Agitation abounds . . .
I'm severely angry and irritated right now.
Why?
There's so many reasons, yet none.
I sat on the bus next to a woman who smelled like a skunk. I hate the bus. It's dirty and there's people on there that really should be institutionalized. No joke. Bus 10 is getting later and later and I refuse to leave at 8am to get to work by 9:30am. As Kit pointed out, she's 50 miles away and she leaves at 8am to be here by 9:30am and I shouldn't have to. I only live a little over three miles away from this damned building.
I'm trying to calm down but I can't. I feel angry and sullen and mean.
I have no sympathy today.
I've had a headache everyday for over a week. My jaw hurts a lot and my right eye aches. I can't sleep on my left side because I got a shot on Monday in said arm. You should see the bruise. I have to get one more shot in February before I'm done with the gdmf shots.
I have an appointment to see a doctor in December. That irritates me too. It's necessary but undignified.
My mother pissed me off in so many ways lately. I was telling her how Jen wanted to elope and how I know I couldn't because of my family's reaction. My mother said "oh, I never thought you'd get married."
She could have bitten her tongue off. I listened to her fall all over herself, trying to smooth it over by saying that she had never thought about me having a wedding nor how she'd react if I would get married.
I told her, in a flat tone, "Good save, mother."
Then! Oi! My Kate says to my mother that she and Megan liked Gerry. Then Kate asked if Gerry was my boyfriend.
My mother's response?
"He's a man, not a boy."
Kate stared at her and said "I suppose, yes."
And my mother said, "He's your Auntie Anne's friend."
fuck you mom.
I almost called her today to be like "By the way, if Gerry were to show up today and ask me to marry him, I wouldn't hesitate to say yes." Damned old woman!
What else do you call a guy you're not engaged to but you're technically dating? In these modern times, we call them boyfriends.
Damn it!
Then, I won't get to see Gerry until maybe Xmas day . . .
Then there's the fiasco of me going home . . .
My parents (or as my mother said, "your father" which means her too.) want me to stay in Bolivar. I don't want to go into a smell cold depressing house and sleep on a mattress in the corner of a cold room that used to be mine. My mother emailed me and was like "Are you staying at home during the holidays? if so, i have those days
off and you can borrow my car anytime. (an incentive)" and, for the first time ever, "Your father wants to know if you need us to come to Baltimore to pick you up?"
I told I didn't know.
And I still don't.
So she added this: "...I think your father is sort of hoping that you are coming to bolivar to stay. That is why I offered the car. Gerry is welcome any time. Also, Bill wanted to know about having christmas after you are home. I think he was thinking about christmas dinner or homemade noodles."
I stared at the email. I look at the email every day. It irritates me and makes me feel guilty all at the same time.
I found myself trying to figure out how to stay at Gerry's (because there, I feel like I'm welcomed . . . that I'm apart of something . . . that I'm not there just to take care of the laundry and clean the house and keep my parens amused) and at my parents.
Then I got angry.
I resent not being able to go home for the holidays. But at the same time, I'm glad I don't have to. Mother was saying how she hasn't cooked Xmas or Thanksgiving dinner in about 10 years because I've been doing so.
It's true. Father puts the turkey in the oven and mother makes the homemade noodles but the rest . . . is me.
Positive things, Anne. Positive things . . .
We have a table and four chairs in the apartment now. They're nice. I'm excited that I can actually start serving dinner on a table now. I refuse to have the table end up like my mothers or apartment 4's. It will be a table for eating, not someone's school paint project or a impromtu desk stacked high with crap. It won't be a place we'll toss all the stuff we don't know what to do with.
Damn it, my headache is coming back. See, it waxes and wanes everyday, but it's always there. But at least my stomach is leaving me alone at the moment.
Two days until Sara's and Jen's birthday.
My hands hurt. I've ripped the nails off again.
I feel like I'm running out of energy and my day just started.
I'm trying to listen to calming music, but none of it is working.
I feel like crying . . . I want someone to hold me in their arms and let me dampen their shirt with my tears. I want to not feel like this.
Did I tell you that Gerry and I danced at his cousin's wedding? He requested our song . . . "Moonlight Serenade". *sigh* He knows how to pull at my heartstrings, huh?
I hope you all find that one person that, when you're in their arms, time means nothing. That when you sway back and forth on the dance floor that the world melts away and all that matters is you and them.
. . .
Xmas is coming. 27 days or so, right?
I hate Xmas.
I hate the commercialization and the hooplah and the crap that goes with the holiday. You can't just have a nice day with your family.
Oh no . . . it's about gifts and packages, boxes, and bags. It's about all this material crap and not about being with your family.
But I don't get to be with my family this year.
But . . . it is just a day. If a rose is a rose is a rose, then a day is a day is a day.
I want to give simple gifts. I want to get things for people that they'll like. Get things for people I care about . . .
But I don't have enough money to do that.
So here I am, in a quandry . . . who do I buy for and who do I casually "forget" about?
I hate Xmas.
Then I find out that some of my coworkers are buying me things. Damnit! I hadn't intended on buy anything for anyone! Now I have to . . .
See how this escalates?
Then there's Gerry . . . my handsome Jedi-Hobbit. I love him . . . I love him with every fiber of my being. I don't know what to get him . . .
I mean, I have a fair idea, but . . .
Maybe I'm coming down with something.
I haven't felt well in a long while and I'm tense all the time. I need to sleep and not get awakened by the neighbors or traffic.
Maybe I'll buy some ear plugs and stuff them in my ears and try to sleep on the weekend or something.
I never seem to have enough time for anything . . .
But the biggest thing is that I can't relax . . . not one iota.
oh well.
Why?
There's so many reasons, yet none.
I sat on the bus next to a woman who smelled like a skunk. I hate the bus. It's dirty and there's people on there that really should be institutionalized. No joke. Bus 10 is getting later and later and I refuse to leave at 8am to get to work by 9:30am. As Kit pointed out, she's 50 miles away and she leaves at 8am to be here by 9:30am and I shouldn't have to. I only live a little over three miles away from this damned building.
I'm trying to calm down but I can't. I feel angry and sullen and mean.
I have no sympathy today.
I've had a headache everyday for over a week. My jaw hurts a lot and my right eye aches. I can't sleep on my left side because I got a shot on Monday in said arm. You should see the bruise. I have to get one more shot in February before I'm done with the gdmf shots.
I have an appointment to see a doctor in December. That irritates me too. It's necessary but undignified.
My mother pissed me off in so many ways lately. I was telling her how Jen wanted to elope and how I know I couldn't because of my family's reaction. My mother said "oh, I never thought you'd get married."
She could have bitten her tongue off. I listened to her fall all over herself, trying to smooth it over by saying that she had never thought about me having a wedding nor how she'd react if I would get married.
I told her, in a flat tone, "Good save, mother."
Then! Oi! My Kate says to my mother that she and Megan liked Gerry. Then Kate asked if Gerry was my boyfriend.
My mother's response?
"He's a man, not a boy."
Kate stared at her and said "I suppose, yes."
And my mother said, "He's your Auntie Anne's friend."
fuck you mom.
I almost called her today to be like "By the way, if Gerry were to show up today and ask me to marry him, I wouldn't hesitate to say yes." Damned old woman!
What else do you call a guy you're not engaged to but you're technically dating? In these modern times, we call them boyfriends.
Damn it!
Then, I won't get to see Gerry until maybe Xmas day . . .
Then there's the fiasco of me going home . . .
My parents (or as my mother said, "your father" which means her too.) want me to stay in Bolivar. I don't want to go into a smell cold depressing house and sleep on a mattress in the corner of a cold room that used to be mine. My mother emailed me and was like "Are you staying at home during the holidays? if so, i have those days
off and you can borrow my car anytime. (an incentive)" and, for the first time ever, "Your father wants to know if you need us to come to Baltimore to pick you up?"
I told I didn't know.
And I still don't.
So she added this: "...I think your father is sort of hoping that you are coming to bolivar to stay. That is why I offered the car. Gerry is welcome any time. Also, Bill wanted to know about having christmas after you are home. I think he was thinking about christmas dinner or homemade noodles."
I stared at the email. I look at the email every day. It irritates me and makes me feel guilty all at the same time.
I found myself trying to figure out how to stay at Gerry's (because there, I feel like I'm welcomed . . . that I'm apart of something . . . that I'm not there just to take care of the laundry and clean the house and keep my parens amused) and at my parents.
Then I got angry.
I resent not being able to go home for the holidays. But at the same time, I'm glad I don't have to. Mother was saying how she hasn't cooked Xmas or Thanksgiving dinner in about 10 years because I've been doing so.
It's true. Father puts the turkey in the oven and mother makes the homemade noodles but the rest . . . is me.
Positive things, Anne. Positive things . . .
We have a table and four chairs in the apartment now. They're nice. I'm excited that I can actually start serving dinner on a table now. I refuse to have the table end up like my mothers or apartment 4's. It will be a table for eating, not someone's school paint project or a impromtu desk stacked high with crap. It won't be a place we'll toss all the stuff we don't know what to do with.
Damn it, my headache is coming back. See, it waxes and wanes everyday, but it's always there. But at least my stomach is leaving me alone at the moment.
Two days until Sara's and Jen's birthday.
My hands hurt. I've ripped the nails off again.
I feel like I'm running out of energy and my day just started.
I'm trying to listen to calming music, but none of it is working.
I feel like crying . . . I want someone to hold me in their arms and let me dampen their shirt with my tears. I want to not feel like this.
Did I tell you that Gerry and I danced at his cousin's wedding? He requested our song . . . "Moonlight Serenade". *sigh* He knows how to pull at my heartstrings, huh?
I hope you all find that one person that, when you're in their arms, time means nothing. That when you sway back and forth on the dance floor that the world melts away and all that matters is you and them.
. . .
Xmas is coming. 27 days or so, right?
I hate Xmas.
I hate the commercialization and the hooplah and the crap that goes with the holiday. You can't just have a nice day with your family.
Oh no . . . it's about gifts and packages, boxes, and bags. It's about all this material crap and not about being with your family.
But I don't get to be with my family this year.
But . . . it is just a day. If a rose is a rose is a rose, then a day is a day is a day.
I want to give simple gifts. I want to get things for people that they'll like. Get things for people I care about . . .
But I don't have enough money to do that.
So here I am, in a quandry . . . who do I buy for and who do I casually "forget" about?
I hate Xmas.
Then I find out that some of my coworkers are buying me things. Damnit! I hadn't intended on buy anything for anyone! Now I have to . . .
See how this escalates?
Then there's Gerry . . . my handsome Jedi-Hobbit. I love him . . . I love him with every fiber of my being. I don't know what to get him . . .
I mean, I have a fair idea, but . . .
Maybe I'm coming down with something.
I haven't felt well in a long while and I'm tense all the time. I need to sleep and not get awakened by the neighbors or traffic.
Maybe I'll buy some ear plugs and stuff them in my ears and try to sleep on the weekend or something.
I never seem to have enough time for anything . . .
But the biggest thing is that I can't relax . . . not one iota.
oh well.