for a little while. My husband is starting to have that squinky "I'm getting scared for you" look on his face.

He even sent me flowers at work last week in the hopes of brightening my day ... but honestly, I need my mother out of my house (and my sister in tow) and I need a new job... and maybe a vacation away would be beneficial. Nowhere crazy ... just away. If our damned trailer was fixed, I'd be quite happy just camping - if the G-D rain would ever let the hell up!

Stop the world, people ... Dani needs a pee break!

I know there is no advice out there that is going to be any different than what I have said up there and what anybody has said to me for years ... get out of that job ... don't live with your mother .... DUH! I know ... but it just isn't so simple as all that. I am looking for jobs. I'm even willing to take less money than I make here - just to be free of the toxicity. Plus, we are trying to evict our latest set of "Bisitors" so that Mom can move back into her own place. Nothing seems to wanna work at this point ... certainly not fast enough to save me from fracture.

It's just so bloody frustrating and I feel so trapped - like a caged animal, I just pace ... back and forth ... back and forth.


3 comments:

Melinda said...

Wanna come over? You've been to Ontario before, you know where it is.

Xtreme said...

You know where we live (sorta), and we have spare rooms, so start driving, and I'll head to the liquor store in preparation.

But on a more serious note, we do still have that cement mixer...

brite said...

I know you think it's impossible, but if you could make it across the pond, you've always got a bed here in la Suisse.