This week my word of the week will be:
"pregnancy"
It seems as though everywhere I look, everyone around me is either pregnant, just had a baby, or has the baby rabies. It's getting to me.
So my word of the week is pregnancy. And everyone can roll their eyes, and I shall roll my eyes with them, but I've been overly stressed out lately, and watching everyone coo over babies, and babble about it, and think about it and talk about it has finally caused me to go insane.
That is all for the day.
Sunday, April 20, 2008
Sunday, April 13, 2008
Secret word of the week
This week's secret word of the week is:
"waiting"
And as I'm exhausted and frustrated and sleepy, I'm not writing a whole lot more today.
"waiting"
And as I'm exhausted and frustrated and sleepy, I'm not writing a whole lot more today.
Saturday, April 12, 2008
so tired
I am so freaking tired. And there is such a colossal amount of stuff still to do, and I can't help but think I may never get it done in time for Trinette's arrival. And I'm beginning to feel like a failure, and a complete lazy slug.
I feel overwhelmed, and it's driving me up the wall. There are boxes, and just *stuff* everywhere. I haven't even managed to get the room measured. I know that I need to go and do it, but it's a two-person gig, measuring.
The desk is still not put into my room. I really am feeling completely overwhelmed. I don't quite know where to start, and as a result, I just want to hide in the corner, and do nothing. It's horrible. I haven't even really blogged, as evidenced by the lack of posts here.
I have no idea how Trinette is holding it all together. She's managed to get her stuff packed, and keep everything moving, and me? I'm just falling apart. If I wasn't spending as much time on the phone with her as I do, I'd probably be a complete flaming basket case. Yay for the nice stabilizing effect she has on me. Bless you Trinette.
I need to sit down, with a notebook, and make a list. But even that is currently somewhat beyond my capability. I start to do that, and my brain whirls in protest, and I end up curled up on the bed, sleeping. Sleep seems to be the only thing I'm doing well these days.
I feel overwhelmed, and it's driving me up the wall. There are boxes, and just *stuff* everywhere. I haven't even managed to get the room measured. I know that I need to go and do it, but it's a two-person gig, measuring.
The desk is still not put into my room. I really am feeling completely overwhelmed. I don't quite know where to start, and as a result, I just want to hide in the corner, and do nothing. It's horrible. I haven't even really blogged, as evidenced by the lack of posts here.
I have no idea how Trinette is holding it all together. She's managed to get her stuff packed, and keep everything moving, and me? I'm just falling apart. If I wasn't spending as much time on the phone with her as I do, I'd probably be a complete flaming basket case. Yay for the nice stabilizing effect she has on me. Bless you Trinette.
I need to sit down, with a notebook, and make a list. But even that is currently somewhat beyond my capability. I start to do that, and my brain whirls in protest, and I end up curled up on the bed, sleeping. Sleep seems to be the only thing I'm doing well these days.
Monday, April 7, 2008
Everything's Done
And I just want it all over. I want things finalized, and finished and I want it over. I'm sick of fighting, and I'm sick of hurting, and I want it done.
I want the move done, and I want to move on with my life. I want Danny and Mona to move to his parents, so that I can start the process of finally getting past this complete clusterfuck that's been the last six months that should never have happened in the first place. I shouldn't have allowed it.
I thought I was doing a good thing, back before Danny and I broke up. Mona needed a place for her and Cora, and Kat and Brandon smoked, and so I really thought I was doing a good thing. I had no idea that Mona had an eye on my then-boyfriend. I didn't realize that I was going to end up breaking up with Danny. I honestly didn't realize my life was going to go to hell in a handbasket, or that things were going to get as completely ass-over-teakettle as they have in the last six months.
Danny and I broke up, and that might have been okay, if I hadn't then had to spend the next six months living in an apartment where Mona proceeded to run around naked, with her kid sleeping in either my living room or my dining room, and where she herself was plastered at every available opportunity across the lap of my ex-fiance. With her tongue shoved as far down his throat as she could manage, as though to scream to the world "Look, I have him now, nyah nyah nyah". It was petty, childish, and for the most part, just plain mean. Yes, he and I broke up. But there was no reason for her to jump directly into bed with him. And technically even if she *was* going to date him, she should have been seeing him somewhere other than the apartment. It was blatantly rude to be screwing around with him, and hanging on him, and making out with him, constantly, in front of me.
Between that, and the drama with Phillip, and how unhappy I was and how badly I ended up treated in that situation, I've been miserable for six months, pretty much steadily. And so by now, with all I want being to be more or less left alone...god, at this point I'm just frustrated. It isn't that I can't live with a roommate. I can, and don't even have a problem with it. But I shouldn't have to live with my ex-fiance and his new girlfriend. And I sure as shit shouldn't have to have it shoved in my face day in and day out.
And when I left for a month, I shouldn't have had to come back to town to find my posessions destroyed, and money missing and essentially, I simply shouldn't have had to come back and continue to be unhappy. I stated in clear terms that I wasn't coming back for that. I was coming back under the direct terms that I was taking over the apartment, and they were leaving. Because I did *not* want to deal with the three ring circus anymore.
***
And now it's done. The keys are returned. The apartment is empty, and now I'm alone. And now, finally, I can start to move on. The place is trashed, and it's going to take me some time to put it back together. Trinette will be here in two weeks, and I'll start rebuilding things from there. She'll be here until Steven gets back from Iraq, at which point she'll move on, and begin her new life as well. And the circle of life will continue, and this chapter of the last six months that has hurt so badly will finally be complete.
And I can heal.
I've been crying for the last few weeks. I've been a basket case. I'm still a basket case, and that's fine. I will put it back together, and I will pull it all around, and at some point I will be fine again. I have to be. But I will be able to do it without constantly having shit shoved in my face, and without having to pretend that everything is sunshine and happiness when it isn't. I won't have to play maid, and constantly be picking up after other people's messes. I won't be trying to pretend that everything is okay. That's over.
I don't know where it was that Mona or Danny got it into their heads that dirty dishes cleaned themselves, or that leaving food out for my cat to eat was alright. I don't understand how it was that as roommates they seemed to think it was alright for me to have to constantly need to move their laundry out of the washer or the dryer into their room, in order to do my own, and this was an acceptable arrangement. How I was the only one who ran a vacuum cleaner, and I had to scrub my living room carpet to clean black marks out of it in order for it to not look disgusting. That the kitchen floor was covered in food and grease, and I was the only person who ever swept or mopped it. I just don't understand how at the end of six months, Danny ran interference, and I understand that he tried very very hard to clean up after Mona so that I didn't have to do it all...but she never did. I just don't understand so many things. And in the end, I just have given up.
I accept that I am neurotically clean. I'm a neat freak. Which is why the condition of my apartment at the moment is making me insane. I like order and logic and all of those obsessive compulsive things. Mona, when she first moved in here, claimed to like all of them too. But it turned out to be a complete fabrication. She doesn't clean, unless it's for show. She doesn't wash dishes. She doesn't vacuum. She doesn't take out trash, or put things away. She does laundry, but doesn't hang it up. It will sit in baskets until you cannot tell which is clean or what is dirty. I just don't understand. Why lie? If you're a messy person, that's fine. But don't claim to be something you're not.
There's nothing *wrong* with being yourself. But because I was expecting someone more like me, it drove me crazy, because I ended up being the maid, and ended up watching her hang all over Danny. For months. And I've since learned she only does that, hangs on him, in front of me. It's sort of like marking territory, and I find it kind of sad. I'm not trying to get Danny back. I have my own freaking problems, and trying to get Danny back would simply add to them at this point. I don't *want* to steal him away, and I've said that, repeatedly. And she never once listened.
I don't get it. I probably never will. I should probably just be grateful that I have my peace and quiet and peace of mind now. The apartment will be put to rights. I will steam clean the floors. I will slowly fix things. And then I will put it all behind me and life will move on.
I want the move done, and I want to move on with my life. I want Danny and Mona to move to his parents, so that I can start the process of finally getting past this complete clusterfuck that's been the last six months that should never have happened in the first place. I shouldn't have allowed it.
I thought I was doing a good thing, back before Danny and I broke up. Mona needed a place for her and Cora, and Kat and Brandon smoked, and so I really thought I was doing a good thing. I had no idea that Mona had an eye on my then-boyfriend. I didn't realize that I was going to end up breaking up with Danny. I honestly didn't realize my life was going to go to hell in a handbasket, or that things were going to get as completely ass-over-teakettle as they have in the last six months.
Danny and I broke up, and that might have been okay, if I hadn't then had to spend the next six months living in an apartment where Mona proceeded to run around naked, with her kid sleeping in either my living room or my dining room, and where she herself was plastered at every available opportunity across the lap of my ex-fiance. With her tongue shoved as far down his throat as she could manage, as though to scream to the world "Look, I have him now, nyah nyah nyah". It was petty, childish, and for the most part, just plain mean. Yes, he and I broke up. But there was no reason for her to jump directly into bed with him. And technically even if she *was* going to date him, she should have been seeing him somewhere other than the apartment. It was blatantly rude to be screwing around with him, and hanging on him, and making out with him, constantly, in front of me.
Between that, and the drama with Phillip, and how unhappy I was and how badly I ended up treated in that situation, I've been miserable for six months, pretty much steadily. And so by now, with all I want being to be more or less left alone...god, at this point I'm just frustrated. It isn't that I can't live with a roommate. I can, and don't even have a problem with it. But I shouldn't have to live with my ex-fiance and his new girlfriend. And I sure as shit shouldn't have to have it shoved in my face day in and day out.
And when I left for a month, I shouldn't have had to come back to town to find my posessions destroyed, and money missing and essentially, I simply shouldn't have had to come back and continue to be unhappy. I stated in clear terms that I wasn't coming back for that. I was coming back under the direct terms that I was taking over the apartment, and they were leaving. Because I did *not* want to deal with the three ring circus anymore.
***
And now it's done. The keys are returned. The apartment is empty, and now I'm alone. And now, finally, I can start to move on. The place is trashed, and it's going to take me some time to put it back together. Trinette will be here in two weeks, and I'll start rebuilding things from there. She'll be here until Steven gets back from Iraq, at which point she'll move on, and begin her new life as well. And the circle of life will continue, and this chapter of the last six months that has hurt so badly will finally be complete.
And I can heal.
I've been crying for the last few weeks. I've been a basket case. I'm still a basket case, and that's fine. I will put it back together, and I will pull it all around, and at some point I will be fine again. I have to be. But I will be able to do it without constantly having shit shoved in my face, and without having to pretend that everything is sunshine and happiness when it isn't. I won't have to play maid, and constantly be picking up after other people's messes. I won't be trying to pretend that everything is okay. That's over.
I don't know where it was that Mona or Danny got it into their heads that dirty dishes cleaned themselves, or that leaving food out for my cat to eat was alright. I don't understand how it was that as roommates they seemed to think it was alright for me to have to constantly need to move their laundry out of the washer or the dryer into their room, in order to do my own, and this was an acceptable arrangement. How I was the only one who ran a vacuum cleaner, and I had to scrub my living room carpet to clean black marks out of it in order for it to not look disgusting. That the kitchen floor was covered in food and grease, and I was the only person who ever swept or mopped it. I just don't understand how at the end of six months, Danny ran interference, and I understand that he tried very very hard to clean up after Mona so that I didn't have to do it all...but she never did. I just don't understand so many things. And in the end, I just have given up.
I accept that I am neurotically clean. I'm a neat freak. Which is why the condition of my apartment at the moment is making me insane. I like order and logic and all of those obsessive compulsive things. Mona, when she first moved in here, claimed to like all of them too. But it turned out to be a complete fabrication. She doesn't clean, unless it's for show. She doesn't wash dishes. She doesn't vacuum. She doesn't take out trash, or put things away. She does laundry, but doesn't hang it up. It will sit in baskets until you cannot tell which is clean or what is dirty. I just don't understand. Why lie? If you're a messy person, that's fine. But don't claim to be something you're not.
There's nothing *wrong* with being yourself. But because I was expecting someone more like me, it drove me crazy, because I ended up being the maid, and ended up watching her hang all over Danny. For months. And I've since learned she only does that, hangs on him, in front of me. It's sort of like marking territory, and I find it kind of sad. I'm not trying to get Danny back. I have my own freaking problems, and trying to get Danny back would simply add to them at this point. I don't *want* to steal him away, and I've said that, repeatedly. And she never once listened.
I don't get it. I probably never will. I should probably just be grateful that I have my peace and quiet and peace of mind now. The apartment will be put to rights. I will steam clean the floors. I will slowly fix things. And then I will put it all behind me and life will move on.
Sunday, April 6, 2008
Wednesday, April 2, 2008
...time on my own...
I don't know how to express what I'm thinking, not really. I'm twisted and confused. And I hate it. And I feel like a hypocrite for this sick addiction to you. And that's what it is, too. An addiction to you. I miss you so much. There is this huge empty hole inside of me where you were. Not the twisted "oh god I'm in love with him I need him to complete me or my life will end". It has nothing to do with that. It's the quiet late-at-night, falling asleep as I drifted off something that I can't quite define. *That* is what I miss.
And I can't even explain it. Not even to myself can I explain it. But that great gaping hole is what it is that I'm missing so much, and what hurts so badly, and what it is that's been tearing me up since I sent you away.
And being alone, sending you away? Trying to protect myself from you walking away from me? It hasn't helped, not really. It hurts just as much to have sent you away as it would have if you'd been the one who had walked away. Doesn't that suck.
Meh. Time on my own hasn't shown me anything except that sometimes I'm not the brightest star in the sky.
It isn't as though I was saving myself for marriage because I'd made some stupid pledge. It isn't like I had an obligation to anyone or that I'm violating any special moral code but my own. But I'm addicted and I feel confused, but I don't generally *have* addictions to things. I've always been so proud of that. Because I never had a problem quitting things. I quit smoking without a backwards glance. Even when I used drugs in my misspent youth, I got bored, and walked away, it had no effect on me. But you? I'm addicted to you in a massive way. And that both frightens me, and makes me sad and confused, because it's unfamiliar and depressing.
OK. I'm going to stop writing this now, and go play silly online games to distract myself.
Goodnight internets.
And I can't even explain it. Not even to myself can I explain it. But that great gaping hole is what it is that I'm missing so much, and what hurts so badly, and what it is that's been tearing me up since I sent you away.
And being alone, sending you away? Trying to protect myself from you walking away from me? It hasn't helped, not really. It hurts just as much to have sent you away as it would have if you'd been the one who had walked away. Doesn't that suck.
Meh. Time on my own hasn't shown me anything except that sometimes I'm not the brightest star in the sky.
It isn't as though I was saving myself for marriage because I'd made some stupid pledge. It isn't like I had an obligation to anyone or that I'm violating any special moral code but my own. But I'm addicted and I feel confused, but I don't generally *have* addictions to things. I've always been so proud of that. Because I never had a problem quitting things. I quit smoking without a backwards glance. Even when I used drugs in my misspent youth, I got bored, and walked away, it had no effect on me. But you? I'm addicted to you in a massive way. And that both frightens me, and makes me sad and confused, because it's unfamiliar and depressing.
OK. I'm going to stop writing this now, and go play silly online games to distract myself.
Goodnight internets.
Tuna Casserole
Yep. That's what I'm currently eating. At least it isn't making me sick to my stomach. I was going to eat some cookies last night. I grabbed a box of girl scout cookies last night, sounded like the best idea in the world. Mmm, chocolate and peanut butter, right? And before I could even get the box open, the entire idea of it made me sick to my stomach. I know if I'd actually tried to eat those cookies, I would have been wretchedly sick. And it sucks. Because they sounded so good. Depressing.
In other news, Melissa's cat Pinky got hit by a car right after she moved, so I am sad, because he was an awesome kitty cat.
OK, I have forgotten half of what I intended to blog, so I'll post more later.
In other news, Melissa's cat Pinky got hit by a car right after she moved, so I am sad, because he was an awesome kitty cat.
OK, I have forgotten half of what I intended to blog, so I'll post more later.
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