(no subject)
Having a shitty day.
Mom showed up at the store and did one of her idiotic executive decisions, as if she had any clue of what, actually, was going on. We quit.
Completely, utterly, we are DONE. I'm so done it's sinful. Moreover, I couldn't care less anymore.
So at the moment, we're at home, we're cleaning out our crap. We still have to do the same with the crap we have at the store. It's really a shame, because the Discovery Channel was contacting us yesterday to start the process of seeking permission to film in the store, and Mom won't have a chance in hell at figuring out how to do it. The store will probably fold.
But you know what, I'm tired. I'm honestly just tired. I can't take being told anymore that I'm a waste of human life, I can't stand hearing how I 'never do anything' when I do more than Mom ever dreamed of. I have put my life into this business for over 15 years. I have put the vast majority of our own personal funds into the store. The year Dad died, we put about twenty-five thousand dollars into the store - all that we had - to keep it afloat and to pay bills. And my mom doesn't believe that we did it, and in fact has accused me of -stealing- from the store in recent months, claiming that I'm just robbing her blind. So be it. She can believe as she wants. I just don't give a damn anymore.
Three and a half years since my dad died. I think we gave it the good ol' college try.
Of course, now here I am, 35 years old with a 15-year old kid and a 40-year-old husband, trying to pick up the residue of our lives and start over with absolutely nothing. Will we? Hell yeah, of course we will. We'll survive. We're like fucking cockroaches.
But I'm very empty today. I just... don't have it in me to care anymore. All of my real, close family is dead, with the exception of my mother and my little brother, both of whom apparently hate me, and my older brother, who's mentally retarded. My uncle and my dad were points of sanity (despite my uncle's addiction to alcohol and my father's addiction to work) - they held us together. They're gone. And so, like them, I'll be gone. The difference is that I'll still be alive.
I'll likely not be online a whole hell of a lot for a little while. I mean, I'll be here, sometimes. I'll login to get my email. But I have to find a new home, a new job, start a new existence. If I'm having a midlife crisis, this'd be it, and realistically, it's something that likely should've happened years ago.
I remember saying I'd never work for my father again, when I was a teenager, and saying that all that working for my father would come to would be grief. In some ways, yes, I was right. But in others, I had a blast. It was the business I enjoyed, it was the way of life I enjoyed. And I'm sorry to see that go away. The problem is that it was, in the end, all illusory. If my father had been alive, it'd be mine. He died. So it's not, because my mother grabs onto everything around her with both hands and, with words of hatred, tells the world to fuck off.
This time, she succeeded. I'm fucking off.
Mom showed up at the store and did one of her idiotic executive decisions, as if she had any clue of what, actually, was going on. We quit.
Completely, utterly, we are DONE. I'm so done it's sinful. Moreover, I couldn't care less anymore.
So at the moment, we're at home, we're cleaning out our crap. We still have to do the same with the crap we have at the store. It's really a shame, because the Discovery Channel was contacting us yesterday to start the process of seeking permission to film in the store, and Mom won't have a chance in hell at figuring out how to do it. The store will probably fold.
But you know what, I'm tired. I'm honestly just tired. I can't take being told anymore that I'm a waste of human life, I can't stand hearing how I 'never do anything' when I do more than Mom ever dreamed of. I have put my life into this business for over 15 years. I have put the vast majority of our own personal funds into the store. The year Dad died, we put about twenty-five thousand dollars into the store - all that we had - to keep it afloat and to pay bills. And my mom doesn't believe that we did it, and in fact has accused me of -stealing- from the store in recent months, claiming that I'm just robbing her blind. So be it. She can believe as she wants. I just don't give a damn anymore.
Three and a half years since my dad died. I think we gave it the good ol' college try.
Of course, now here I am, 35 years old with a 15-year old kid and a 40-year-old husband, trying to pick up the residue of our lives and start over with absolutely nothing. Will we? Hell yeah, of course we will. We'll survive. We're like fucking cockroaches.
But I'm very empty today. I just... don't have it in me to care anymore. All of my real, close family is dead, with the exception of my mother and my little brother, both of whom apparently hate me, and my older brother, who's mentally retarded. My uncle and my dad were points of sanity (despite my uncle's addiction to alcohol and my father's addiction to work) - they held us together. They're gone. And so, like them, I'll be gone. The difference is that I'll still be alive.
I'll likely not be online a whole hell of a lot for a little while. I mean, I'll be here, sometimes. I'll login to get my email. But I have to find a new home, a new job, start a new existence. If I'm having a midlife crisis, this'd be it, and realistically, it's something that likely should've happened years ago.
I remember saying I'd never work for my father again, when I was a teenager, and saying that all that working for my father would come to would be grief. In some ways, yes, I was right. But in others, I had a blast. It was the business I enjoyed, it was the way of life I enjoyed. And I'm sorry to see that go away. The problem is that it was, in the end, all illusory. If my father had been alive, it'd be mine. He died. So it's not, because my mother grabs onto everything around her with both hands and, with words of hatred, tells the world to fuck off.
This time, she succeeded. I'm fucking off.