Moving Blows...
I'm crying, I'm sick to my stomach, I'm totally unable to figure out if it hurts less to be angry, sad, or stressed. I'm also PMSing.
Oh yeah, my day has gone down hill... no, it has officially been declared an atomic bomb site & is now off limits for all but those guys in the freaky fallout suits.
I was excited about soccer & my newest obession, then I had my coffee & realized that I had a shit load of stuff to do, then I did that stuff while getting podcasts downloaded, then my mother called.
Now, normally this is enough to get me irrated, she goes & tells me the bad news without giving me a choice... I'm not gonna be able to just ship my stuff. I have sold over $300 worth of books that I loved (& I only got 55$ from that sale too- half ofthat was spent on making dinner & desert which was apparently so good that there are no leftovers), condenced, & given away, trashed, & got everything I've ever owned down to 10 boxes. All I have left are the things that have emotioonal connections, the one of kind materials (like my postcard & magazine clippings collection), the clothes, my media like CD's DVD & sketchbooks.
I've lost books & books of text that I had writen to my last computer's logicboard issues & I do not want to lose the rest of the things I've worked on & for over the past three years+. So she tells me I've gotta think long & hard about what I need... All I wanted to say was "Oh, er... FUCK YOU TOO!" what I did say was more like "Can we stop talking about this before I break down over the phone?" So we move on to talk about her cats, my little brothers, etc... Anything other than thinking about giving up more than I have already to make her happy.
I'm moving back there because of her & because my life here is directionless as a de-magnatized compass. My journals, my sketches, my thoughts, my ideas, & my brainstorms over the years are in boxes, folded, & out in the garage & I have to think about one of two choices, storage or trash. The storage bit imposes upon my grandparents' hospitality & I don't want to do that more than I have to, yaknow? I love them & I do not want them to think that I'm using them. But throwing away what is essentially the last connections I have to the life I want... Is it any wonder I'm crying still an hour after the news spilled out of my mother's mouth?
I don't know if I'm feeling like throwing up because of my anger, my grief, or my acceptance of this Hobson's Choice, b/c I really don't think that there's much of a choice here, but I feel like I'm failing all over again.
I feel like shit. I want to go get drunk. I want to rewrite the rules of physics. I want for my car to suddenly be able to do clown car tricks. I don't want to be in this spot.
...fuck, this all is so emo sounding...
Oh yeah, my day has gone down hill... no, it has officially been declared an atomic bomb site & is now off limits for all but those guys in the freaky fallout suits.
I was excited about soccer & my newest obession, then I had my coffee & realized that I had a shit load of stuff to do, then I did that stuff while getting podcasts downloaded, then my mother called.
Now, normally this is enough to get me irrated, she goes & tells me the bad news without giving me a choice... I'm not gonna be able to just ship my stuff. I have sold over $300 worth of books that I loved (& I only got 55$ from that sale too- half ofthat was spent on making dinner & desert which was apparently so good that there are no leftovers), condenced, & given away, trashed, & got everything I've ever owned down to 10 boxes. All I have left are the things that have emotioonal connections, the one of kind materials (like my postcard & magazine clippings collection), the clothes, my media like CD's DVD & sketchbooks.
I've lost books & books of text that I had writen to my last computer's logicboard issues & I do not want to lose the rest of the things I've worked on & for over the past three years+. So she tells me I've gotta think long & hard about what I need... All I wanted to say was "Oh, er... FUCK YOU TOO!" what I did say was more like "Can we stop talking about this before I break down over the phone?" So we move on to talk about her cats, my little brothers, etc... Anything other than thinking about giving up more than I have already to make her happy.
I'm moving back there because of her & because my life here is directionless as a de-magnatized compass. My journals, my sketches, my thoughts, my ideas, & my brainstorms over the years are in boxes, folded, & out in the garage & I have to think about one of two choices, storage or trash. The storage bit imposes upon my grandparents' hospitality & I don't want to do that more than I have to, yaknow? I love them & I do not want them to think that I'm using them. But throwing away what is essentially the last connections I have to the life I want... Is it any wonder I'm crying still an hour after the news spilled out of my mother's mouth?
I don't know if I'm feeling like throwing up because of my anger, my grief, or my acceptance of this Hobson's Choice, b/c I really don't think that there's much of a choice here, but I feel like I'm failing all over again.
I feel like shit. I want to go get drunk. I want to rewrite the rules of physics. I want for my car to suddenly be able to do clown car tricks. I don't want to be in this spot.
...fuck, this all is so emo sounding...