Perhaps there was a nugget of truth in that accusation. On one hand, I am only able or willing to give so much time or energy to the drama junkies; and on the other, it appears (to the junkies) as if I am "neither here nor there."
More to the point, I'm half-assing MYSELF and my own needs. It hasn't felt natural or pleasant for me to visit my family, so why bother? They are not value added to my life. They aren't making a point to be active players, and yet resent me and expect me to be an active player in theirs.
Just when I am convinced I have steeled myself sufficiently, and have made strides and progress towards my OWN happiness or sense of well being, the Category 5 Emotional Hurricanes that my sister and mother are, find new ways to undermine my sense of self, my sense of well being, and try to drag me down to their level of misery.
I am disgusted and disappointed with myself that I "bit the hook," and engaged, even if it were one final attempt at trying to be understood. The reality is, her mind is made up, and is closed.
My reality, as I see it is, that for years my sister has gotten weird and distant, to the point where it was challenging to even communicate, to the point where over time, I stopped extending invitations (why bother? she'll never find time to come visit), and over time I stopped calling her at home, due to inability to either get through to her directly or zero courtesy in a return call.
I feel that a lot of the ire in her emails are a combination of unresolved emotional garbage of her being in the delusion/trap of being the middle child, and how she was never loved enough, and gets the shitty end of the stick from the family, which is then coupled up with the unreasonable amount of medical drama and abuse from mom. There's only so much one person can withstand, and rather than be angry at our mother for essentially handicapping herself due to outright neglect, she's projecting all that garbage onto me (as if I've had it easy all this time).
My mother's neglect of self has affected our family on a very real level and has limited our ability to have a richer, more diverse family experience. However, for many years prior to her incapacitation (which I would say is 50% mental--as if she really WANTED to leave her house, she would find a way) she stopped going the distance.
She doesn't know what fortitude is, much less what it is like to WORK through her garbage, and at this point she's a lost cause), she started opting out of going to HER sister's house due to the stairs being "too rickety," yet even after the stairs and railings were all replaced, she hasn't been to my aunt's house in 16 years. Another example: Even though my brother lives 30 minutes away, she doesn't go to his house because when he moved in, they removed the railing from the front of the house. Also related: she got rid of her death mobile, bucket of bolts, and cannot fit or get into anyone else's vehicle, so now she never leaves the house, and the world must COME TO HER.
Then there was the issue of her size and inability to lift her legs high enough to get into any other vehicle other than her death mobile, bucket of bolts. Seven years ago, when we bought our new car, she made such a frustrating, pitiable fuss while attempting to get into the car, that she had to taint what would have been a simple joy, of taking my parents out for a joy ride in my new car. Of course, dad went with me and we enjoyed our time, but still, the memory is still there, and it is one of many examples of how anything good that happens to me, it has to be countered with something negative from her.
THAT is at the root here. The narcissism, the handicapping via outright neglect, the emotional abuse that camouflaged itself as "parenting" or "love," THAT is at the root here.
I still say that despite my sister's claims she wanted a dialogue, the reality is, she wanted a monologue where the only valid POV is her own. Couple this up with her demands/selfishness and her cruelty (of her "agreeing with my stalker" which to me = her thinking I deserve to be victimized), I don't see much left to salvage in this relationship.
I have her at the highest level of emotional insulation. I have blocked her from emailing further shit storms to me at my work email address, and I have added every related phone number for her to my reject list on my cell phone. If need arises, I'll add all those numbers to the reject list on the house phone/land line.
While I don't wish any negative stuff to happen, part of me hopes that when this year's "post-holiday hospitalization" happens, it will be while I am on an entirely different continent.
I've had enough of "family" to last me for a while. I am pretty much disgusted with my mother, as her meddling added to the dynamic/paradigm. I am working all week this week, and have zero intent to call anyone on the holiday. I'm putting everyone into a time out.
Monday, December 22, 2014
Thursday, December 18, 2014
The Shitstorm: The Last Word
Yesterday after receiving what I thought was the last email in the series of hatred from my sister, I decided to block her email address, because HELLO YOU ARE STIRRING SHIT AT WORK, and have pre-emptively blocked all numbers associated with her on my cell phone, and tonight every last one of her phone numbers will be added to our reject list at home. So if you're keeping track at home, this is the highest level of emotional insulation I've had to enact. EVER.
This morning, of course, when I got into the office, I had to check my quarantine folder out of some sense of morbid curiosity. And of course, there's the final email. I tried to release the email and it got stuck in the ether. It took a while for IT to figure it out for me. And while I cannot view it as an email, I am able to read the body of the reply.
For continuity, I am pasting it herein. And a few weeks or months or perhaps years from now when I feel some pang of sentimentality, I shall sit back and re-read all of this disgraceful stuff, and be reminded of why I things are as they are.
The reply (which will go unacknowledged):
This morning, of course, when I got into the office, I had to check my quarantine folder out of some sense of morbid curiosity. And of course, there's the final email. I tried to release the email and it got stuck in the ether. It took a while for IT to figure it out for me. And while I cannot view it as an email, I am able to read the body of the reply.
For continuity, I am pasting it herein. And a few weeks or months or perhaps years from now when I feel some pang of sentimentality, I shall sit back and re-read all of this disgraceful stuff, and be reminded of why I things are as they are.
The reply (which will go unacknowledged):
I am deleting this after this email, talk about drama, maybe your stalker is right . FYI the world doesn't revolve around you, I have many things that you have not bothered to involve yourself in. E. never had a first communion, in our church they do not do that. And speaking about E. you have sent her a few random text messages in the middle of school to which she is not allowed on her phone. E. is almost an adult and can form her own opinions on people and believe me you are not the topic of conversation. You have made your decision and unlike you I will no longer be responding to your ranting Emails. I tried to open up a dialog but as usual you have to get the last word in. So I guess this is your famous F you letter. I do not wish anything bad for you and wish you nothing but the best for you and your husband, and I am also too old to be dealing with this kind of drama if you re read this email in its entirety maybe you can see what I was trying to say. But for now it is probably for the best that we have no further communication.*Note the zinger about her agreeing with my Stalker. The subtext of that is pretty potent, that I deserve to be victimized. Pretty cruel and sad all rolled into one.
Wednesday, December 17, 2014
The Shitstorm: A Timeline
So my sister went on the offensive, and zapped me the following (#1) email. Please read and see my relationship with her dissolve before your very eyes. I did not change formatting, and the only thing I did was redact names and email addresses for privacy concerns.
1.
From: Sis
Sent: Wednesday, December 17, 2014 2:11 PM
To: Me
Subject:
Not really quite sure what was going on on Sunday, but instead of talking to mom and aunt you could have taken me aside or tried to talk to me. I could not have been more uncomfortable with what I had assumed was all of you talking about me prior to coming in the room and then continuing to talk about me when I went into the living room. You and Mom barely said anything took your selfies while I stood in the kitchen getting stuff for the table. So how did you want me to react? This is not a letter telling you off, this is just me saying to you what I felt I could not say there. You called me twice at work while I was in a meeting, I figured it was to see how brother made out with surgery, I could not take the call. I get tired of being the one relaying to everyone how everyone is doing. I figured you would call him directly. It is difficult to try and gauge what type of relationship you are looking for with me. You want to pick up after long periods of time and talking like no time has passed. You have told me when I use to call your house how all I do is talk about myself and when you talk about yourself I have to get off the phone. I don’t feel like that is the case, I talk about my husband, daughter, our brother, and some of the rest of the family during this call. Do I resent you maybe a little, I am always the one getting the shit end of the stick in this family. You don’t get the middle of the night calls, or anything. I am at the point of giving everything back to Mom and you and our brother can figure out how to get everything done that she needs done. Almost 8 years of taking garbage in and out, paying bills** doing laundry food shopping whatever is needed at a moments notice. Do you think it is easy working fulltime raising my daughter dealing with my own family’s issues and then having to deal with all of Moms Stuff? You come down once maybe 3 times a year , I know it’s a ride and I don’t come to see you, but that doesn’t mean I don’t love you are care about you. I have no freakin time.
Just to let you know I called mom the next day and was told basically how horrible I am. Its great how she can talk about you when your not here but when you come down I am thrown right in the garbage pile as usual. I was told how I didn’t say hi, (but apparently walked in on you guys talking about me) how rude I was, and how you called me multiple times to have my daughter stay at the hotel with you, I Never received any call Sat from you, she then went on to tell me about your conversation and informed me that she doesn’t like that we hate each other. I don’t hate you, nor have I ever said that I hate you. All the Tuesday night* crap that I am not included in and all that other stuff I just don’t have time for it.
I do not want our relationship ruined by Mom. If you want to at some time talk/get together*** I am open to that. I just really feel like I need to take a break from all this, I would ask that you keep this between you and me**** and not involve mom in this or repeat the contents of the email to her.
*Tues. Night is a code word, family equivalent, to "it's in the vault." Also please note the sentence involving how she's not telling me off. This and subsequent replies were nothing short of telling me off. I don't care about her point of view. For YEARS that's all I've heard, and I've kept my mouth shut about mine. HER POV is not the ONLY one of value here. But what-evs.
**When dad was dying, he asked my brother-in-law to look after mom's finances, and to date, he has done so as a death bed promise to my dad, so I am not sure how or why this detail is included in her litany.
***This is hilarious. What she is suggesting would require that she actually answer or return a phone call.
****Typical tactic by a sociopath: carefully control and curate her narrative, so as to ensure she is always painted in as sympathetic light as possible. Sure. I tried not to speak to mom about what happened; however, my sister has shared her own spin on the story. Fuck her. This is so obvious in it being 100% manipulation.
2.
From: Me
Sent: Wednesday, December 17, 2014 2:13 PM
To: Sis
Subject: RE:
I’m not even going to engage in this.
I had a nice time at the party until I was told how horrible “I” am.
Since nothing “I” do is right, I’m removing myself from the equation.
3.
From: Sis
Sent: Wednesday, December 17, 2014 2:13 PM
To: Me
Subject: RE:
Ok fine, I figured I would try. Have a nice life.
4.
From: Me
Sent: Wednesday, December 17, 2014 2:16 PM
To: Sis
Subject: RE:
One final thing. You should check your math. While I may only come down every four months, multiply that out over 13 years, it still comes out to more visits from me than from you in the reverse.
5.
From: Sis
Sent: Wednesday, December 17, 2014 2:22 PM
To: Me
Subject: RE:
Maybe you should read your prior email? So much for not engaging in this. What I sent to you was to try and move on from this but if all you are going to do is act like this and not try, then all I can say is I tried, after all I am sure all your information is coming from Mom just like mine is, ever wonder what she has said you said about me? Oh right that’s Tuesday night stuff..just like when we were kids. If I am excluded from your life than do not contact MY daughter either, I am not going to have you half ass a relationship with her either
*Note: "Tuesday Night" is not something that was around while we were kids. This is something our aunt has employed amongst friends and is a relative new "thing" in my family. So again, weird thing she's recalling from childhood which was not the case.6.
From: Me
Sent: Wednesday, December 17, 2014 2:30 PM
To: Sis
Subject: Re:
No. I read it. I’m clarifying that I come down more than “every 7 months.” I don’t care. I am giving what I can of myself, and that’s obviously insufficient for your needs. I live 125 miles away. Also? You act as if you’re the only person who is entitled to feel disappointed or disgusted or let down.
Things have always been hostile with you. I try. I come down when I can and when I am able.
But there have been two crucial (ETA: Error noted, I noticed after I hit send that there were FIVE POINTS) points for me which have nothing to do with this weekend:
- You had offered (I did not, nor would have I ever asked for it) to help me for a day or two after my bypass—my surgery came and went and it was quite literally weeks before I heard back from you;
- When dad was dying and I had that car accident so bad requiring my vehicle be towed away, not one single person I called would answer their phone and render any aid. There I was, stranded 125 miles from home and no one would help me—luckily it was not a life-or-death type of accident--Bottom line is, I am not going to kill myself to be there more. The visits go by pretty much unappreciated;
- You want me to participate more in your daughter's life, yet, you excluded me from her First Communion came and went and was only mentioned casually, after the fact;
- You want me in your life or your daughter's life, yet neither one of you return calls or texts or emails;
- You want me in your life, yet, you have excluded me countless times with your trips to NYC for shows, of which I would not know about, had it not been for your holiday photo cards depicting you in front of the Time Life Building a scant 35 minutes from my house.
To be honest, the parties are not enjoyable for me. I don’t like large crowds, and with all the cross talk and chaos, it’s not enjoyable for me. So even in the course of “being there” it’s not enough.
You might not be aware of it, or perhaps you don’t care, and that’s fine, but you’re incredibly hostile towards me. I know you don’t self-censor in front of your daughter, so I’m sure she’s gotten quite an earful about what a disappointment I am. And that’s okay. I suck. I’m okay with my limitations. I’m tired of you projecting all your garbage onto me.
Furthermore, to clarify, the calls came through on Monday. Two. Plus one email. And no, the calls were not about our brother, because he communicates directly with me. And if he doesn’t, at a minimum his wife is capable of replying to a text without any hostility what-so-ever.
*Note: My sister and our sister-in-law are mortal enemies; here I am, painting a picture that her enemy is even capable of basic courtesy.I cannot be who you want, need, expect, demand me to be. And guess what? As I get older, the less I’ll be able to do.
So. Who should be frustrated or disappointed about two visits (plus that one random Easter when we all met in Edison) over the last 13 years?
Every holiday there’s some kind of issue. Some kind of chaos. I was minding my own business and somehow I’m on the shit list. I’m tired of being your scapegoat for whatever is bugging you. The holidays are hard enough to power through without inventing drama.
End Note: While I would not say I was "talking about her,"I merely remarked to my mother about how rude she was, (on top of the lack of telephone calls), as she walked in, acknowledged everyone except me. And then later, I commented to my aunt about how as a direct result of my sister not returning calls, my niece missed an opportunity to spend time with me. That is not "talking about," or talking smack.
Consequences
With the birth (or re-birth, as it were) of inescapable, irreversible, family induced butthurt, brings with it the inescapable AFTERBIRTH: The changing of the insurance beneficiaries.
Insanity = Doing The Same Thing Repeatedly & Expecting a Different Outcome
Not a holiday goes by without my sister drumming up drama with someone. Last year it was our sister-in-law; years before, my mom; and now this year, she's contriving some nonsense with me.
Obviously, I cannot change her behaviors, all I can do is change mine. All this is to say (or repeat saying, as I did state as such in yesterday's blog post) that I won't be rewarding abusive behavior by giving her more access to me, and I'm changing my focus regarding to whom or with whom I share myself and my precious commodity of TIME.
I'm fairly upset about having to be in such a position to cut myself off from another abusive relationship, but I suppose this is because the hurt is so raw and new. And a week or a month from now, the pain will be blunted, and the silence (and lack of apology or even awareness from/by my sister) will be enough to bolster me and my decision to just disengage.
My tack moving forward will be to meet force with force. I won't call her. And if she dares to call me, I'll just let it roll to voice mail and not bother to call her back. Whatever happens regarding mom and any future hospitalizations I will need to find out via my brother or my aunt. So be it.
Tuesday, December 16, 2014
The Afterbirth
With the birth of the post-family fuckfest wrap up comes the inevitable AFTERBIRTH: The commentary.
I've come to these inescapable judgements about my sister:
JUDGEMENTS (in stream-of-consciousness order):
1. She is petty, passive aggressive, hostile, jealous and just wants to find fault with me.
IN SUMMATION/CONCLUSION:
IN CONTRAST:
Regarding my brother...
JUDGEMENTS (in stream-of-consciousness order):
1. She is petty, passive aggressive, hostile, jealous and just wants to find fault with me.
2. She does not invest in our relationship. The only time
I see her is if I make the effort to drive 2.5 hours, one way, to NJ. She's
been to NYC countless times and never informs me of it in advance so I might
plan to take the train in to have a cup of coffee and face time.
3. She cannot be bothered to extend simple courtesy to me
in the form of replying to emails, texts or returning telephone calls.
4. She's perhaps even more negative than my mom.
5. She's got a very twisted perspective on reality and
events as they happen.
REGARDING HER PETTINESS:
When I decided I wanted a photo of me and my mom (there
aren't all that many and hell, she's not well), I asked my uncle to snap a
photo on my phone, and since my aunt was there, I asked her to be in it,
because I did not want her to feel excluded. But the photo was snapped FOR
ME,ON MY PHONE. Apparently, my sister takes issue with this
that she and my niece were not invited to be in the photo, and chooses to be offended. Complained up a a royal blue streak about it to mom.
REGARDING HER PASSIVE AGGRESSION, TWISTED SENSE OF REALITY/POOR MATH SKILLS:
She and my niece walked in, said hello to my mom and my aunt, and pretty much
outright shunned me. Then had the nerve to say I shunned HER and my niece.
She spent the entirety of the party (or while I was there) either in another room or at a distance from me, and at no point in time did she come near me to try to talk. Yet, I'm accused of the same thing.
She spent the entirety of the party (or while I was there) either in another room or at a distance from me, and at no point in time did she come near me to try to talk. Yet, I'm accused of the same thing.
She complained to my mother that I only come down if that
every seven months (inaccurate!). Just this year alone, I've come down four
times and was there visiting my sister just three scant weeks ago.
However, let's have fun with her incorrect math skills, and let's round down my visits to every SIX months, and it fleshes out thusly: 2 visits a year x 13 years = 26 visits, and she's only been to my house a whopping 2x in that time, I'd say SHE is the one with the "visit deficit," NOT me.
However, let's have fun with her incorrect math skills, and let's round down my visits to every SIX months, and it fleshes out thusly: 2 visits a year x 13 years = 26 visits, and she's only been to my house a whopping 2x in that time, I'd say SHE is the one with the "visit deficit," NOT me.
IN SUMMATION/CONCLUSION:
I'm not going to any future holiday "parties."
I haven't decided when to tell my mom that I won't come
down for holiday parties anymore (yet I will still make a special trip for HER),
though not right now because it's just too much. She's very upset about things
as they are, and I don't want to add to it. But no. No further holiday trips
will be made. I am tired of being my sister's scapegoat.
IN CONTRAST:
Regarding my brother...
I could text him at midnight and say call me, and guess
what he does? HE CALLS ME. And in stark contrast to my sister, said very directly to our mom, "If all Maven has is one hour to give me, I'll take it. I'll be happy with my hour."
Also worth mentioning, he and I are trying to make active
plans moving forward. As I said to my
brother, "It's obvious she doesn't want me in her life, and I'm done trying.
So, I will focus my energies on those people who want me in their life."
I am pretty much upset/devastated about all these
developments. My sister is incapable of communicating directly--and is squarely
to blame for this weirdness, and I think I've hit my saturation point of
"give a fuck" and won't be continuing with this dynamic in an active
role.
Monday, December 15, 2014
Post-Familyfuckfest Wrap Up
All things considered, it went well enough.
My plans all fell into place, and I was able to head off to my great-aunt's home so she and my cousin could be the official tasters of the stuffed squid, which they had been very helpful and gracious every step of the way with my questions, etc.
My cousin went to great lengths to make it all very special for me. Setting the table with table cloth, china and flat ware all that were my great grandmother's. And he put out a full array of holiday cookies which over the course of a few weeks he made (and froze) in preparation for Christmas. It was all truly lovely.
Conversation was pleasant and timely and didn't dig too deep into the past, as whatever grudges and bygones are now put to rest given all the parties involved in it directly are no longer among the living. And what is inescapably apparent to me is that no one on the other side of the family either sensed anything was amiss or knew what caused it. And sadder still, in the almost 25 years since my grandmother passed away (one of the parties directly involved), no one had taken charge to try to reunite the family or become re-acquainted.
So it is totally by chance I found my great aunt, and chose to be social, and got introduced to her youngest son, with whom I've established a friendly email correspondence. And everything has unfolded, I suspect cosmically, in its own time.
Once the squid was tasted (and I got high marks and praise on it, especially given it's my first attempt at it), two hours turned into three, and I needed to head on my way.
I kept all this information to myself overnight. I wanted the good feeling to last. It was something truly good and lovely, and so utterly NORMAL. I didn't want to tell anyone about it out of fear of someone making a negative out of it.
In keeping with the theme of the previous blog post, and in keeping with her character, NO. My sister never replied back to my voicemails or emails, and even when in my physical presence did she give two shits enough to even ask, "Hey, you were trying to contact me.... what was it about?" Nope.
I was to have breakfast at the hotel with a friend, and that fell through, so I had a nice solo breakfast and took advantage of the time, and headed to the store for some last minute items, and headed to mom's house for some spare time before the party.
I came in the house with a new cowl necked top for her, I thought it festive enough and in her favorite color, and thought she might wear something new since she was hosting a house full of company. She gave a glance, didn't seem all that interested in it. And at first it got shuffled off to the side, and before you know it, it found its way to the bottom of a pile of pillows, and now a wrinkled, forgotten mess. MONEY WELL SPENT! Some people are just unappreciative fucks. Oh well. Luckily it wasn't pricey--but I could have bought another skein of yarn with the cost of the blouse.
Audrey was neutral to well behaved. And I broke the news that not only did I visit her aunt (the one she's groused about in the past about not hearing from her), but that I also stayed at a hotel last night too. I just needed time to regroup after such a long drive, and being ON at the aunt's, and let's face it, I cannot convince myself to work myself up into a lather hosting a party in someone else's house. But hey, every one else feeds this delusion that she's living independently, when it's not the case. My aunt was playing step-and-fetch-it and seething the entire time.
My sister and niece walked in and acknowledged everyone--except for me. I just sat there cool as a cuke, crocheting. Very weird and awkward indeed. My brother was unable to come out to the party due to the surgical procedure he had earlier in the week.
It was weird and awkward and noisey as fuck. And now it's over. Audrey is blissed out that I made it. Which no doubt means my sister is seething about that.
I had a chat with my aunt afterwards about how unwelcome I feel around my sister, and it's obvious she doesn't want me involved in her life or her kid's. She's unwilling or incapable of articulating it, and in the interim there's this lingering weirdness.
If I avoid everyone, I'm damned.
If I try to be there, I'm damned.
My relationship with my brother is so straightforward there is none of this garbage. And hell, I feel more of an "aunty" to the kids of friends than I do to my own nieces.
The party itself was nice enough, but loud and anxiety inducing, and I powered through until I got a text from the husband that said, "Time to come home." And I got myself together, got as far as the door and realized I almost went home wearing a pair of house slippers of my mother's. My younger cousin scampered off to retrieve my shoes, and in doing so, I thanked him and quipped, "I feel like Cinderella!"
The drive home, long as it may be, was about as problem free as possible, and I managed to get home in about two hours.
Along with the birth of anxiety riddled family fuckfest is the inevitable AFTER birth, the GI distress in the form of constipation. Jury is still out on whether an impaction is in my near future.
Waiting for the other poo (shoe) to drop...
My plans all fell into place, and I was able to head off to my great-aunt's home so she and my cousin could be the official tasters of the stuffed squid, which they had been very helpful and gracious every step of the way with my questions, etc.
My cousin went to great lengths to make it all very special for me. Setting the table with table cloth, china and flat ware all that were my great grandmother's. And he put out a full array of holiday cookies which over the course of a few weeks he made (and froze) in preparation for Christmas. It was all truly lovely.
Conversation was pleasant and timely and didn't dig too deep into the past, as whatever grudges and bygones are now put to rest given all the parties involved in it directly are no longer among the living. And what is inescapably apparent to me is that no one on the other side of the family either sensed anything was amiss or knew what caused it. And sadder still, in the almost 25 years since my grandmother passed away (one of the parties directly involved), no one had taken charge to try to reunite the family or become re-acquainted.
So it is totally by chance I found my great aunt, and chose to be social, and got introduced to her youngest son, with whom I've established a friendly email correspondence. And everything has unfolded, I suspect cosmically, in its own time.
Once the squid was tasted (and I got high marks and praise on it, especially given it's my first attempt at it), two hours turned into three, and I needed to head on my way.
I kept all this information to myself overnight. I wanted the good feeling to last. It was something truly good and lovely, and so utterly NORMAL. I didn't want to tell anyone about it out of fear of someone making a negative out of it.
In keeping with the theme of the previous blog post, and in keeping with her character, NO. My sister never replied back to my voicemails or emails, and even when in my physical presence did she give two shits enough to even ask, "Hey, you were trying to contact me.... what was it about?" Nope.
I was to have breakfast at the hotel with a friend, and that fell through, so I had a nice solo breakfast and took advantage of the time, and headed to the store for some last minute items, and headed to mom's house for some spare time before the party.
I came in the house with a new cowl necked top for her, I thought it festive enough and in her favorite color, and thought she might wear something new since she was hosting a house full of company. She gave a glance, didn't seem all that interested in it. And at first it got shuffled off to the side, and before you know it, it found its way to the bottom of a pile of pillows, and now a wrinkled, forgotten mess. MONEY WELL SPENT! Some people are just unappreciative fucks. Oh well. Luckily it wasn't pricey--but I could have bought another skein of yarn with the cost of the blouse.
Audrey was neutral to well behaved. And I broke the news that not only did I visit her aunt (the one she's groused about in the past about not hearing from her), but that I also stayed at a hotel last night too. I just needed time to regroup after such a long drive, and being ON at the aunt's, and let's face it, I cannot convince myself to work myself up into a lather hosting a party in someone else's house. But hey, every one else feeds this delusion that she's living independently, when it's not the case. My aunt was playing step-and-fetch-it and seething the entire time.
My sister and niece walked in and acknowledged everyone--except for me. I just sat there cool as a cuke, crocheting. Very weird and awkward indeed. My brother was unable to come out to the party due to the surgical procedure he had earlier in the week.
It was weird and awkward and noisey as fuck. And now it's over. Audrey is blissed out that I made it. Which no doubt means my sister is seething about that.
I had a chat with my aunt afterwards about how unwelcome I feel around my sister, and it's obvious she doesn't want me involved in her life or her kid's. She's unwilling or incapable of articulating it, and in the interim there's this lingering weirdness.
If I avoid everyone, I'm damned.
If I try to be there, I'm damned.
My relationship with my brother is so straightforward there is none of this garbage. And hell, I feel more of an "aunty" to the kids of friends than I do to my own nieces.
The party itself was nice enough, but loud and anxiety inducing, and I powered through until I got a text from the husband that said, "Time to come home." And I got myself together, got as far as the door and realized I almost went home wearing a pair of house slippers of my mother's. My younger cousin scampered off to retrieve my shoes, and in doing so, I thanked him and quipped, "I feel like Cinderella!"
The drive home, long as it may be, was about as problem free as possible, and I managed to get home in about two hours.
Along with the birth of anxiety riddled family fuckfest is the inevitable AFTER birth, the GI distress in the form of constipation. Jury is still out on whether an impaction is in my near future.
Waiting for the other poo (shoe) to drop...
Tuesday, December 9, 2014
Coming Soon! Family Holiday Fuckfest, 2014
Subtitle: Let no good deed go unpunished.
My mom's family's holiday party is this weekend. So, I've been working out the logistics of that: finishing up MY sweater I hope to wear, gathering what few gift items I will be giving, planning out when to buy the supplies for the stuffed squid I plan on providing as my foodstuff-contribution, figuring out when I am going to be able to shoe horn time at the mechanic for an oil change/fluid top off/tire inspection. And last but not least, schedule a reservation at a hotel, so I don't have to make that horrible drive down a touch-and-go in one day. 125 miles one way (2.5 hours on a GOOD day) + bifocals + driving alone + returning home at night + thanklessness = Regret and reluctance.
My fleeting initial thought was, I would invite my (almost 13 year old) niece for a girl's night out, sleep over, since I rarely see her. And if the hotel had an indoor pool, all the better. I had been waffling about inviting my niece, as I like to have ME time, and it's a long drive to get there (hence the hotel room), etc. Anyway. I can stop worrying about inviting her. My sister's inaction pretty much has decided for me.
It's very upsetting for me, because I feel the seething resentment, percolating beneath the surface, beneath the veneer of "cordial enough" from my sister, because (yes, there I go again, beating this dead horse) of the fact I live so far away and am NOT THERE. Never meeting me halfway (even if she's a scant 30 minutes from my house when she goes to NYC), never returning my calls or texts or emails... only on her terms, when she feels like it.
To illustrate/recap part of the passive-aggressive loop of behavior, I'm my niece's godmother, and apparently that means nothing. Because the one thing beyond the baptism that I KNOW a godmother should be present for, the First Communion, I was excluded from that--and only know it took place, informed in a very non-chalant, matter-of-fact way. It's been a few years, and it still irks me. Don't include me? Fine. Don't get assy if I opt out of things, then!
Last December when I visited (and pretty much exploded with rage at my mother about everything--GEE THANKS WELLBUTRIN FOR THAT!), I found out that my sister has changed her will and changed who gets guardianship of my niece should anything befall my sister and her husband. And I am no longer going to be her guardian. Could you imagine how devastating it would be for me to not only grieve for my sister (if/when she dies) but also be sucker punched at the same time, and find out about this? How is this not passive aggressive?
Last year I said to my mom (among other things): how I found it utterly hilarious how everyone resents the fact I'm never around, and everyone acts like they, and they alone, are entitled to feel disappointed or hurt or whatever about it. I'm supposed to just accept everyone's limitations or inability or unwillingness to meet me halfway, and fuck me and my limits. My focus is on my life with the Maharajah. The singular person I can count on in this life is my husband. He's there. He steps up. He doesn't give me STUFF, he gives of HIMSELF. I have a finite amount of energy. I work. I have a husband and a household and a life of my own over a hundred and twenty-five miles away. So whatever energy I have after working all day and taking care of the household shit? Yeah. My energy goes towards HIM and the life we have. Everyone else is living their lives how they see fit, and I am doing the same, yet I am vilified.
Oh, last December, I worked myself up into such a tizzy. My mother actually teared up watching it. I think she was scared and upset seeing me that upset. Again, I go from a pretty mild baseline to HOLY SHIT EMOTIONAL EXPLOSION, and seems like it comes out of no where, when really, I'm such a slow boil that when I finally do build up enough pressure--I pretty much blow a gasket. (And no, I'm not going to sleep over my mom's house--familiarity breeds contempt. I find it too stressful for me, and to be fair, my mother is in fragile health and doesn't need a repeat performance of last December's rage.)
I am not going to be like a puppy nipping at her toes to call me. I tried. Thrice. And I'm not about to text my niece--because she, too, does not reply to my texts. I'm hurt and angry, and angry with myself too. Angry that I even dare to care anymore. Next month, the niece will turn 13. She's old enough to have a relationship with me if she wants, and obviously--she does not want. I am not about to force myself onto people who clearly don't want to spend time with me.
So. I am reverting back to my original plan. Hotel. Me. Downtime. Saturday I will probably head out early first Saturday a.m., to get the car maintenance done. Then head to my great-aunt's house to bestow some of the prototype batch of stuffed squid, to see if it passes the muster. I am sure she will enjoy the visit--and there's a built in limit to the visit, as she will go to mass Saturday evening. Works for me. Then I'll head to the shore, perhaps I'll find a way to fit in a visit with my high school bio teacher--provided he returns a call. Otherwise, I'll head further south, check in at the hotel, get a manicure and pedicure and/or go to see a movie of my choosing. Maybe take a hot bubble bath at the hotel--then have breakfast with my friend on Sunday a.m., then head to the holiday fuckfest, and head home, promptly at 5 or 6, if I am lucky.
My mom's family's holiday party is this weekend. So, I've been working out the logistics of that: finishing up MY sweater I hope to wear, gathering what few gift items I will be giving, planning out when to buy the supplies for the stuffed squid I plan on providing as my foodstuff-contribution, figuring out when I am going to be able to shoe horn time at the mechanic for an oil change/fluid top off/tire inspection. And last but not least, schedule a reservation at a hotel, so I don't have to make that horrible drive down a touch-and-go in one day. 125 miles one way (2.5 hours on a GOOD day) + bifocals + driving alone + returning home at night + thanklessness = Regret and reluctance.
My fleeting initial thought was, I would invite my (almost 13 year old) niece for a girl's night out, sleep over, since I rarely see her. And if the hotel had an indoor pool, all the better. I had been waffling about inviting my niece, as I like to have ME time, and it's a long drive to get there (hence the hotel room), etc. Anyway. I can stop worrying about inviting her. My sister's inaction pretty much has decided for me.
It's very upsetting for me, because I feel the seething resentment, percolating beneath the surface, beneath the veneer of "cordial enough" from my sister, because (yes, there I go again, beating this dead horse) of the fact I live so far away and am NOT THERE. Never meeting me halfway (even if she's a scant 30 minutes from my house when she goes to NYC), never returning my calls or texts or emails... only on her terms, when she feels like it.
To illustrate/recap part of the passive-aggressive loop of behavior, I'm my niece's godmother, and apparently that means nothing. Because the one thing beyond the baptism that I KNOW a godmother should be present for, the First Communion, I was excluded from that--and only know it took place, informed in a very non-chalant, matter-of-fact way. It's been a few years, and it still irks me. Don't include me? Fine. Don't get assy if I opt out of things, then!
Last December when I visited (and pretty much exploded with rage at my mother about everything--GEE THANKS WELLBUTRIN FOR THAT!), I found out that my sister has changed her will and changed who gets guardianship of my niece should anything befall my sister and her husband. And I am no longer going to be her guardian. Could you imagine how devastating it would be for me to not only grieve for my sister (if/when she dies) but also be sucker punched at the same time, and find out about this? How is this not passive aggressive?
Last year I said to my mom (among other things): how I found it utterly hilarious how everyone resents the fact I'm never around, and everyone acts like they, and they alone, are entitled to feel disappointed or hurt or whatever about it. I'm supposed to just accept everyone's limitations or inability or unwillingness to meet me halfway, and fuck me and my limits. My focus is on my life with the Maharajah. The singular person I can count on in this life is my husband. He's there. He steps up. He doesn't give me STUFF, he gives of HIMSELF. I have a finite amount of energy. I work. I have a husband and a household and a life of my own over a hundred and twenty-five miles away. So whatever energy I have after working all day and taking care of the household shit? Yeah. My energy goes towards HIM and the life we have. Everyone else is living their lives how they see fit, and I am doing the same, yet I am vilified.
Oh, last December, I worked myself up into such a tizzy. My mother actually teared up watching it. I think she was scared and upset seeing me that upset. Again, I go from a pretty mild baseline to HOLY SHIT EMOTIONAL EXPLOSION, and seems like it comes out of no where, when really, I'm such a slow boil that when I finally do build up enough pressure--I pretty much blow a gasket. (And no, I'm not going to sleep over my mom's house--familiarity breeds contempt. I find it too stressful for me, and to be fair, my mother is in fragile health and doesn't need a repeat performance of last December's rage.)
I am not going to be like a puppy nipping at her toes to call me. I tried. Thrice. And I'm not about to text my niece--because she, too, does not reply to my texts. I'm hurt and angry, and angry with myself too. Angry that I even dare to care anymore. Next month, the niece will turn 13. She's old enough to have a relationship with me if she wants, and obviously--she does not want. I am not about to force myself onto people who clearly don't want to spend time with me.
So. I am reverting back to my original plan. Hotel. Me. Downtime. Saturday I will probably head out early first Saturday a.m., to get the car maintenance done. Then head to my great-aunt's house to bestow some of the prototype batch of stuffed squid, to see if it passes the muster. I am sure she will enjoy the visit--and there's a built in limit to the visit, as she will go to mass Saturday evening. Works for me. Then I'll head to the shore, perhaps I'll find a way to fit in a visit with my high school bio teacher--provided he returns a call. Otherwise, I'll head further south, check in at the hotel, get a manicure and pedicure and/or go to see a movie of my choosing. Maybe take a hot bubble bath at the hotel--then have breakfast with my friend on Sunday a.m., then head to the holiday fuckfest, and head home, promptly at 5 or 6, if I am lucky.
Monday, December 1, 2014
Good Times, Audrey.
Aunt was down to visit Audrey on Weds and to help set up for Thanksgiving.
After food prep, they ordered a white pie for dinner. Aunt decides to grab the poultry shears and cuts two slices. Mom recoils a bit and says, "I cut my toenails with those shears," then goes into detail about, "look at my feet, how do you think I broke that one side of the shears?"
Aunt is disgusted and in shock Audrey would keep those shears in her flatware drawer. "Those two slices are yours," and of course, aunt finds this utterly revolting. While mom is telling me this, I am disgusted, shrieking out "Jesus Christ! Oh god, your toenails are HIDEOUS! Jesus Christ!!!!"
It is at this point in the story, when you're grossed out and in shock, and disgusted about toenail-meet-pizza that mom reveals you've been HAD, that it is a joke, which just makes you laugh in relief as hard as you were experiencing disgust.
Remember in April when I discovered used insulin syringes in that bushel of books I almost dropped off at Goodwill? Yeah. I'm not thoroughly convinced she does NOT clip her hideous toenails with those shears. Anything's possible.
End note: While Audrey would no doubt never allow me to photograph her fucked up feet, I did try to Google image search "diabetes, feet, cellulitis" for a fitting image that came close to capturing the what-the-holy-ever-loving-fuck that is her feet, and well, I shall spare you THAT image. And right about now, I'm regretting the choice to look for a suitable photo to stand in for or represent her feet. My abdomen is all kinds of twitchy, in that pre-puke kind of twitchy. I don't recommend Google image searching that shit.
After food prep, they ordered a white pie for dinner. Aunt decides to grab the poultry shears and cuts two slices. Mom recoils a bit and says, "I cut my toenails with those shears," then goes into detail about, "look at my feet, how do you think I broke that one side of the shears?"
Aunt is disgusted and in shock Audrey would keep those shears in her flatware drawer. "Those two slices are yours," and of course, aunt finds this utterly revolting. While mom is telling me this, I am disgusted, shrieking out "Jesus Christ! Oh god, your toenails are HIDEOUS! Jesus Christ!!!!"
It is at this point in the story, when you're grossed out and in shock, and disgusted about toenail-meet-pizza that mom reveals you've been HAD, that it is a joke, which just makes you laugh in relief as hard as you were experiencing disgust.
Remember in April when I discovered used insulin syringes in that bushel of books I almost dropped off at Goodwill? Yeah. I'm not thoroughly convinced she does NOT clip her hideous toenails with those shears. Anything's possible.
End note: While Audrey would no doubt never allow me to photograph her fucked up feet, I did try to Google image search "diabetes, feet, cellulitis" for a fitting image that came close to capturing the what-the-holy-ever-loving-fuck that is her feet, and well, I shall spare you THAT image. And right about now, I'm regretting the choice to look for a suitable photo to stand in for or represent her feet. My abdomen is all kinds of twitchy, in that pre-puke kind of twitchy. I don't recommend Google image searching that shit.
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