There are a number of fundamental elements of my life that have run amok of late:
Our bankruptcy is going to drag on another year... all the while, gathering money we'll owe the Trustee... so the reality of our existing income situation dictates we will be paying this off for the next three years. Which means it will take that long to be discharged.
My best friend and I are in an unpleasant phase. It doesn't happen often, but it is not an easy time... for either of us, I imagine. The truth is, I am hurt. My feelings were hurt when she blew me off for the movie date. I know it's no big deal to her, but to me going out to a movie is a big commitment of my time and energy... she doesn't realize what these things cost me. I know that... so what is the point of taking issue? Who does that benefit? It doesn't even serve me... except that I would have answered the question she asked me... right before she tore a strip off me for 'ghosting' her.
I'm salty with my mother and sister(s). The events of last Summer are still a fairly fresh wound... mostly because my girls got it in the face this time, and I couldn't protect them from that. And my youngest, in particular, is pissed off. At all of them, my mother included - she had her own part she played, as well.
Anyway... they will spend Christmas with us - as per the norm. I have the kids. They come to us. They know I would never sacrifice my kids' Christmas morning at home.
I'm feeling resentful of the whole thing. I don't want to pretend I'm perfectly fine... I'm not! I'm still wounded. I don't want to talk about it. I don't want to think about it. Nothing will change. What is the damned point? Aren't we told to 'pick our battles'? I really don't want to die on this hill... why stir the shit pot? So I gotta deal... for the sake of the holidays being peaceful.
Swallow harder, Dani.
Speaking of swallowing, I attempted to get an account for oil delivery today. Right after I came upstairs with furnace oil on my hands, having just bled and re-started the furnace - a skill I'd have died happily, never knowing.
I was turned down in such a way that I came away feeling kicked... I really didn't want to order my oil from them... alas, they are the only company we have dealt with. I don't have time for someone else to squeeze us in when they can. I need oil, dammit!
So, I called back.
Sigh
What I will say is this: the gal that took that call, handled me with such careful concern, it completely changed my opinion of the company. I'll have a couple of hundred litres tomorrow morning. She completely put me at ease, without sharing a single thing personal, but in a personal way. That was the highlight of the past five weeks for me (sadly). I wish I could tell her that without being a weirdo.
OMFG! I swear, my mother just texted me asking for help planning her upcoming 'gathering' she insists on having every year. I get it... she wants to do a thing... but do it, for fuck's sakes! Don't fuckin' dump it on my head three fucking days before the event! She wants me to call her. How in the fuck am I supposed to not sound incredulous?
Can I 'mental health' myself out of this one?
It wouldn't be an untruth.
My expectations where my husband is concerned, are unrealistic - at best. I'm frustrated with how much he is travelling. A thing he does for work... which he does so much of, because he has to... because I haven't been. Not that my contributions to this family don't equal half... honestly, it is likely more like three quarters to his one, but let's be real here people; money talks and bullshit walks.
There are several projects in our house right now that are unfinished. Partially because there are competing priorities, partially because only some are landlord funded, and partially because my husband has the attention span of a flea on a meth-head. Some of it frustrates the crap out of me.
Sometimes I feel like I never do anything but work. Perhaps he feels the same way, too. I guess I just don't care for his inability to accomplish results as quickly as I tend to... though the stuff I do, I have done for years on end, and the stuff he does is often 'one-offs'. Fixing stuff. Plugging, unclogging and plunging things.
It's all very glamourous.
It's all a serious boner killer.
Which brings me to my final complaint of the night. My sex life is really suffering right now. I'm not into it at all... and I need sex.
I need it.
It's the only bright spot in a very bleak couple of months.
Please give me back the sex...
Maybe a little romantic getaway... that I don't have to plan.
Speaking of planning, I have to call my mother before it gets much later... fuck me gently with a wire brush. Fuck!
Comments