Too Much Office

Um, this office may be killing me.  I believe all the fun life has been sucked out of me and I’m turning into a non-person.  Which is what HR people become: non-people.  My clothes are becoming more bland, lipstick a shade more neutral and earrings just a bit smaller.  Less attention grabbing.  Mmmmm, that’s fun.

Did I mention the Halloween costume conversation around the kitchen microwave today? Some stupid little shit is going as a princess – imagine that.  Never happened before.  Ever.  You might as well go ahead and give her the “you’re worthless unless men love you, and by the way your boobs are small” talk, because that’s where the princess outfits ultimately get you.  Get her boobs done now, why don’t ya! Get it over with.  God forbid we come up with another kind of ultimate dream for little girls.

Ahhhh, that’s better.  Just enough and now I can get through traffic.  It’s Friday!  My kids are 18 and NOT in jail!  No one is going to starve if I don’t cook and I may just read the night away with a bottle of wine.  Not. Too. Shabby.

What I Do Not Do Well:

  • Shut up
  • Hide my true feelings
  • Keep it down
  • Consistency
  • Improve
  • Change
  • Love my kids
  • Warm, comfy feelings toward others
  • Not retaliate
  • Share
  • Lie
  • Bull shit because I should
  • Passivity
  • Work hard at something I believe to be a waste
  • Stay up late
  • Baby people
  • Show love
  • Accept what I cannot understand
  • Living for someone else
  • Grow rosemary

Respect the Heart Shell

I returned from vacation at 2 am Tuesday morning.  What a shock to go back to work Wednesday – the contrast of being outside hiking in the woods daily in North Carolina, with now being in my windowless office – is deep.

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During the trip, and a short time prior, I was beginning to work on my opening my heart.  Sounds cheesy, trust me I know.  I have been emotionally numb and stuck for a long time and have recently wanted that to change for various reasons.  I started looking for something – a book, a group – anything to help.  What showed up was a class on opening the heart, which I signed up for and attended a few days before my trip.  Nothing striking there, but it began a slightly different thought process.  Since returning I have noticed that perhaps focusing on my heart has moved something, just a little.  Being in the green lush mountains has healed, perhaps a smidge.  The thing I’ve really come to understand is that my heart is encased in a hard shell for a reason – when it’s ready to crack it will.  When I heal and am ready to move forward, I will.

I haven’t talked to my kids for awhile – and really don’t feel a thing about that.  I have not made any attempt to repair my relationship with my mother – and am not sure it’s my job.  I do not have any contact with my family right now – feels fine.  Nice actually – no guilt trips.  I believe I’ll  just sit here awhile.

Mother’s Day Etiquette

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Oh mother’s day.  What the hell are you?  A day to recognize that mothers exist?  A day to go over to mom’s and hang out while she cooks and cleans up after us?  Buy flowers? Stupid pointless cards that cost five freaking dollars that don’t fit the nature of your relationship – because let’s just be honest, no one has that kind of relationship with their mother (fluffy, pink, sweet, light of my life shit).  I’d really rather have the option of buying a card that says something like “This is a really awkward day and I don’t like to hang out with you but I’m supposed to do something so here”.  I’d buy that.

Then there’s the I’m a mother and it’s mother’s day situation.  Does age trump number of kids?  Do we always have to defer to our mothers before we take a freaking day to do nothing – including mother?  Do I get to opt out as a mother’s day recipient?  You really want to give me something? Well how about  leave me the feck alone for a day!

What about grandmothers and aunts?   Why are all the cards out there for them if they aren’t our MOTHERS!  Where does it stop people?  Can we please just stop the insanity of having to fake it through another goddamn holiday thing that we have to celebrate because it’s what we do, regardless of reality or beliefs, or lack of religion etc.  I am not a Christian but I’m expected to celebrate easter and Christmas.  I don’t believe the story of Thanksgiving, but I am required to go eat and be thankful for something.  Father’s day, grandparent’s day, blah blah blah.  Let’s just call them all by what they are: Painful Relationships Awareness Day.  Let’s at least be honest about it and forgive each other for being less than we’d hoped for, lower the expectations, accept reality and go see a movie alone, or at least with people we choose to be around because we honestly like them.

Dear My Mom,

Just when I think you’ve undermined my parental authority to the furthest extent humanly possible, you surpass yourself flying mid-air. Let me just explain some things you might have missed during our recent conversations. I’ll try to be brief, as I’m sure you have my kids to coddle, make excuses for, buy things for, pick up, drive around, challenge my authority with, baby, and feed (because apparently there is no food in my house). Aren’t you sick of this yet? I sure am.

Here are a few points I would like you to take in- just take them in and let them move around inside you for awhile until you become aware of their existence. Then you might begin to think about something other than pleasing your husband, God and everyone else – with the exception of me of course, which I’ve not come to understand yet. I’ll work on that next, when I’m done fighting you off my kids.

  • There are reasons we aren’t close, many of which you have not ever begun to consider
  • You are NOT my kids mom, that’s me, remember?
  • Your opinion of anything does not supersede mine, I don’t give a rats ass how old you are, you sure haven’t lived long
  • I’m in charge of my daughter and son, you’re in charge of church and yourself
  • When you tell my daughter my opinion, rules, approach, and really all that I am – is wrong and you actually ignore me and do what you want for and/or with my daughter, you’re creating an impossible situation for us all. I believe it’s called “Triangulation”.
  • If you continue to rescue my daughter from her rules at my house, she will be living at your house, permanently
  • You are teaching her how to manipulate and underhandedly cheat in relationships. Not okay.
  • YOU fucking need boundaries
  • YOU fucking need self-awareness
  • YOU fucking need a life

 

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It’s Definitely Not Sunday Again

Monday morning starts off with my alarm working perfectly.  Apparently I am not.  Never heard a sound from 5:45 am when the alarm began it’s attempts to arouse me, until I actually woke up (primarily because it was so damn bright in my bedroom) at 8:30 am.

As I rush around to make coffee and gather my wits, my non-working or going to school 17 year old, (who will be working by Tuesday, AND enrolled in an online program or she’ll be lacking a house and food) strolls out of her room in a perky mood, looking beautiful and well refreshed, asking if she may have some coffee while humming a tune.  Why does this make me hate her more than I already do?  One can infer, I have my own reasons.

Now it’s 11:45 am and I’m still attempting to ingest enough coffee to lose the puffy eyes and co-workers are microwaving their lunch, making the whole place smell like food – yuck!  Half my day is missing and I’m trying to catch the hell up.  And write about it.  Because writing about it helps.  And takes up more time.  And I work better under pressure.

My Two Heads

It just struck me how ironic it is that on my way into work I was planning out what to “steal” from my daughters room in order to make her feel a similar rage I felt this morning when I couldn’t find my blush or eye shadow (“Hmmmm, I said to myself, I wonder where it could be” –  not really, that’s not at all what I said).  And now I sit at my computer getting ready to respond to an email from a colleague about a “working moms support group” and how I can help support their mission of being perfect, loving, doting parents as well as world renowned academics.

That’s Just About Enough

I’ve had it up to here, where ever that is.  My blood has been replaced with searing rage and is coursing through my veins at a pace that is near dangerous, though to whom I’m not sure.  I’m always surprised when I can move from one emotion to another – on the opposite end of the spectrum – in 8 hours.  Sleep does a body good, or puts loved ones in danger – it’s yet to be determined.

I actually felt compassion for my daughter last night when she said she was too sad to go to work or school and needed my support.  I almost regretted that I told her she had to go apply for jobs all day at the mall while I was at work instead of sitting on the couch watching movies, eating food and texting me that there was no food.  That is until the C-word was used in reference to my expectations of her which were “insane”.  Enough.  I’m done.  I have no empathy or room for your mouth, needs, wants or sadness anymore.  Let me explain that when you are supporting yourself there is no place for “depression”, being too sad and upset to “do life”.  And I don’t give a rats ass anymore.  You work or you die.  I will no longer be intervening.  Simple as that.  I know about depression and sadness, I really do.  It sucks and it makes life questionable.  But honey, there are times it’s a luxury to be depressed and now is not one of those for you.  E. Nough.

Thirty-Five

It’s interesting how birthday’s lose their luster after a certain age.  Thirty-five is a good number, I’m glad I’ve made it here.  Still, it’s just a day.  I remember waiting months for the big day and so looking forward to the party with family and friends.  Wanting to get older and excited  for the age.   I felt very important and special, which I think was the point.  I’m not in a reflective place – looking at the past seems fairly pointless.  I’m going to look to the future today; amazed that I’ve come this far, grateful for the blessings I’ve incurred and ready to move on, accepting that I am right where I’m supposed to be.

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Dear Kids,

You’re fucked.  Both of you.  Seriously.  I’d really like to know what you’re little broken brains are thinking, if that’s what they are even doing. Are you able to imagine what life will be like for you in five minutes after this meal is over and you don’t have means or a plan for getting the next?  You have no idea how hard it is out there just to live, pay rent, buy food, put gas in the car (if you’re lucky enough to have a car).  The way I want to help you is to teach you how to work hard, but that’s backfired and you hate me.

I know, I’m mostly to blame for most all your issues, and I accept that with little to no argument otherwise.  I’ve been an ass.  A mean awful mother at times.  I imagine this is some kind of revenge, and although you have no idea, it’s about the worst kind.  Ouch.  When you are both falling flat on your face it’s hard to look in the mirror.  Though you forget, I also took care of you, fed you, clothed you, read to you and loved you in the best way I could and knew how.

Now I’ve read books, taken classes, gotten degrees and work in the field of families for Christ’s sake, but none of that changes history.  None of that can change my history.  We are all right where we are.  Past and present.  Fortunately our future is not yet determined.  Fortunately for you.  I’m going to attempt to regroup somehow, work on how to lovingly detach and give detached love.  Right now that looks like me spewing anger and impossible questions your way, but I’ll work on it.  That’s all I can do.

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