Just up too early
Had to get up at five o' clock this morning because Mike had an early meeting. I'm glad we commute together, I can't imagine not having that extra time to talk about random crap (today it was the mediocrity of today's actors and actresses, and who we think the exceptions are), but I wish we were commuting together a little later in the day.
I can remember when doing anything together was just some misguided, far-off fantasy. Having a long distance relationship for three solid years (and a couple extra years off and on before that) was the hardest thing I think I've ever done. And now that we've been living together for five months, we both agree that we couldn't do it over again. I wonder what the statistics are on the lasting power of long distance relationships that started out that way as opposed to the ones were people are physically together first, then have to be split by distance for one reason or another. That'd be an interesting study, I think.
Don't mind me, I'm just kind of going where my mind takes me this morning.
Got a call from a guy who saw my resume on Monster.com yesterday. I called him up only because my new position is going to be officially starting next Monday and I wanted a price to be able to present salary-wise to Boss Bob. I figured this guy (also named Bob, oddly enough) could give me an offer and I'd see if Boss Bob could beat it and we'd go from there (especially since the job offered yesterday was located in my town instead of 40 minutes away, like my current job).
The job turned out to be heading out a project to inspect body armor for military vehicles. *Blink* That's right, someone thought my resume indicated in some way, shape or form that I would be a good candidate for a job like that. What I want to know is where, amongst the "administrative" history and the "political science" education did they manage to read "body armor inspector"? Anyway, it was only going to be as long as the project lasted, which is apparently six months, so I said nope. He did say he wanted to keep me in mind for longer term situations, and he did say he could easily meet my minimum requirement on pay, so we'll see what happens.
My manager, Kim, has a son who is bipolar. He's also eleven, and she's a single mom with another son, which makes the situation even more hairy. He was recently suspended from school for some reason or another, so she was forced to take him to the local mental facility which can cater to the educational needs of kids like hers...and apparently he went psycho on her the second they walked through the door for their appointment. He was screaming and hitting and kicking and biting and cursing violently, and the institute was forced to restrain him (which is, unfortunately, understandable). From what I hear, this is not unusual behavior from him--and it's not his fault, it's a genuine medical disorder that he doesn't have control over, especially as a child.
The worst thing, though, was as they were trying to get him under control, he kept screaming for his mom to help him, to stop them from taking him away, and Kim had to let them take him away. He's not staying there permanently, it's a day school which picks him up and drops him off every day from their home, but still. She was absolutely sick over it, and when she finally managed to get back into the office here, she broke down in her office and sobbed for a good half hour.
I suppose it's got to be the hardest thing in the universe to know a) you can't give your child the best care he needs, b) someone else can, c) your child wants you to fix it, not someone else, and d) you have to allow your child to endure something he's sincerely terrified about because you know it is, ultimately, the one thing that will make them better. I should have brought her some flowers today. They wouldn't have helped, but at least she'd know someone else understands.
Speaking of parents, my mother is in DC today and Mike and I will be going up to have dinner with her tonight. It's not as exhausting a thought as it used to be for me. I don't really feel anything, to be honest. Not elation, not sadness, not exasperation. I don't like it when I don't feel things, but I can't make emotions happen. I hope this is just a phase.
Mike (and Andii, and Liz, and a million other people...) probably think I should cut my mother off immediately, do not pass Go, do not collect $200. Probably they think I should have done it eons ago. Like after the time she threw me out of the house because I used the internet when she told me I couldn't. Or the time she let Hugh slap me to make me stop crying (I was 17 or 18 years old at the time). Or whn she called me a whore for accepting money from my father and step-mom to help me make my rent or pay my college tuition. Or the time she told me I was weak only a few weeks after I'd been raped because I wasn't over it yet. Or better yet, when she told me even if it was rape (which she still couldn't believe), it wasn't as bad as what other people had to go through.
I've always had some excuse not to fling her bullshit back in her own face and tell her where she could go. I was grotesquely insecure for years after my rape and couldn't stand up to her. After that, I was living with her mother (my grandma) and didn't want to make waves between the two of them. Now I have no excuse. I'm completely, totally, fully independent of her or anyone else (and it's amazingly liberating). There are no more waters to keep smooth. There is no more insecurity issue.
And maybe that's it. Maybe my being fine with myself in my own skin, despite what's happened in my past and despite what other people might think, is my new excuse. I simply don't care what she says or does, so she can say or do what she wants. I should really start caring again. I used to be a lot more passionate.
On a bizarre side note (don't ask me...like I said, just going where my mind takes me this morning), Mike and I have advanced tickets to the new Star Wars movie for next Thursday. We'll be making a complete date of it (yay!), dinner and all. Of course, he thought last night was a date and all we did was fix my car, go to Dairy Queen (along with the entire Indian Little League Girl's Softball team--believe me, they did not come with us, they were just there), and stop at the grocery store on the way home.
I like doing little things like that with him. I love my little mountain town and my boyfriend who needs a haircut and the way we have to ride in his truck with the rear window open because the air conditioning doesn't work. I like the tiny, stupid little things. There, that's what I'm passionate about. Much better.