When there are, I feel claustrophobic, and I have to get out.
When there are, I feel claustrophobic, and I have to get out.
2010 is in less than 13 hours. HOLY SHIT Y’ALL!
Wow! This year has totally flown by. It really does seem like we were just at the beginning of 2009. But a lot has happened this year too. I started thinking about everything and came up with a pretty good list of major events(good AND bad) from 2009:
And with all of that going on, I finally began to find my voice. It took a while, and it’s absolutely a work in progress, but it’s been a lot of fun so far. I look forward to see where the journey leads in 2010.
I wish all of you a safe and Happy New Year! I sincerely hope that 2010 brings you lots of joy! Bottoms up!
All my love,
WARNING: This post is a HUGE rant that covers a couple of decade’s worth of shit and even then I’m barely touching on SO many things. I TOTALLY understand if you want to run screaming from it. I want to run screaming from it, and it’s my life! If you do dare to actually read it, well then, consider yourself forewarned.
I have an ex-husband. I admit it.
It’s not that I hide my first marriage. Not in the least. My first marriage played a very big part in shaping the person I am today. I just usually refer to it indirectly (second marriage, second husband, etc.). If you have checked out my sidebar, you might have noticed that I acknowledge my ex-husband briefly. Very. Briefly. And then I go on to say that I don’t like to talk about him. EVER.
I hate my ex-husband. Hate him. Yes, I did just use the H word. And yes, I do know how harsh that sounds.
I met my ex when I was a senior in high school. My first job was at the local roller skating rink (remember those?) and my ex worked there too. We met and got along well enough and started dating about a month after I started working at the rink.
Our relationship…..overall…..was volatile. I can’t think of a better word to describe it. We fought A LOT. I wouldn’t say it was abusive. But it sure as hell wasn’t healthy. It took me years to figure out that I jumped from the frying pan into the fire. I used him as my excuse to get away from my family, which was dysfunctional with a capital D.
I fooled myself into thinking that I loved my ex and stayed in the relationship because the alternative to me was so much worse. It was either him or my family. And it was imperative that I stay away from my family. They were quicksand to me (but that’s a post for another day). So I stayed. Even though he treated me badly. Even through the drugs. Even through the lies.
And then we broke up for a while. Sure, I know NOW that the break up was the best thing. But then? Breaking up with my ex forced me back to my family, which by this time was totally falling apart. I didn’t want to be around that. I still felt I had to get away from them. So when my ex apologized, I took him back.
I was pregnant with my son soon after and we were married a few months later.
After my son was born (at least I think it was after), my ex started having unexplained seizures that left him on disability and without a driver’s license. We had to move in with his parents, which just added more stress and things were already bad between us. By the time he went back to work and we moved out, the relationship was in shambles. The lies started again. When I confronted him with the huge lie he had told all along about his health issues, I said it was over. I took my son and left.
I struggled on my own. And I made mistakes. HUGE mistakes. Mistakes that I still kick myself for. One of those mistakes gave my ex the foothold he needed to separate my son from me. After that, he filed for divorce. Before the divorce was final, I felt like I hadn’t given the marriage 100% effort. I know now that it really was about still staying away from my family. I just didn’t have enough faith in myself.
The lies continued. My ex said that he had a vasectomy. Can you guess what happened next? You got it. I wound up pregnant. Luckily, that pregnancy did not go to term. I can’t even begin to imagine what it would have been like if we had another child together. I don’t want to.
Sadly, I stayed with him for quite a few more months. The divorce was final, but we were still dating. At some point, I FINALLY got a clue! I realized that I had given the marriage every effort, and that I deserved so much better. I told my ex that it was over.
To say he took it badly was an understatement. And he had the upper hand. He had my son. My ex knew that I wanted nothing to do with him, but he knew I wanted my son. And he used it against me every chance he got. When I moved out of state a few years later, I tried to work with my ex on a reasonable visitation, but he would have none of it. The day I left CA was the worst day ever. I didn’t see my son after that for 7 years.
My ex wasn’t planning to make it easy for me to stay in touch. He changed his phone number and refused to let me have it to try to keep me from contacting my son. He even took my son out of town on a weekend I drove back to CA. Yes, my ex knew I was coming. I made plans with him a month in advance. He was just being vindictive. I also knew he was bad mouthing me to my son (which was confirmed in a conversation my son and I had a couple of year s ago). He even told my son that if I attended his high school graduation, he wouldn’t be there. I showed up anyway (TAKE THAT MOTHERFUCKER!).
Thankfully, my son’s (paternal) grandmother made sure I was in his life. She is the primary reason I have such a good relationship with my son today. I will never forget her for that.
I told you all of that because of the phone call I received from my son today. It started off as any other normal conversation. He wanted to get a phone number from me. The more he talked, though, the more I knew something was off. So I asked what happened. He said his father kicked him out last night.
And I wanted to kill my ex. Right fucking then and there.
My son was out here in Utah for a visit just a week ago. We talked about how things were at home. I was concerned at how my son described his father’s recent actions. They didn’t make sense to me. I wondered if his actions had anything to do with my son coming out to visit me. I kept it to myself, though, for my son’s sake. I only said here and there that I didn’t agree with certain things and that I didn’t understand why his father was being that way.
When my son went back home it seemed like things were going to be okay. He told his father he was going to move up to Sacramento because the city college there had space available in his degree (the junior college in Stockton where he currently lives is full). I supported his decision and it sounded like his father did too.
I don’t know what changed. And neither does my son. An argument yesterday culminated in my ex telling my son to get out and leave his keys. He also told my son that he is not allowed to call the house or his father’s cell phone. My son is not allowed to go to the house to get his things. Until this Thursday. For 3 hours. Seriously?!?!
I am at a loss. I don’t understand this at all. My son doesn’t do drugs. He doesn’t drink. He doesn’t smoke. He goes to his classes. He EXCELS in his classes. He is responsible. I DO NOT understand what could have happened that would justify this kind of reaction from my ex.
And it makes me wonder if it has to do with me. Is this my ex’s final vengeful act? He can’t use custody against me anymore, since my son is an adult. So is this his one last ditch effort to try to hurt me? I don’t know.
What does hurt me is that I’m not close enough to help my son. I want so badly to be there for him. But I can’t. And it kills me right now. I’ve been crying on and off since I got his call today. I know my son is strong and he will get through this, but I feel like he needs me. And dammit I’M HIS MOTHER! I should be there, right?
Good job, sperm donor. You get an A+ for acting like an ass and driving your son away. I hope you’re proud of yourself. Because in the end, YOU’RE the one who has truly lost.
Theorem – Hell has frozen over.
Proof – According to Miriam-Webster’s Dictionary, one of the definitions of hell is:
Wouldn’t living in a state I loathe for the past 7 years (7 YEARS? WTF?), dealing with the end of my marriage, and getting laid off from my job in two months qualify for being in a state of misery and/or torment? Yeah, I think so too. *snort* (I promise you there’s more to that list, but then we totally go off-topic and skirt the realm of TMI, so it’s best for me to just keep those to myself.)
Therefore, I am in hell.
And since this is what it looks like today:
We can conclude that hell has truly frozen over.
Another Thanksgiving has come and gone. Whew!
This year was a simple one for us, and I for one (maybe the ONLY one) was glad for it. We ended up getting a Honeybaked Ham (instead of being covered in turkey guts) and just had a few sides with it. Trust me that was more than enough. And no tryptophan comas this year. SCORE!
Two weeks left and I will have SURVIVED THE 1ST SEMESTER! Where’s my gold statue? (btw, it’s spelled s-t-a-c-E-Y! *sigh*)
The homework for the four PowerPoint chapters in my computer class is crammed into the next two weeks. I KNOW! Plus the final PowerPoint project is due next week too. I’m actually thinking of doing very little for the final project, or not even doing it at all. I have such a high grade in that class, it wouldn’t hurt.
And then there’s the math final, which shouldn’t be too bad. I hope.
I got an email from the college saying that course evals are now available online and they’re due by Dec. 13th. That gives me plenty of time to figure out what I’m going to say about the psycho professor from hell. It totally goes without saying that I will NOT miss her. At. All.
This Friday I will finally be allowed to register for the spring semester (cuz I’m still low on the credits totem pole). I’ve decided on 2 programming classes, but I still haven’t quite figured out if I will take 2 or 3 more classes and what they will be yet. Good thing work is
slow DEAD. It might actually give me a chance to figure that all out by Friday. Or not. I’m still behind on blog reading you know.
November 19th was my one year blogiversary. And my blog stayed silent.
I could blame the silence on work. I could blame it on school. I could blame it on the fact that I killed like a million brain cells when I got totally shitfaced that week. But the truth is…..
I don’t know WHAT the truth is.
I don’t know why I write less and less lately. I don’t know why I remind myself that I need to write, and then find anything else I can think of to do instead (and my office is looking better than ever these days!). I don’t know why I write blog posts in my head when I lay down each night (but not write them down) only to completely forget what the hell I was thinking about when I wake the next morning.
I’m hoping it’s just a phase and that it passes quickly.
I had the strangest dream last week. I was at my high school reunion and NO ONE TALKED TO ME. NO ONE. It was absolutely awful. And then I was asked to be a server of some sort. And I was all WTF? I’m being ignored and now I’m asked to wait on the people who are ignoring me? I so don’t think so. So I left the reunion bawling.
It was SO WEIRD. I already went to my reunion last year. And even though I wasn’t the most popular kid in school (in fact far from it…I was a total band geek), I wasn’t ignored. I did, however, manage to make an ass out of myself a couple of times cuz I totally remembered someone’s face, but completely forgot their name and even called them by a different one. Brilliant Stacey, just plain brilliant.
I’m so sorry Juan! I really do remember you! You can totally accept my Facebook friend request now!
Yeah, like he reads my blog.
I wouldn’t consider myself a pack rat. Now. When I was younger, though, I started to come pretty darn close. I kept EVERYTHING.
You, know how it is. You keep every little thing because you just KNOW that someday you will need it or be able to use it.
You need more space to store every little thing you keep because you just KNOW that someday you will need it or be able to use it.
You need a bigger home to get more space to store every little thing you keep because you just KNOW that someday you will need it or be able to use it.
You need more money to pay for the bigger home to get more space to store every little thing you keep because you just KNOW that someday you will need it or be able to use it.
Etcetera, etcetera, etcetera. (There was an old lady who swallowed a fly. I don’t know why she swalloed the fly. Perhaps she’ll die.) I guess you could say the things I have kept are my fly.
Moving has always offered an opportunity to get rid of some stuff. Why pack it when you can purge it, right? Right. But no matter how much I get rid of, I think I only get through the surface and maybe 2-3 underlying layers. Tops.
And then I just start amassing NEW stuff. Such a vicous cycle.
Well, I’m getting closer to breaking the cycle. The downfall of my marriage, my impending “over the hill” status, and getting thrown out on my collective career-ass, just to name a few, have me thinking of ways to simplify my life. FAST.
I’m starting with closing my MK business. Honestly, it’s time. I’ve been trying to decide what to do with it ever since I started, but never actually DOING anything with it. On any level. I just don’t see that getting any better in the near future, so I’m kickin’ it to the curb for now.
Another purge category that is long overdue is my craft items. For years, I was a psychotic craft shopper. Let me clarify something, though. SHOPPING does not imply CREATING. I had ideas of really cool craft projects out the wazoo! Sadly, the ideas never quite panned out or didn’t look as good in real life as they did in my head. Man, everything looks/sounds/feels/is SO much better in my head. Maybe I should just go live there!
The last on my list right now are my collectibles. The Bradford Edition plates that hung on a wall for a mere year out of the decade and a half that I have had them. Oh, and my Cherished Teddies. What the HELL was I thinking? Sure, they are freakin cute as hell, and did manage to be on display in my house(s) for a little longer than the plates. But ever since the hostage crisis began (I really do need to explain that sometime, don’t I?), they have been nothing more than garage dust collectors. I don’t really think that was the artist’s intention and it certainly wasn’t mine either.
eBay/Craigslist/KSL.com and the like are prolly gonna become my temporary best friends here soon. And hopefully things get a little (or a lot) simpler in my life. Think I can sell the husband? Cuz that would REALLY simplify my life lemme tell ya.
So, I’m curious who else out there is a closet pack rat? Come purge with me peeps! You know you want to.
Yeah, me neither.
Except today…..aaaaannnd maybe yesterday too…..and maybe the day before that. So pretty much every damn day.
Ok…..so maybe not every day.
There are days when the logic prevails and I’m reminded that this was a GREAT decision. It’s been going well. Everything has been moving forward. The light at the end of the tunnel is getting a little closer.
Then there are the days when I repeatedly kick myself at the stupidity of this self-torture I’ve subjected myself to on a freaking near-daily basis. The days when I wonder just how small I will be made to feel. The days when I think I would be so much better off on my own as a single parent. The days when I think of possible reasons for
hiring a hit man drinking myself into oblivion running off with a sugar daddy avoiding going home.
I won’t go into detail as to why I feel like screaming at the top of my lungs today (many days actually). The details aren’t important. And I know that when my best friend in the whole wide world reads this, she’ll be saying, “I’ll take Dumbasses whose names begin with the letter ‘R’ for $200 Alex.” Cuz even though I won’t tell her what’s going on, she KNOWS. And I love her for that.
And I know I will get past this. I will get to one of those days when logic will win out. Hopefully I will start to see more of those.
I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop. I know it’s coming. I just know it.
It’s funny. My College Algebra class is the one I thought would be tough. I was thinking that a 20-year gap would possibly be too much to overcome. I have been wrong (so far) and I haven’t quite figured out what has made the difference. Is it that whole ‘older but wiser’ concept? Is it that I’m putting forth more effort this time around? Is it that this professor just explains it better? All of these are quite possible, though I’m not sure I can pin the difference down to just one reason. Maybe it’s all of them. Maybe it’s that I have better liquor now. Who knows!
My Computer Essentials class is a whole OTHER story. It’s a stupid prerequisite for the programming classes I need (which I really don’t get at all, but whatever). I was feeling going into the class that it should be an easy A. For the most part, it is. EXCEPT. Except for the fact that the (associate) professor teaching this class is treating the Word section like an English class (e.g. I have to write a paper for my Word Final Project). WTF? AND (here’s one of the best parts) she is grading based on a statement in the book that says something ‘typically’ does not occur. Since when does typically equal a hard coded rule? When you point that out to her and provide examples to support it? She says the book says so, so that’s what it is. She shows a complete disregard of the points made. Might as well have not said a damn thing. I talk to others who have taken the same class at the same school under different professors and I get a very different view. Figures. I get the professor who for all I know is being this way thinking it will get her tenure. It was a mistake to take this class from her. I wish I could test out of it, but that’s not an option. Oh well. I am looking forward to the course eval when this is all over.
I have acrylic nails. I have had them forever and I maintain them RELIGIOUSLY. I really don’t have a choice. I have to keep them up. If I don’t, I will have no nails. None. Cuz I’m a nail biter. No, you don’t understand. I’m a BAD nail biter (or would that be a good one?). I’ve been one as long as I can remember. I even think I remember my mom saying once that I came out of the womb with no nails. Which means I probably had it from conception. I totally blame my mom. And she is a former biter too, which supports my case. Thanks so much for the genetic defect MOM!
I go in last Saturday for a backfill, like clockwork. The nail place I go to has a HUGE display table full of examples. Anything & pretty much everything you can think of, they’ve got. Plus they rotate in some seasonal examples
cuz they’re greedy mothers cuz it’s just good business. I head over to the display table looking for something Halloweeny (WTF is wrong with me? Halloweeny?). But anything I remotely give a second glance to is like an additional $30+. I don’t THINK so. Then my nail tech comes over to ‘help’ and I know I’m in trouble. Actually, ‘in trouble’ doesn’t really cut it. I’m screwed. I just can’t say no to her. So, I let her talk me into getting a spider on one of my nails. Great. Just great.
She gets the backfill done first just like normal. Then it’s time for the spider. She puts a big glob of black
acrylic goo in the middle of my nail. I just KNOW that there’s an egg sac in there that’s just waiting for Halloween night to bust open and take me as a human sacrifice. But how do I tell her NOOOOO! I’m not ready to die yet! without coming across as rude? I just can’t do it. I just can’t tell her that her idea scares the living shit outta me. So I suffer in silence. And while the end result is quite attractive and season appropriate, it does nothing to calm the horrific fears I have of what is to come on Halloween.
And since then…..
I have to hide that fingernail. I have noticed the spider eyeing people around me looking for more potential victims. YIKES! I can’t let that happen! I’d go to prison for murder cuz who in their right mind would believe that a spider on my nail killed people? Plus, I would not make a good inmate. I would completely freak out. Which would leave me a prime candidate to get a shiv in the prison yard. Yep, I’m that girl. Or another inmate would corner me in the shower and make me her bitch. Neither of those are good options for me.
Also, everytime I catch the spider out of the corner of my eye, I freak out screaming, “Spider! OMG! A SPIDER!” Then I grab my stapler and start banging my hand with it yelling, “Kill it! Kill it! KILL IT!” And then my biting habit kicks in, but I CAN’T GET IT OFF!
So now my hand is a sick combination of black/blue/purple/yellow and that finger is all shredded and bloody. It’s pretty much completely useless. Which is why it took me a week to write this post. And my job is in danger of ending even earlier. I keep getting written up for being a disruption in the office. But then again, my job will be over when I get arrested for murder anyway.
Can anyone recommend a lawyer? I’m gonna need a good one to keep me from going to prison. And then I think I’m gonna sue my nail technician. It’s all her fault. Better yet, I’ll sic my spider on her. Yeah, that would work.