Last night, the daughter went out to dinner and a movie with friends. We had a verbal understanding that after the movie, she'd return home. I had plans to meet up with some friends and was planning on heading that direction when she returned home. She texted me at the end of the movie and indicated that she was going to stay and grab some coffee with a friend and would be home soon.
About an hour and a half later, I texted her, just to ask if she planned on coming home anytime soon. I don't think my question was unreasonable. I know that since she's had her birthday this weekend, the state is more than willing to let her drive until 1:30 in the morning, but the state's curfew doesn't automatically indicate the Mommy's curfew.
So, here's the struggle. She's never actually had a curfew. We just talk about things when they come up and make a decision about an expected return time. Now, however, I feel a strong compelling feeling inside me to actually make a curfew.
Our relationship is amazingly awesome and we really don't disagree, but when I mentioned the idea of having a stated curfew with a remaining opening for discussion as events occur, she responded like such a teenager.
...and then I spun into a myriad of stupid thinking that spins and I wonder if I'm giving her a curfew for my benefit or just because parentally, I should. I wonder if putting an official time out there is found by her to be offensive because of all that she does for me with the boys and around the house. I wonder what difference it really makes if she gets an attitude about having a curfew. I am, after all, the mom. Right?
So, why is it that I feel gross about it? Ugh! I hate it when my brain isn't working right.
I admit that I haven't taken my meds pretty much at all for the last month and for that, I'm very sorry. I can't wait until the full effects of the medicine to take hold once again so that I can feel a little bit more control over the thoughts I have.
Sunday, February 1, 2009
Saturday, January 31, 2009
ungrateful swine!
We all know that money's a sore subject for anyone, especially in the days of today's economy. Seriously, though, I've been taking care of this one particular bill that just pisses me off for about 7 months now and another payment is due again next week. I could just spit at the conversation I had last night with the not-yet-ex.
I didn't expect a "thank you" but good LORD, I didn't think he'd blast me with all the pepper spray he did last night. I paid the fucking bill. again. and he's still driving the van. Still. without any responsibility to me for the payment.
I'm still thinking and there's some junk up in my head that got a little rattled up after our conversation. Today is a day that makes me very glad that I'm still on meds. My seratonin feels like it's literally jumping away from the receptors and that's left me feeling rather unsettled.
How is it that two people can be in the same place, at the same time, going through the same things, and come out with such diametrically opposed perspectives on what happened?
I didn't expect a "thank you" but good LORD, I didn't think he'd blast me with all the pepper spray he did last night. I paid the fucking bill. again. and he's still driving the van. Still. without any responsibility to me for the payment.
I'm still thinking and there's some junk up in my head that got a little rattled up after our conversation. Today is a day that makes me very glad that I'm still on meds. My seratonin feels like it's literally jumping away from the receptors and that's left me feeling rather unsettled.
How is it that two people can be in the same place, at the same time, going through the same things, and come out with such diametrically opposed perspectives on what happened?
Thursday, January 29, 2009
and so I will write
One of my neighbors, here in the pink apartment complex, was very brave tonight. She totally beat me to The Publish and I could just let her win and be fine with that, but I'm feeling a little like the salve of writing is needed in my heart.
A lot has happened for me in the months since July. Really, very little has been more difficult than it would have been if he had stayed. I've proven an awful lot to myself about myself. I've learned more about me than I already knew and I'm excited about what else I have yet to discover. I've embraced confidence in a new way. I've shed off feelings of guilt and paranoia. I've started to work out and I'm even able to take less of my medication.
But then, I hit a wall. It started right after the first of the year and it's all centered around my job. The job. The reason we moved here in the first place. I'm a committed employee, but after the last 3 weeks, I feel an awful lot like being committed. And I'm angry. I'm angry about so many things.
I'm angry at my employer for laying on the guilt with just the right words that I had no choice but to go. I'm angry that in my own defense of myself and my time with the kids, I didn't stand up for me when the chips were thrown across the table with the blame squarely pointed at me. I'm angry that I let myself get so tired. I'm angry that my house was such a disaster when I'd arrive home every night after 4 hours of driving and 10 hours of working. I'm angry that for all the things that went wrong, the product issues weren't new but had rather been issues I'd reported months and months ago which were rejected by the snobby developers who "didn't think it (was) a priority". I'm angry that I was told at least 3 different times that "today would be my last day on site" and that it just never turned out that way. I'm angry that people would assume that I drove 4 hours a day for my own profit.
Then I get to the real dark place - where I realize that all that pointed anger really comes right back into my own heart. It's here that I realize that I'm angry, most of all, with myself.
I'm angry at myself for being angry about the messy house. My daughter was amazing and went FAR and ABOVE the norm. She kept her brothers safe and fed them in my absence. She was understanding and even gave up opportunities for herself because of me and my stupid job. How dare I be angry at her, at them, for not cleaning up.
At the very same moment, I'm angry at myself for not being a harder mom. For not making shorty pick his shit up, every damn day. For letting him play in the garage and undo the exhaustive work I've put into getting it cleaned up.
Here's a strange place for my anger, but inevitably it goes here. I'm angry that his dad was the exact same, disrespectful, slob that he is. I'm angry that I put up with it. That I'd enabled it for so long. I'm angry that I let myself be bossed around and disrespected and hollered at and reprimanded in front of the children. I'm angry that I didn't stand my ground with him about the sorts of television he would expose the kids to or the places he'd traverse on the internet.
And then, I realize that I'm angry at him, for of all things, leaving.
How dare I? I asked him to go. Damnit though? I didn't say go 3000 miles away. My recommendation was for him to get work here, find an apartment, and live. I selfishly realize that had he done what I wanted him to do, then the last 3 weeks wouldn't have been so hard on my daughter or on me. Because he would have been here to parent. Well, not here in my house, but not nowhere.
That gets my head a'spinnin' and that's not good for anyone. That, my friends, is why I write. I'm hoping that in the coming days, maybe weeks, I'll be able to get more out. To find myself feeling through some of this doubt and anger. I'm hoping to redecorate the walls of my heart with peace that will last for a while. I'm hoping to find myself in a place that embraces all of the changes I've made over the last year and yearns to keep on growing.
I like me. It's been a long time since I've really felt like saying that was the truth. Anger has a strange way of sneaking in and getting comfortable on the love seat. I don't want to let Anger move in on my new me and try to twist the truths of myself that I now know and love.
A lot has happened for me in the months since July. Really, very little has been more difficult than it would have been if he had stayed. I've proven an awful lot to myself about myself. I've learned more about me than I already knew and I'm excited about what else I have yet to discover. I've embraced confidence in a new way. I've shed off feelings of guilt and paranoia. I've started to work out and I'm even able to take less of my medication.
But then, I hit a wall. It started right after the first of the year and it's all centered around my job. The job. The reason we moved here in the first place. I'm a committed employee, but after the last 3 weeks, I feel an awful lot like being committed. And I'm angry. I'm angry about so many things.
I'm angry at my employer for laying on the guilt with just the right words that I had no choice but to go. I'm angry that in my own defense of myself and my time with the kids, I didn't stand up for me when the chips were thrown across the table with the blame squarely pointed at me. I'm angry that I let myself get so tired. I'm angry that my house was such a disaster when I'd arrive home every night after 4 hours of driving and 10 hours of working. I'm angry that for all the things that went wrong, the product issues weren't new but had rather been issues I'd reported months and months ago which were rejected by the snobby developers who "didn't think it (was) a priority". I'm angry that I was told at least 3 different times that "today would be my last day on site" and that it just never turned out that way. I'm angry that people would assume that I drove 4 hours a day for my own profit.
Then I get to the real dark place - where I realize that all that pointed anger really comes right back into my own heart. It's here that I realize that I'm angry, most of all, with myself.
I'm angry at myself for being angry about the messy house. My daughter was amazing and went FAR and ABOVE the norm. She kept her brothers safe and fed them in my absence. She was understanding and even gave up opportunities for herself because of me and my stupid job. How dare I be angry at her, at them, for not cleaning up.
At the very same moment, I'm angry at myself for not being a harder mom. For not making shorty pick his shit up, every damn day. For letting him play in the garage and undo the exhaustive work I've put into getting it cleaned up.
Here's a strange place for my anger, but inevitably it goes here. I'm angry that his dad was the exact same, disrespectful, slob that he is. I'm angry that I put up with it. That I'd enabled it for so long. I'm angry that I let myself be bossed around and disrespected and hollered at and reprimanded in front of the children. I'm angry that I didn't stand my ground with him about the sorts of television he would expose the kids to or the places he'd traverse on the internet.
And then, I realize that I'm angry at him, for of all things, leaving.
How dare I? I asked him to go. Damnit though? I didn't say go 3000 miles away. My recommendation was for him to get work here, find an apartment, and live. I selfishly realize that had he done what I wanted him to do, then the last 3 weeks wouldn't have been so hard on my daughter or on me. Because he would have been here to parent. Well, not here in my house, but not nowhere.
That gets my head a'spinnin' and that's not good for anyone. That, my friends, is why I write. I'm hoping that in the coming days, maybe weeks, I'll be able to get more out. To find myself feeling through some of this doubt and anger. I'm hoping to redecorate the walls of my heart with peace that will last for a while. I'm hoping to find myself in a place that embraces all of the changes I've made over the last year and yearns to keep on growing.
I like me. It's been a long time since I've really felt like saying that was the truth. Anger has a strange way of sneaking in and getting comfortable on the love seat. I don't want to let Anger move in on my new me and try to twist the truths of myself that I now know and love.
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