Twenty-five years now since Sean left me. Just making a note of it. I started out getting sad at this time of year and then would just sort of notice it and now, well. I don’t know. I think I remember what day it is every year, and that’s about as far as it goes. Emotionally blunted. Happens sooner or later with these things.
I would say at this point that there are valid reasons for both my kids to be angry at me, but the problem is that the reasons they are angry at me are not the valid reasons, they’re something else completely. Misplaced anger. Bad aim. I don’t know what to do about that, so I haven’t even tried. I’m not sure Sean’s really angry at me at this point, anyway. Indifferent might be more like it. At worst, indifference on the surface with some old anger deep down that’s rusted so much it doesn’t have much function anymore.
But all that’s just a guess. And fixing old hurts is a two-way street.
I’m a hypocrite, anyway. I haven’t talked to Mom since December and I’m not sure if I will. It’s less being angry at her than just plain not trusting her, and I’m not sure what either of us would get out of it in any case. I can’t understand her speech two-thirds of the time, she doesn’t understand me at all (maybe my speech, but certainly nothing else), and I don’t like her husband. No idea why. Just a bad vibe. Then there were the alleged drugs (she has never confirmed, and that may only be a rumor), the selling the house and the land it was on after telling me I would inherit both, the abandoning me on Christmas after promising to pick me up at Dad’s and thereby forcing me to spend the whole day alone since I had no car at the time, the promising me her van that she wasn’t driving anyway (I didn’t ask, she offered) and then coming to take it back without prior notice nor an explanation (and I had a small child I needed transportation for), the not telling me about Mawmaw’s death until weeks or months afterward and then sending me a nasty letter when she discovered I already knew and was very unhappy about not being notified, the stealing money from my brother Chan’s kids, and the not telling Chan about his father. And now acting like Chan’s just a bad son instead of reacting in a understandable way to her mistreatment of him. And those are the things I know about.
So maybe not so much a hypocrite. And I just get angrier at my situation when I consider the differences in the two. I couldn’t help being too poor for a lawyer when my in-laws stole my son, and it turned out he was safer with them anyway (considering I was dating Jeremy at the time what with his issues that I found out about later, considering my status as a single mother still young enough to be considered fuckable and I was too easy a target for psychos in general), and that’s saying something because Bob, my then-father-in-law, was a raging alcoholic. Even my efforts to stay in touch with Sean were as likely to be returned to me unread on some bullshit pretext as to actually be given to him. And the worst thing I did where my daughter was concerned was not being structured enough with her education, but last I checked there were two adults in Thea’s life that whole time and one of them was too busy fapping on the fucking internet with all his fucking girlfriends, or whatever the fuck he was doing. No one wants to hear this because this whole culture is built on blaming women and especially mothers for everything, but I’m one fucking person. I can NOT do everything myself. If I have no support from society, I’m getting exactly nowhere, never mind with kids. I don’t mean everyone else paying my way or any bullshit like that. I mean society acting like I matter as a human being and acknowledging that I have needs that should be met, and not just after I’ve kissed everyone else’s asses enough, either. We have a BIG problem with this, and not only because it affects me. Just seeing how a young mother of a three-year-old was treated at the homeless shelter when she got seriously sick was a huge eye-opener. You people are all a great big pile of shit, and it is entirely by choice. If you want life to stop being shitty, you have to make different choices. Do not dump it all on me, or on any other individual woman, or on women as a group. We are ALL in this together.
“I was a single mother with five kids and I did everything myself”
You had help left and right and you’re too arrogant to admit it now. Your “friends” secretly hate you. Fuck off.
Anyway.
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I was mistaken about my Minecraft game. I don’t know what the fuck happened, but I was at the library yesterday and I opened the app and updated it and logged in, and now everything’s fine and I can play offline again. Given that it is updated, it’s probably a good idea to start a new game instead of trying to play the current one because version updates mess up the existing maps. I stand by my general complaint about software trends from the previous post, though.
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I now have two appointments on Monday rather than just the one about the ass-plumber. After that I have to go over to the hospital in Crowley and get my right tit squished again, and probably also an ultrasound after that. I need to impress here that I am not worried yet. I read up on what the scan results diagnosed and it can happen due to poor positioning sometimes. They didn’t actually see a lump, just this outcome can sometimes indicate a lump that is hard to see. Even if they do find a lump, chances are excellent it will be benign. I have no breast-cancer history in my family that I know of, and that tit has given me zero trouble. If anything, I like it better than the left one because it is not quite as big. That was true even before I had kids. If I ever win the lottery, I am getting the fucking things rebuilt, and they WILL be the same size when the surgeon’s done with me.
(No implants though. Not if I can help it. 99% chance that I can help it.)
Have taken three doses of the metformin by now, I think? Maybe four? Not sure. All I know is, physically I feel a little better than I’ve been feeling. I did a fasting sugar a day or two ago and it was still in the 150s (mg/dl), but it had been in the 160s the previous time I had checked, and that was on a good day. I suspect that if I can successfully transition to low-carb at minimum, if not actually keto, I’ll see an even bigger improvement.
I have been shopping, at any rate, for a new glucose meter and the whole shebang. I thought perhaps Amazon might have decent prices. I was not disappointed. I am doing that reluctant thing about spending right now — I did order some B12 and that should be in the mailbox tomorrow, thanks to Amazon doing Sunday delivery, but I’m afraid that if I get carried away with spending I will run into some stupid fucking crisis — but if I start up with Uber again the way I’m seriously considering, I’ll definitely order a kit. The ones I’m looking at also come with control solution, which will be helpful. Meters are not super accurate anyway, but control solution will tend to catch out the ones that are actually fucked up. I need all the advantage I can get. I suppose I’m at war now.
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I got to go to the library yesterday because I was in Jennings yesterday because Dad sent me on an errand yesterday to buy him some fucking alcohol. I feel like I wrote this already and I probably did, actually in WordPress while at the fucking library. I am not sure. I will say that I had an odd moment while in the checkout line where I wanted to make myself look less like a fucking lush (it was two 750ml bottles!!!) by remarking that I was getting it for my elderly father, and then I realized that if I said that, I would probably get in trouble for buying booze for someone else. If that ain’t a surreal fucking situation. Hey Dana, would you like to develop a reputation as a drunk to save yourself being arrested for possibly purchasing booze for minors? Oh, sure, fuck it! I was getting bored anyway!
The funny thing with his drinking these days is that at least some of it goes down the sink because if he doesn’t finish a drink and then needs a nap, when he gets back up he dumps it because the ice has melted, the Coca-Cola is flat, and therefore the drink is nasty. I mean, they’re nasty anyway. I tried a smidgen of his Early Times last time I lived here because I had discovered I like Scottish whisky (I don’t call it Scotch unless in a conversation with Americans whose degree of knowledge about booze is unknown to me or clearly lacking) and I was curious how his Kentucky bourbon stacked up without the Coke added. What do you know. The Coke was why I had always found it nasty. I was never a drinker at home as a teenager, but there were a couple times he offered me a sip, once after I was in a minor school-bus wreck that had nevertheless left me a bit rattled. Y’all, don’t add Co-Cola to bourbon. It does not improve it. That said, I wouldn’t go buy Early Times on my own. Number one, if I remind myself it’s cheap, I might drink it faster, which would help no one, least of all me. Number two, he’d totally steal it. I am about 80% convinced he did that when I had what was left of my Balvenie with me and moved in with him last time, but I don’t think he liked what he tasted. Or didn’t want to get caught, since he hadn’t asked. Either way.
I just don’t drink here generally. I don’t get sloppy anyway anymore (we’re talking more-than-half-my-lifetime-ago “anymore”), but one of us has to stay sober.
Oh, right, my original point. Point is, at least he’s not drinking every single drop of said booze. Small consolation. With the previous bottle he put at least a third of it down the sink because he was exhausted after we went to Crowley and spent the next day napping more than not. So it was a couple swallows and then back to bed and then back up later to find a spent nearly-full glass, thus having to dump it out and start over, then soon needing another nap, lather, rinse, repeat. I can’t say I’m sorry.
But if he’s feeling better, things could get interesting again. As it is, I thought maybe he fell a couple days ago, but it must not have been serious because when I peeked around the corner he was standing upright and putting on a robe. Haven’t seen any new bruises either.
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Been thinking for a long time about a certain guy obsession of mine, speaking of mind-altering substances. I’ve touched on this before and I will again, without naming him. I mean, since I got obsessed with him (and I do NOT mean that in a Fatal Attraction sense, more like an autistic-hyperfixation or teenage-crush sense), he’s allegedly gotten married so he’s not a good infatuation target anyway. But the more I look at the overall picture the more I wonder if he’s on something, or suffering the aftereffects of same. I saw a comment about him on a YouTube video to the effect that in his young-adult years he was known around town as a raging cokehead. I have more recently (a couple years ago?) seen a comment on Instagram by a disgruntled woman that he was very rude to her in a restaurant and accused her of stalking him. I have also read his responding to an interviewer in Singapore who asked him where he would sail his boat when his most famous show was over with a, “That’s my fucking business,” and then there’s the way we’ve heard from at least two restaurants he’s visited that he has a wife, once quoting him as having mentioned her, but he still will not publicly state he’s gotten married and is generally very secretive. I’m not gonna go out on a limb and say he’s an asshole, there has been plenty of evidence that he is not (for whatever that’s worth), but his suffering aftereffects or current effects of cocaine use is not off the fucking table. Paranoia is a side-effect of nose candy. Being secretive is a symptom of paranoia. That he used to be a lot more open about his life and now is not is another huge red flag in this direction. Progressive damage over time.
No one wants to hear that. He’d be fucking pissed (off) if he knew I said it. He will just have to cope because any capacity I had for sympathy or understanding about this shit got burnt out a long time ago. Users and addicts cannot expect sympathy from people who qualify for Al-Anon membership. (If we’re still capable of it, great. If we’re not, don’t expect it.) If he’s still using, that’s a choice and entirely his fault, not mine, so don’t shoot the fucking messenger. And the effects of his use A-ffect other people, so don’t act like it’s “private” and “victimless.” (If his wife’s not using, she has to cope with him using or cope with the aftereffects if he’s no longer using. If his wife IS using and he is too, he’s reinforcing her habit and it will be harder for her to quit. Do we in his fandom actually care what happens to his wife? I was under the impression we all did.) If he’s stopped using but it fried his brain in a certain way and he’s still dealing with those aftereffects, maybe it’s time he understood that he’s suffering those aftereffects instead of accusing people of stalking him when we ask simple questions like “are you married, big man?” That’s not a question that normal people are afraid to answer. Even famous people are not.
More to the point, since this is my diary, not his? I’m rather irritated with myself. I’m a loner myself and so I found his solitude and his quirks appealing. Why do I always glom onto the weirdoes? Women can be weird and it not mean anything nefarious but in my experience, weird men are always hiding something dealbreaker-level-stupid or awful. Will I learn anything from this? Fuctifano. I’ll probably keep crushing on him a while. The ONLY defense I have for that is I know nothing will come of it. But this better be the last fucking time. I can’t do this anymore.
AND he’s a heavy drinker. As if that isn’t bad enough. “Oh, it’s okay, he’s Scottish.” No, that does not make it better. Thanks for playing.
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I’m generally going through a bit of bleh. I don’t mean to sound like it is a huge crisis. Just generally, my brain is going “why the fuck are other women my age living in decent houses and driving decent cars and… well… look at me”? There is no single answer, and while I carry plenty of the blame, there were plenty of “pain points” where people around me could have treated me like a human being instead of like a criminal or like a dumb farm animal and the outcome would have been very different.
But that’s not even most of the bleh. I mean, I can’t change any of that. Most of the bleh is “Okay, how the fuck do I improve things from here without tripping myself up again?” Never mind that 99% of the time I apply for a job I don’t get it; most of the time they ignore me and once in a while they reply back long enough to say sorry-you-do-not-meet-qualifications. And it’s not like we’re talking rocket surgery here. Even when I do get something I am not suited for it, apparently. And this is all doing my head in because duh, I need more money.
But fretting will not fix anything. I need to get my ass in gear on the things I can do. The end.