Caterwauling

Oh, BTW, don’t think I enjoy feeling miserable. It’s just magnified right now. This is a habit of mine, indulging in self-pity, to avoid what’s really wrong. Besides, I just can’t share everything on these pages. I’d be glad if nobody ever read this blog but me, but because that’s unlikely, I have to retain a hold on the things that bother me the most and only share my surface problems (either that, or just act happy, because nobody wants to hear what’s really bothering you … gawd knows I can’t stand reading blogs where people are wallowing — I’d rather hear about the fun things they are seeing and doing, and here’s to hoping that my own blog will return to that point.).

My grandfather was just diagnosed with cancer. This, on top of an aneurysm, diabetes, a heart condition, a back injury from WWII, and a variety of other maladies that show up in “the golden years.” And mom continually disguises her own problems, which she discloses in small ways, here and there, but without health insurance, she’s kinda fucked. And my grandfather goes to the V.A., which is a total fucking joke … don’t even get me started on all the horror stories … there ain’t enough bandwidth in cyberspace to list all of our adventures with incompetence at the V.A. hospitals in Pittsburgh.

At any rate, I’ve always worried about my family, and now that they’re far away, it’s a mixed blessing. I mean, I know there’s not a damn thing I can do from 250 miles away, but then again, that doesn’t stop me from worrying. Had I stayed at Two Strikes, I was planning to get a bigger apartment with an extra bedroom, in the event that we lost my grandfather, my mom would always have a place to stay (because as his full-time caregiver, it’s not like she has any of her own resources). And while she’d rather drive her car off a cliff than be dependent upon me, I know the family tradition of caring for elders will continue. (of course, it was my mom who took care of her own grandmother, her mother and now her father … who’s left to take care of her? She and I are both without siblings, so there ain’t help on the horizon). So, it saddens me when mom says she’s going to try to send me money or buy cat food or whatever, when she doesn’t have a pot to piss in or a window to throw it out of. I’m hiding a lot of stories within these words, of course, but it’s safe to summarize that I’d love to see my family without struggle … that is all that they have ever known, and I feel like I should have utilized (or begin to utilize) the opportunities that have come my way so that I can give back to them in some, any way. And although they’d never expect it, I still feel like I’m failing them in that respect. I should be able to help them, or at least, be prepared for the worst, although mom’s just planning to be a bag lady. lol. She’s got a spirit about her, that’s for sure! Although I did inherit her quick-to-anger streak. Both of us really do want to be anywhere but wherever we presently are, which probably explains our insane attachment to the movie and soundtrack “Anywhere but Here.”

I was once told by my grandmother that there had been a curse put upon our family. I never believed her, even though she and mom both had a strange sixth sense about everything. At any rate, I always figured I’d be the one to break the supposed curse, but maybe I’m falling right into it. How on earth can I break free?

I know that I’m not happy here, but would I really be happy anywhere? IKEA Boy invited me out tonite, so I scrubbed my butt, changed my jewelry, did my hair, painted nails/toenails, and then called him to say I wouldn’t be able to make it. I’m pathetic, I know. But I’m in no condition to speak to another human being right now, let alone go out dancing. He didn’t even ask what was wrong, but he knows. He ain’t dumb. I know he doesn’t want me to be sitting at home on a Saturday night, but I got so used to doing that when I worked at Easter Seals, I’m sure I will get used to it again. Gawd, I hate my life.

I just think about in Pgh, how when I had money, I was stupid and was always spending and sharing the wealth with friends who needed a night out but couldn’t afford it (the role IKEA Boy seems to now take with me, and while I was always enjoyed taking my friends out, I hate being in the very same position because I just feel desperate and needy and just plain annoying, and I refuse to let what little dignity I still possess slip away). If I had only SAVED a few bucks, maybe I’d be able to not only cover my bills, but enjoy an evening out, now and again. Meanwhile back at the ranch, the only reason I made it financially this month was because two of my cousins sent me a few bucks for “emergency” money. Hah. That’s gone … overdue bills were made my emergency. At least I never had kids, nor do I plan to.

I don’t understand why I’m so aggravated by living without money now … I only had wealth for one year in my miserable life. Yet I guess it shows that it is easy to become accustomed to affording the things you need and want. I’ll admit that I’ve indulged in a bit of retail therapy in my day, making purchases to distract me from some other big (and sometimes unsolvable) issues. Now that I have to budget for two lunches this week with two people I don’t even care to see, that just hurts even more, that I have to part with my last dollars to look at them for an uncomfortable hour each. Argh.

I never did record the one incident with our 80-year-old librarian. Two weeks ago, she had suggested that we do lunch, and I was super-busy and said it would be better if we waited a week or so. Well, I was treated to a NASTY e-mail from her last week, stating that if I didn’t intend to have lunch with her, I should have just said so. Oh, she went off on a tirade, and I felt obligated to schedule a date post-haste. Now I’m going to feel like there’s a gun to my fucking head while I’m eating with her. Great. Not like I am the most emotionally stable human being right now, anyway, and I’m afraid to postpone for the mere fact that she’ll pitch another bitch.

I can already hear IKEA Boy when he reads my recent posts — he’ll be telling me again that I need counseling. For the record, I am avoiding the whole subject of seeing a counselor or psychiatrist because, well, I don’t need a professional problem-solver who earns per hour what I earn per week to tell me that I’m depressed. In fact, the depression is the symptom, not the cause. Think about it … I would have to pay co-pays for doctor’s visits and meds, therefore pulling me further below the financial current. Something tells me that seeing a doctor or counselor would only serve to depress me even more!

Off to Washington Jobs to see about fixing my problems!