I wish I could say I was writing my stories with an intense fervor, smiling at my keyboard and my ever-present notebooks, flipping pages and using my funky-colored pens to mark new ideas and just let it flow and flow and flow.
I wish I could say I was working plenty of hours the past few months, enough for me to sock several paycheck chunks into an emergency fund and pay down my debts with a little wiggle room for decent coffee and a breakfast sandwich every day.
I wish I could say I was being more sociable, getting out there on the new nights I suddenly have off and making plans with people I just met.
I wish I could say my destiny was well-in-hand and I was working ever-so-confidently toward a brilliant and wonderful future.
A future where I might not be a millionaire, but if I’m sensible with my money, I can give some away to charity or food banks without feeling a pain in my own stomach and a grasping hand around my heart. Where money is there to just pay the bills and buy food and fulfill some basics, and I have time because I have enough to volunteer more often. Where I stop fretting over work hours and wonder if this one cup of regular, free-refill available coffee (not the fancy-shmancy, hand-crafted stuff) is going to prevent me from making my car note if (heaven forbid) I lose work hours again because of a schedule conflict or too many last-minute cancellations.
I was planning to write some inspirational quotes for myself in a notebook again, since they sometimes pull me out of my desperate creative funk. I was going to pull some out and put them in one of the Jesus themed ones I happen to have on my shelf and make one for mom, who has also been writing, and maybe it would have some nice things she could use for inspiration.
If you’ve read my post about family and Facebook, then you have a basic idea of the issues I have with my mother, who even 900 miles away can inspire guilt and anger (but these days it’s mostly disappointment and annoyance).
It’s going in the recycle bin now because NOTHING I can give her or say at this point can undo what the hell just happened a few minutes ago on the phone.
I hadn’t called her in months, and kept trying to figure out a way to do just that. I’d pick up the phone, remember all the other conversations I still held a grudge over, and would put it down again. I just kept hesitating.
That hesitation cost me, because as I was about to finish this post, the phone rang and it was her. She sounded a bit subdued, but then the first words out were something like you haven’t called in months.
I don’t know how the fuck it happened, but I just exploded. I said I was ignoring everyone because of the election crap, because of the hate and the awfulness, and it all just exploded. I didn’t want to argue or anything and when we got on the phone, we seemed to argue all the time, and I didn’t want that, and I didn’t wanna talk to anybody.
What was all fucked up is that she was calling me to tell me that my aunt died.
Then we jumped down each other’s throats.
I’m not on Facebook with her or anything, and the crazy thing was this past week I was going to try and head down to my aunt’s workplace and see her and actually get advice on talking with my mom and seeing what I could do to make things better. I had a feeling there was something else I could do, but not Facebook.
But there’s a reason I didn’t want to call or talk–I hadn’t figured it out yet, and here she was calling me. I wasn’t ready, and my verbal diarrhea took a left turn at Hell.
Irony of ironies, I fucked it all up so much worse than I could’ve imagined. She was crying so bad and I tried to stem the flow of all the frustration and the bad memories, because that’s not what the conversation was about, but we could barely hear each other. I’m gonna be calling my stepdad later this week, maybe tomorrow, and see if I can talk to him and get a grasp on what the hell I just did.
I remembered my aunt had been sick, but I didn’t remember how long ago that was. That’s part of the reason I was going to stop in her workplace and say Hi when I had the chance–then I got a schedule change and passed it by. Turns out she wouldn’t have been there anyway. Mom’s on her way to the funeral and I just found out–that’s why she called me.
My fear of being confrontational and hurting other people’s feelings just turned turtle in the water and sank. My hands are shaking because I didn’t mean to explode, and somehow it just came out of me. Oh shit–I gotta call my pseudo sister and get her advice, because I don’t know what else to do.
I think I need to take a test or find a way to see a shrink. Part of the reason I’m worked up is this anxiety, and uncertainty I had about my mother this morning, and also the real concern that something’s completely screwed up with me, like I’m depressed myself and need help.
Well, if there was a motivation to do something about this waffling between intense feeling and intense numbness and all the crackpot things that’ve happened…I think I saw the sign. A really really big neon sign spewing fireworks, smoke, sirens and nukes.
I’m really wishing I could redo the past 24 hours, hell, the past 5 would be perfectly fine with me! The past two would be fantastic.
God help me, what the hell did I just do? I doubt my quote books are going to have anything very inspirational to help with this!