Monday, November 15, 2010

I feel like it's getting to me

I am beginning to drown, even as I fight it so hard. I fear the darkness coming.

There's too much stress.

The kitchen drain. I can't pay for a better plumber than a kitty litter bucket. Someone (a lawyer) actually clicked "like" on fb when I put that lament. People really don't understand when your house is falling down around your head.

The horrible appliances. On Sunday, my mother called to brag about her new ones being delivered next week. She did a complete and beautiful remodel a few years ago when she bought this new place, so this has been in the works. Her call came only days after I commented to her that I am sick that my parents and grandparents all have had standards of living higher than mine. She replied that hers is higher b/c of her inheritance from her mother. And I am left to wonder why I got none. Why I am always deprived. Why I am left out. Why is my stove from 1979? I don't invite any of them up and they take it personally. Maybe I should flip that thought and invite them so they can see how hard we have it.

Bea thinks I think I deserve too much.

My life's watchword is deprived. I don't get what I want, even all along from the people who were supposed to care for me. It makes me more ambitious and it is held against me in different ways.

No flooring. Have largely been without carpet downstairs for six or seven years. Yes, concrete is just lovely. And warm. Fuck this county and their fucking flood they would not own up to causing.

Parents with all they want and no consideration for their children, except for peanut incentives. It's not so hard to think of my father that way, b/c he doesn't care, but it's hard to think of my mother throwing scraps my way in the form of airline tickets to visit her, which is darned self-serving.

Spending so much on going to the funeral. And it took so much from me physically - almost two dozen hours of driving. My father gave me $50 for gas and I told him it would cover about half; he seemed surprised at that somehow and I was bewildered at his surprise. Then the next day, he gave my sister $50 for gas, but hers cost less than $10, so it wasn't for gas and I wasn't special or actually being cared for. He spent about $100K on his back yard in the last year w/the outdoor room, garage, and workshop. He's living it up! He does not care about me, just that I show my face at his mother's funeral.

Spending so much on trying to display paintings. In the past few weeks, it's another $100 to make coverings for the display panel racks. And more frames, especially small ones for small works. Damn Michael's coupons and double coupons.

Peanuts. My needs are peanuts. Honestly.

Still needing to make panel covers.

Coordinating the holidays w/o success. My mother wants us down, but J goes to his father's at noon on Xmas, so it is limited. Bea flew into a rage when my mother called to ask us down. Bea never communicated what she wanted beforehand and I was noncommittal with my mother; last year, Bea went to my mother's and then left me in a huff the week after to go to the Bahamas for a week. I cannot depend on her. I do not trust her. Yet, I am supposed to keep her on the list of people to juggle and please.

She thinks she's supposed to come first and that's what normal couples do. I'm here to say that my marriage revolved around visiting his maternal grandparents, his mother, his father if we could find him, his other grandfather if we could fit him, my mother, my father, and my grandparents. And this was supposed to be a fun holiday or even a quick weekend! It was not fun for us. It was for them and they expected two visits each time we went to our hometown! It's how life is. At least they were all in the same town and gas was cheap.

I am not Christian, people. Xmas is not my holiday. I do not care anymore and my only expectation is to not have to be unexpectedly alone.

Trying to do what everyone else wants. I am lost in this. Today I had it thrown in my face that she'll ask about getting together and I'll say that I need to ck my schedule, that her living closer means we should see each other more. Heck, she can come to any drop off, pick up, or Opening she wants to! She's mad at me when she excludes herself!

It isn't out of meanness for me to check my calendar. It is out of consideration. It is what normal people do. Her schedule is not normal and mine is sparse, but I do, for example, need to deliver and pick up paintings according to others' schedules. This week, besides therapy and my son's school schedule, it is a relatively busy one in that I have a drop off on Tuesday evening, a pick up Thursday evening, and a combo on Saturday. All told, it's less than six hours max and completely reasonable. If at all possible weather-wise, I will paint out with a friend, so my official work hours total less than 10 for the week, because I can squeeze in painting fixes/finishing anytime and I don't need to begin framing again until next week. My stuff is flexible and, if it isn't, it doesn't take too long.

I am ambitious. I have been showing less than two years. I average 1-2 sales per month. That's pretty damn good. I sure would appreciate support instead of competition and jealousy about it.

Bea's current fb status.

“Those who do not hate their own selfishness and regard themselves as more important than the rest of the world are blind because the truth lies elsewhere”

Apparently I am selfish and pompous and blind, b/c my mother wants us to come down two years in a row, b/c I paint out with a friend about twice a month on Thursdays, b/c I participate in art shows which actually influence little else and take little time, b/c b/c b/c. I honestly feel like the most unselfish person in the world. I cannot fathom if I had a 50h+commute job each week.

I wrote her a note and said her status must be about herself, b/c I am not selfish in the least.

Wanting happiness and thinking I'd be successful at it if alone, but sadness and frustration win over. I had a fb conversation with an old guy friend from hs. His sister and mother have died over the past few years. When his sister was ailing, one of her friends got her claws into my friend. He resisted for a very long time, but wound up being grateful for her caregiving. Now he's miserable and it's been something like four years; his mother's been gone a year. He's suffered significant losses, yet felt such responsibility to this stalkerish woman, whom he cannot please. Now he feels like he's had enough and I commented that the holidays make it tough. He said it would be January. I agreed, for me, although I probably said the same thing last year. In my case, when it's good, it's good, but I never know what's lurking. And then it's bad.

I always seem to manage on my own. Deprived and depraved, I muddle through. I am not stronger or happier. I am just surviving, but it's getting to me.

Tuesday, November 09, 2010

New Kid on the Block

We got a new cat. He and his already adopted sister were rescues turned into the Humane Society several months ago when his owner was going away for a mere 10 days. He's solid black and three years old. He's huge, but skinny. He could be formidable if he tried. However, he doesn't try. I call his digs in J's bedroom "The Presidential Suite" b/c Malc takes all his meals, toileting, and bedding in J's room.

We always try to introduce cats slowly, leaving them alone in J's room for two days. By then, everybody can't wait to meet. Problem is, Malc was too slow to change gears and the others are now ignoring his repeated hisses, choosing to chase him back into his room instead. The others were very gracious and sweet in their efforts for over a week.

We got him b/c he was accustomed to living with and sharing a cage with other cats, but he's not a cat's cat.. He was also very affectionate with the HS staff. If I go to the top bunk, he is also affectionate with me. He purrs and flops around, but I've not pet him outside The Presidential Suite, although he has left it a few times for little bits.

I hope he comes around soon. It's been two weeks. At least this is better than Memph, who lived under my bed for 9 months. Bea suggested closing J's door and forcing Malc out, but I'd rather he be where he feels safe and I know his alternative would be under my bed. BTDT.

In short, Malc really likes his new, big, Presidential cage. I think he is happy. He's a sweet and well-behaved cat. Also J always wanted a cat to be *his* cat and I think Malc is vying for the title.

Tuesday, November 02, 2010

Hello and goodbye

First off, Val, it is lovely to hear from you. I actually bought an envelope for your stuff in past few days. Here's hoping I can use it for you soon. Very sorry about the funeral, but it sure is cool and fitting somehow to set off to one by horse.

Secondly and on a similar note, my grandmother is dying. I am thrilled I pushed for J and I to go down to visit her and the rest of the family in August.

This was her conversation with J ad infinitum. No, I meant ad infinitum::
Grandma: How old are you, J?
J: I am 12, 13 next month.
Grandma: What grade are you in?
J: I will be going in the 7th grade next month.
Grandma: Oooooo, I remember 7th grade. It was really hard.

Or, for a little variety:
Grandma: How old are you, J?
J: I am 12, 13 next month.
Grandma: What grade are you in?
J: I will be going in the 7th grade next month.
Grandma: Oooooo, I remember 7th grade. It was really easy.

Seriously. And J was such a good sport. Wish he were so nice to me.

I guess I just had the feeling. Then she had pneumonia in September, seemed to be over it, but is now shutting down from it and heart failure, hospitalized last week. My father and aunt plan to remove everything but the morphine tomorrow. I remember ex's grandmother lived over three weeks with no food or water before she died, but I hope mine doesn't hold out that long.

My grandmother was the youngest of five children. Her father abandoned the family when she was just over a year old. It was the mid-1920's, but it wasn't the Roaring Twenties. Times were tough. Her mother worked in a cotton mill and it was a great day when her brother brought them some food or shoes; he and his wife were the family infertiles and I guess other family members reaped the benefit.

My grandmother got married at 15, the last out of the household, pushed from the nest early. My grandfather was six years older and died four years ago. Back then, in the throes of early Alzheimer's, my grandmother was not a picnic. Usually rather insincere and playing favorites, she was never a picnic, really. He said of her before he died, "Her.mean.has.mean."

After two years of marriage, they had my father. Six years later, his sister was born. I learned a few years ago why the childbearing was sparse between them. I'd wondered if it were a case of secondary infertility, but it wasn't. She wanted another and he didn't. (I wonder why?) When she threatened to leave, he anted up.

I have J this weekend, in case there is a funeral. My father already offered up that it would be on a weekend and I am grateful for that. I just hope my sister doesn't yell at me like she did before my grandfather's funeral. As tough as I am, I've had enough yelling of late.