Apologies to Maroon 5 for the title, I suppose. Whatever. Adam Levine will no doubt tenderly and sensitively weep all the way to the bank or tattoo parlor. And then write another song about a woman who treated him badly and how he secretly fantasizes about her death, but paradoxically, also misses her.
I’ve just been recovering from the holidays. So, you know, it’s work, and at work, get bitched at for not doing enough work, or not doing everything according to exact standards because there’s so much it’s hard to balance getting it all done on the clock, then work off the clock and get bitched at for not doing enough or finishing enough on their timetables. The clients send in the compliments about the quality of work and followup, the management rips it up and says it wasn’t done fast enough or right, so I don’t deserve a raise. Then it’s home, and get bitched at for not making enough money, and for not doing any, or enough, housework, do some laundry, get bitched at for doing the laundry, do some dishes, get bitched at for not doing enough dishes, do all the dishes, take out the trash, vacuum floors and staircase, sweep and mop the floors, bleach the toilets and sinks, and hear crickets in response. Oh, and being told I’m unattractive and then I try to clean myself and I hear how the wash cloth I left behind smells bad, not that I smell good or that the lighter workload at home is appreciated, although I’ve just washed the 10 wash cloths everyone else left in or on or around the shower, in the laundry I just got criticized for washing. And it’s watching the cars I’m not driving fall apart at a rate more costly than our combined incomes can repair, not to mention my teeth which still need repair. Yeah, life is good.
The miracle, or the insanity, is that I’m able to get out of bed, which I have to do every day or the dog would have to crap in the house somewhere. We go for walks in the sunlight, if the sun is shining, so shut the fuck up, all you people who think the fucking cure for depressive episodes is to just go for a walk in the sunlight. Mrs M shoves the vitamin D at me too, so shut the fuck up about that too. Because sure, it must be working or I might feel even lower, I guess.
The curse is, I can’t keep up with shit, so the small things get attention and the big things go to shit until they require a balloon payment I can’t fucking afford. It’s falling apart around me and I can’t do enough fast enough, or earn enough fast enough, to fix or replace. I’m broke and I’m broken and I’m tired and can’t sleep well. I was up all night Saturday night and well into Sunday afternoon before I allowed myself to take a nap, only to hear shit about how I slept for hours. Instead of what? Saturday I recalled the sting of hearing how dismally tiny our checking account balance was last weekend after fixing a car and finding out how bad the other car is (which you have to pay to know), and then paradoxically, on Saturday, she wanted me to be all upbeat and happy about going shopping to find and assume payments on a new set of someone else’s problems. Joy. So we test-drove two that were fine, but I said I wasn’t ready to commit to anything, (because frankly we didn’t have the money) and mercifully we went home without grabbing at another $6K to $10K of debt, not that our credit would have allowed that. Last time we asked some ass hole creditors wouldn’t even lend us $2K, fuckers. We pay EVERYTHING back, it just takes a while on our incomes. The proof is our credit score, which wasn’t enough for those ass holes. We’re still paying down our debts, slowly but hopefully, while I watch the inexorable decay of cars and teeth and furniture and carpets and external wood accents on our house. Fuck. More work, more work, more work. And yet, Mrs M persists in hope.
It’s kind of a sideways compliment to Mrs M that she is so very hopeful still, and that she hasn’t kicked me to the curb. I don’t honestly know how the fuck she does it. I understand the insults. They’re half true, and half, frustrated bitch. And I made her that way, it’s my fault.
I’m sorry for not writing, but when all I have to say is the unfortunate reality of it, you’ve probably got enough of that to share in your own life. Positive thinking? I’m positive this sucks. Prayer? Well, if the definition of insanity is doing the same things and expecting different results, then my prayers are insanity because I keep asking and I keep genuinely hoping that I get the answers I want and need, I just keep waiting and watching as things approach the otherwise inevitable.
I actually called the doctor yesterday, because I ran out of medication. I was on a break from my shit schedule, and remembered to do it. So of course, they were closed for lunch. I’ll try again shortly, before I have to get to work. Hooray. Work. Let me get a cup of coffee, because bourbon isn’t a good idea before work, not to mention I’m almost out of the small bottle she bought a while ago for me. Before Thanksgiving. I’ve been trying to make it last. One plus was that she made a pecan pie that called for a little, which makes it taste great. It’s a little too sweet and sticky, but in extreme moderation, like, one or two bites, it’s great. Oh and believe me when I mentioned the diminished quantity of bourbon, I heard about how “It’s going fast; maybe you’re drinking more than you should,” from those perfect, beautiful lips she keeps mostly to herself. And my mind responding quietly, “but not enough.”
Well, let me call the doctor and see if I can get an appointment because it’s time again for the boy scout physical so I can help on camp-outs if I sign up to go, if I can get a new tent because mine broke. And I need some medication I guess. It must be hope– It’s another gesture against the feelings of futility. If I didn’t have a gesture to brandish at the feelings and the universe fucker, may he be banished to the darkest, iciest, hottest, smallest corner of hell available and have to share it with someone who’s truly awful, someone could stick a fork in me, because I’d be done.
I hope things get better for all of us. Fucking soon.