I've refrained from trying to call her again. I left an email. Love that, there's a date and time stamp on it so she can see I when I sent it. Assuming she ever opens her email.
I'm going to power through and if she doesn't manage to call me (subtext: blow up my cell phone during work hours), I only plan on breaking silence on New Year's Day itself. Beyond that, she can sit and stew in her own negativity.
I'm slowly coming around to the idea of embracing this delusion (of hers, and that of my sister) of me being a bitch. Heck. They think I'm a bitch and I haven't really gone out of my way to be actually bitchy (though, of course, anything that runs counter to their own desires could be construed as bitchy). Imagine if I really "leaned in" and was actually outright and actively bitchy?
Imagine Audrey having her "January medical drama" in a few short days (right on schedule!) and I don't come running, and I don't answer the phone?
Imagine me not attending the funeral, whenever THAT may be.
I recognize that once I do that, it pretty much galvanizes this wedge--however, on an upnote! No more thankless trips to the Jersey Shore! Win-Win! I also recognize that every weak-assed weasel who has sat silently (while Grandsperm, and then Audrey, and now my sister too, has ABUSED the good will of others), it will no doubt sever what sad little ties remain between us. To that, I say GOOD RIDDANCE!
I'm the only one brave enough to acknowledge the truth--and the truth is, that it's just not important to them to be in my life--or me in theirs. Period!
2016 Will be the year of reciprocity!
2016 Will be the year of me and my needs and feelings.
There is no controlling or rationalizing the behaviors of the players at hand, I'd rather focus on THE NOW, and the things I can change, and ME MYSELF AND I, and to surround myself with friends who care, and who lift me up, or are positive, or at a minimum DO NOT SUCK ALL THE GOOD OUT OF ME, never replenishing what they've taken.
This blog post is full of declarations and good intention, but the reality is, this really is something I actively work on on a moment-by-moment level. Times like this, I wish I didn't have a conscience or a desire for family--but both to me, at this moment, are over-rated, over-idealized and might actually be the very things of which fairy tales are composed.
Sunday, December 27, 2015
Friday, December 25, 2015
Unnecessary Angst
So, I made my obligatory holiday call. And her phone is still apparently, shitting the bed. So I cannot even leave a voicemail. And the angst brews further, as I just want to get it out of the way. I don't even want to call, and why the fuck should I even care? Having a conscience (at times like this) is truly an over-rated thing.
Well I called. And can't leave a message, so that registers as a NO CALL in her book. Doesn't matter the phone doesn't work, and isn't important enough to fix. And I could leave an email--but who knows if she's reading her emails, as it wasn't important enough to her to let me know she finally got her laptop fixed or replaced.
It's been 13 days since I visited her, and a week since the big Family Holiday Fuckfest and no call to give me the details. ANd that's okay. She's obviously avoiding me for a reason and if only I knew what that reason was, I'd be giving her the same treatment I am giving my sister--which if you remember was all at her insistence.
The visit destroyed me. I'm not in a holiday mood. We were invited to a dear friend's house for Christmas day. I don't have it in me to go, and it's too late to bail out politely. Perhaps I'll feel differently after showering. Perhaps. I feel truly empty.
Well I called. And can't leave a message, so that registers as a NO CALL in her book. Doesn't matter the phone doesn't work, and isn't important enough to fix. And I could leave an email--but who knows if she's reading her emails, as it wasn't important enough to her to let me know she finally got her laptop fixed or replaced.
It's been 13 days since I visited her, and a week since the big Family Holiday Fuckfest and no call to give me the details. ANd that's okay. She's obviously avoiding me for a reason and if only I knew what that reason was, I'd be giving her the same treatment I am giving my sister--which if you remember was all at her insistence.
The visit destroyed me. I'm not in a holiday mood. We were invited to a dear friend's house for Christmas day. I don't have it in me to go, and it's too late to bail out politely. Perhaps I'll feel differently after showering. Perhaps. I feel truly empty.
Thursday, December 24, 2015
Unmerry Fucksmas
Eleven days have passed since THOSE PEOPLE had their Holiday Fuckfest. No call from Audrey, either. I did manage to zap my brother a text and asked merely, "Did you go to the party?" That text went unanswered. No text from my aunt. Total silence from all the players. I'd bask in this if I knew what's going on. I can play any game, provided I know what the terms of engagement are.
Each day that ticked by, I thought perhaps Audrey would break down and call, and give me the low down on how the party went. Each day went without a call. Perhaps it's nothing. Perhaps my sister said something horrible--and somehow (because I am no longer willing to participate in this abuse which passes for communication in their world) I am to blame for it.
No. I'm not going to be "the bigger person." I've spent years biting my tongue in all manners for many people, and really I'm burnt out on worrying about the needs and feelings of other people. The only person whose feelings matter to me IS ME at this point. No one else gives a shit about me, so why should I give a shit about anyone else?
So I'm holding out until tomorrow to dispense the holiday call, before we drive to our friends' home to celebrate and feel a part of their family. Hopefully the call won't depress me further.
Eleven days since visiting my mother, and it has left me so emotionally fried and empty, and physically drained, that I have no FESTIVITY in me. The entire experience has drained me and I fear I have nothing to give anyone else. I am trying to power through until our next vacation, and I hope the vacation recharges my emotional battery. HOPE.
This past weekend, while grocery shopping, I picked up a few items to make the stuffed squid recipe (and some octopus and mussels to round out the sauce). I came home from physical therapy on Tuesday night and said, "it's now or never... okay never it is!" and with that, I pitched all of the seafood into the trash heap.
It was nearing day three, and I was starting to get sick at the idea of even smelling the fish or trying to cook it up and lose interest in it, especially the volume of sauce and stuffed squid I was going to make. I am in full on conservation mode, energy wise, and could not find it in me to power through and make it.
Plus there's the olfactory memory connection thing with taste and smell bringing me back to Christmases 25+ years ago when my grandmother would make this dish, and everyone would clamor for one tiny stuffed squid, and dunk hunks of bread into the sauce, all of us hovering over a crock pot keeping the contents warm. The smell. The taste. Bringing me back to a better time, however, those times were rife with its own bullshit, but given how life and our family has pretty much been decimated since then, I cannot even conjure up bittersweet attachments to the sauce and memories. All that remains is the bitter. All that remains is the reminder that if I make up this cauldron of sauce and stuffed squid, there is no one in my family clammoring to enjoy it. All that remains is bitterness and silence.
Eleven days and no call, clearly is a bad omen. Woe to me tomorrow when I make my holiday call--I just hope it doesn't fuck me up further, as I would like to have a nice Christmas day.
Each day that ticked by, I thought perhaps Audrey would break down and call, and give me the low down on how the party went. Each day went without a call. Perhaps it's nothing. Perhaps my sister said something horrible--and somehow (because I am no longer willing to participate in this abuse which passes for communication in their world) I am to blame for it.
No. I'm not going to be "the bigger person." I've spent years biting my tongue in all manners for many people, and really I'm burnt out on worrying about the needs and feelings of other people. The only person whose feelings matter to me IS ME at this point. No one else gives a shit about me, so why should I give a shit about anyone else?
So I'm holding out until tomorrow to dispense the holiday call, before we drive to our friends' home to celebrate and feel a part of their family. Hopefully the call won't depress me further.
Eleven days since visiting my mother, and it has left me so emotionally fried and empty, and physically drained, that I have no FESTIVITY in me. The entire experience has drained me and I fear I have nothing to give anyone else. I am trying to power through until our next vacation, and I hope the vacation recharges my emotional battery. HOPE.
This past weekend, while grocery shopping, I picked up a few items to make the stuffed squid recipe (and some octopus and mussels to round out the sauce). I came home from physical therapy on Tuesday night and said, "it's now or never... okay never it is!" and with that, I pitched all of the seafood into the trash heap.
It was nearing day three, and I was starting to get sick at the idea of even smelling the fish or trying to cook it up and lose interest in it, especially the volume of sauce and stuffed squid I was going to make. I am in full on conservation mode, energy wise, and could not find it in me to power through and make it.
Plus there's the olfactory memory connection thing with taste and smell bringing me back to Christmases 25+ years ago when my grandmother would make this dish, and everyone would clamor for one tiny stuffed squid, and dunk hunks of bread into the sauce, all of us hovering over a crock pot keeping the contents warm. The smell. The taste. Bringing me back to a better time, however, those times were rife with its own bullshit, but given how life and our family has pretty much been decimated since then, I cannot even conjure up bittersweet attachments to the sauce and memories. All that remains is the bitter. All that remains is the reminder that if I make up this cauldron of sauce and stuffed squid, there is no one in my family clammoring to enjoy it. All that remains is bitterness and silence.
Eleven days and no call, clearly is a bad omen. Woe to me tomorrow when I make my holiday call--I just hope it doesn't fuck me up further, as I would like to have a nice Christmas day.
Thursday, December 17, 2015
Whoah, So Fitting
So I'm farting around on the internet looking for George Costanza images/memes, and came across this CHESTNUT, and felt fitting to plunk it down in here. Because YES. Quitter. I come from a long line of quitters, too.
After spending any amount of time either speaking with my mother on the phone or visiting her in person, I am left with the over-whelming realization she's just given up on life. Why else would being housebound be the default? She cannot even walk from her recliner to the front door if someone knocks on the door. She just doesn't give a shit, because people are still bringing the world TO HER, as if we were all her servants.
The idiotic thing here is the fallacy that doing nothing and giving up is the easy route, the path of least resistance. Hell no. It just makes doing whatever you are able to do THAT MUCH HARDER. And the less you do, ultimately, the less you will continue to be able to do.
Her body is jacked up because her doctors neglected her, and SHE neglected herself. At some point she just said, "Oh, hell. I won't bother anymore." She just up and quit DOING AND BEING.
It takes consistency to not go down that same slippery slope. But what other recourse is there? Do nothing and become, essentially Pizza-the-Hut from Spaceballs? A sloppy, insulting hot mess?
Everything I am is 100% in opposition to everything my mother stands for.
Everything I am is 100% in spite of every slight, every insult, every single time my mother has interfered with my life.
Whatever successes or happiness or love or whatever I have in life, is self-made. Beyond her making me and incubating me (for her own selfish reasons), everything I am, is mine and mine alone.
Fuck her.
After spending any amount of time either speaking with my mother on the phone or visiting her in person, I am left with the over-whelming realization she's just given up on life. Why else would being housebound be the default? She cannot even walk from her recliner to the front door if someone knocks on the door. She just doesn't give a shit, because people are still bringing the world TO HER, as if we were all her servants.
The idiotic thing here is the fallacy that doing nothing and giving up is the easy route, the path of least resistance. Hell no. It just makes doing whatever you are able to do THAT MUCH HARDER. And the less you do, ultimately, the less you will continue to be able to do.
Her body is jacked up because her doctors neglected her, and SHE neglected herself. At some point she just said, "Oh, hell. I won't bother anymore." She just up and quit DOING AND BEING.
It takes consistency to not go down that same slippery slope. But what other recourse is there? Do nothing and become, essentially Pizza-the-Hut from Spaceballs? A sloppy, insulting hot mess?
Everything I am is 100% in opposition to everything my mother stands for.
Everything I am is 100% in spite of every slight, every insult, every single time my mother has interfered with my life.
Whatever successes or happiness or love or whatever I have in life, is self-made. Beyond her making me and incubating me (for her own selfish reasons), everything I am, is mine and mine alone.
Fuck her.
Wednesday, December 16, 2015
The Xmas Visit: The Post-Visit Session With My Therapist
The movie History of the World Part I pretty much sums it up thusly:
Similarly, "of course with the birth of any visit involving my family, comes the inevitable afterbirth: The session with my therapist."
This morning I did my post-visit, high speed download of word vomit, leaving my therapist pretty much stupefied by the carelessly cruel insults regarding my food, as well as the insulting thing about my husband. "Wow!" and "Whoah!" were uttered a few times.
And today's session left me with more questions than answers, with "Why am I doing this if it is not fulfilling?" being at the top of that list of questions.
Perhaps my mother is too broken or too lacking in give-a-fuck for social niceties. Perhaps I'm not even deserving of her being nice. All I know is that the trip was physically exhausting, disgusting, disheartening.
The drive of 2.5 hours one way, each way, destroys me enough.
Then add to it the insults.
Then add to that sleeping on a bed with pillows that are filled with saw dust and the lost souls of innocents.
Then add to it the "scent story" and "morning pungency."
Then add to it the morning headache which stayed with me all day.
Then add to is the passive-aggression/stalker bullshit with my sister.
Then add to it my mother's attempts at guilt-ing me or manipulating me to get my niece an Xmas gift.
It all, combined, proved to be more than a bit much for me, and it's taking me more than a couple days to just regroup and re-center myself.
"Why am I doing this if it is not fulfilling?"
I stand by my selfish reasons for doing this. That in a way as an insurance policy when mom dies I won't be questioning myself, and ruing that I should or could have done more. But the reality is, no matter how much I do, or WHAT I do, it'll never be enough, and furthermore, it will never be truly appreciated.
I need to figure this out. I wish I could just stop. Completely.
Fortunately I don't have to figure this out right this moment, today. However, at least moving forward, when I go to visit again after Spring thaw, I won't be staying over, and I won't be bringing food I've made. BOUNDARIES.
Three more days, and it will be a full year since the Shituation commenced.
"And, of course, with the birth of the artist, came the inevitable after birth... The critic."
Similarly, "of course with the birth of any visit involving my family, comes the inevitable afterbirth: The session with my therapist."
This morning I did my post-visit, high speed download of word vomit, leaving my therapist pretty much stupefied by the carelessly cruel insults regarding my food, as well as the insulting thing about my husband. "Wow!" and "Whoah!" were uttered a few times.
And today's session left me with more questions than answers, with "Why am I doing this if it is not fulfilling?" being at the top of that list of questions.
Perhaps my mother is too broken or too lacking in give-a-fuck for social niceties. Perhaps I'm not even deserving of her being nice. All I know is that the trip was physically exhausting, disgusting, disheartening.
The drive of 2.5 hours one way, each way, destroys me enough.
Then add to it the insults.
Then add to that sleeping on a bed with pillows that are filled with saw dust and the lost souls of innocents.
Then add to it the "scent story" and "morning pungency."
Then add to it the morning headache which stayed with me all day.
Then add to is the passive-aggression/stalker bullshit with my sister.
Then add to it my mother's attempts at guilt-ing me or manipulating me to get my niece an Xmas gift.
It all, combined, proved to be more than a bit much for me, and it's taking me more than a couple days to just regroup and re-center myself.
"Why am I doing this if it is not fulfilling?"
I stand by my selfish reasons for doing this. That in a way as an insurance policy when mom dies I won't be questioning myself, and ruing that I should or could have done more. But the reality is, no matter how much I do, or WHAT I do, it'll never be enough, and furthermore, it will never be truly appreciated.
I need to figure this out. I wish I could just stop. Completely.
Fortunately I don't have to figure this out right this moment, today. However, at least moving forward, when I go to visit again after Spring thaw, I won't be staying over, and I won't be bringing food I've made. BOUNDARIES.
Three more days, and it will be a full year since the Shituation commenced.
Tuesday, December 15, 2015
The Xmas Visit: Let No Good Deed Go Unpunished
Given my status as Freddo Corleone, and the fact that this coming weekend (12/19) is the big Family Holiday Fuckfest Extravaganza, I decided to visit my mother last weekend (12/12). Barring any post-holiday health drama in January (always January, why? I haven't a clue), I should be set to visit her again right around Spring thaw, near her birthday in March.
Anyway. In preparation for visiting her, I made a pot roast, an orange-date cake, and a tray of baked french toast. I had a bag of salad, mashed potatoes and some pumpkin puree with roasted root veggies on top too. I did all this on Friday night after work, when any normal person would have just been vegetating, and relaxing. Not me. However, I think this is the last time I go to this degree of preparations. I might even make a shorter visit (not sleep over), too.
The litany of the weekend commenced at 9 a.m., as I had a physical therapy appointment before everything else. And that was the tipping point for me. If I could not drag myself out of bed and get showered and out of the house for THAT, then the entire weekend would not have happened as planned. But fortunately for me, I managed to get to the appointment on time, and get out of there by 11.
From physical therapy, I headed to Jersey. First I stopped in Ho-Ho-Kus to gas up (holy shit! $1.89 a gallon?). I then headed to Delicious Orchards to pick up coffee and cheese and a few what-have-yous--and to stretch my legs and to use the restroom. Then I was off to Walmart, because there's almost always a "Oh, can you get me this" list. And lastly, I arrived there.
If I overlook or omit the dry-heave-inducing aspects of the visit (i.e. the "scent story" layering of urine/ammonia & too many candles & too much Febreeze, coupled up with mom insisting on unwrapping her legs in front of me), I guess it was a nice enough visit--but still had its negatives.
Mind you all the cooking above was for her, not really me, though in honesty, I did reserve two piece of pot roast (at home) for myself. Not one thank you was uttered. Instead, I was informed that my cake was dry (erroneous!), and (last night she informed me that) my pot roast gave her the shits (of course it couldn't POSSIBLY be the box of chocolate covered cherries she inhaled! of course not! Oh and she went into graphic detail about the duration of her alleged pot-roast shits).
Saturday was not without its own little drama. Mom was concerned that my sister would show up while I was there (not sure why she thought this, given the last visit, my sister clearly saw my car in the drive way and just kept driving past the house). So mom enlisted my brother for advice, and he texted my sister and told her this was my weekend. My brother in turn told mom that he likes to remind our sister that the house is mom's (and note: No, mom does not live with my sister or in a mother-daughter arrangement. She lives in a house of her own a half mile away).
That notwithstanding, roughly around 9:30 Saturday night, with the front of the house dark as a tomb, there was a knock at the door. I flooded the house with light and as I got to the door, I heard my niece say, "It's me, I want to show grandma my dress." So I let her in, all the while my sister sat in the car, outside, like a cowardly weasel).
Both, my mother and I were stunned. I felt awkward and unsure of what was transpiring, and was so thrown off kilter, I failed to have the presence of mind to snap a photo of her in this dress. The visit had all the unexpected timing of a drive-by shooting, and before it was done, my niece turned to me and said, "It's good to see you," and hugged me. Which I thought was sweet, but confusing.
So of course, mom and I spent the rest of the evening analyzing what transpired and the possible motivations for it. Mom suspects it was my sister's attempts at an olive branch being extended; whereas I believe the visit was entirely my niece's doing. Also, you don't send a child into a situation/problem caused by adults, and think that's going to fix everything. I viewed this entire thing with a jaundiced eye: that IF it was motivated by my sister, this is not an olive branch, but a means of trying to manipulate me by way of baiting the hook with a big fat worm, expecting ME to make the next move, and call HER. At this point in time, my mother was trying to convince me to get a Barnes & Noble gift card for my niece for Xmas, which, of course, I immediately shot down. I'm not mad at my niece, hell, this has nothing to do with her directly. But my sister used her as a pawn, and I refuse to take the bait and do the same.
My sister has a long wait if she thinks I'm going to call her.
Sunday I awoke to a headache bordering on a migraine (fortunately it never bloomed fully, but tormented me all damned day), and I realized I failed to pack even one spare tablet of migraine medication. I refused the offer of a vicodin because that would ensure I wouldn't get home, or at a minimum I would not be able to finish out my Sunday as planned. And yes, I always have a plan, and I always stick to a set schedule, otherwise the entire day or even the entire weekend will get sucked into a big black hole where time doesn't exist, thus putting me squarely behind the eight ball, playing Beat the Clock, and of course, setting me up to be a flake on other people, with whom I've made plans.
By 11 a.m., still stifling dry heaves and wondering how the day would play out as I was clearly feeling like shit, I forced myself to stick to my schedule. Other people were counting on me, so that's a good motivator (most of the time).
I left her house, headed to Edison to do some Indian grocery shopping, and to pick up some very special take out the Maharajah ordered online. From there, I headed to my great aunt & cousin's house for a visit. And this visit was very nice. My cousin is a year older than I am (actually a first cousin of my mother), and my great aunt (his mom) is actually the sister of my grandfather. The visit was lovely, and he's a superior baker, so I was a bit reluctant to give him the cake I made for him--especially given my mother insisted it was so dry--when clearly it was not.
Three hours later, I begged off and headed home. I didn't want to stay too long and over-stay my welcome, plus I wanted to be on the road while still daylight and in that, I did fail, as I left at dusk, and darkness quickly descended on me while I drove. The drive from there is not normally too demanding, as it's only an hour from my home, but I was tired, and fighting off that headache, and driving with bifocals, and it's now dark, and I felt more than a bit anxious driving home.
I got home totally, physically spent. I immediately heated up some heating pads for my neck, fixed myself a cocktail (a Boulevardier), got situated with some snacks, and called my mother to let her know I got home okay but a longer call would happen Monday night as I was exhausted. And I was. Exhausted.
And on Monday when I called mom to let her know how the visit with our aunt and cousin went, she tried, yet again, to manipulate me into buying a gift for my niece, which I shot down yet again. I could tell there were more things she wanted to say (perhaps things my sister said to her about me). But I did not push. I did not ask, "So, what did she say?" Because in all honesty, I don't give a shit. Ultimately what happened a year ago was both, compounded by years of her bullshit jealousy as well as something utterly stupid which could have been remedied AT THAT TIME, yanno, if she were an adult.
A friend of mine who knows of this SHITuation was listening to a song, Boy With a Gun, recently and it reminded her vividly of the current state of things, and it truly is fitting:
He knows well his wicked ways
A course of bitterness
A grudge held from his childhood days
As if life had loved him less
Reading down his list of names
He ticks them one by one
He points the barrel at the sky
Firing shots off at the sun
Anyway. In preparation for visiting her, I made a pot roast, an orange-date cake, and a tray of baked french toast. I had a bag of salad, mashed potatoes and some pumpkin puree with roasted root veggies on top too. I did all this on Friday night after work, when any normal person would have just been vegetating, and relaxing. Not me. However, I think this is the last time I go to this degree of preparations. I might even make a shorter visit (not sleep over), too.
The litany of the weekend commenced at 9 a.m., as I had a physical therapy appointment before everything else. And that was the tipping point for me. If I could not drag myself out of bed and get showered and out of the house for THAT, then the entire weekend would not have happened as planned. But fortunately for me, I managed to get to the appointment on time, and get out of there by 11.
From physical therapy, I headed to Jersey. First I stopped in Ho-Ho-Kus to gas up (holy shit! $1.89 a gallon?). I then headed to Delicious Orchards to pick up coffee and cheese and a few what-have-yous--and to stretch my legs and to use the restroom. Then I was off to Walmart, because there's almost always a "Oh, can you get me this" list. And lastly, I arrived there.
If I overlook or omit the dry-heave-inducing aspects of the visit (i.e. the "scent story" layering of urine/ammonia & too many candles & too much Febreeze, coupled up with mom insisting on unwrapping her legs in front of me), I guess it was a nice enough visit--but still had its negatives.
Mind you all the cooking above was for her, not really me, though in honesty, I did reserve two piece of pot roast (at home) for myself. Not one thank you was uttered. Instead, I was informed that my cake was dry (erroneous!), and (last night she informed me that) my pot roast gave her the shits (of course it couldn't POSSIBLY be the box of chocolate covered cherries she inhaled! of course not! Oh and she went into graphic detail about the duration of her alleged pot-roast shits).
Saturday was not without its own little drama. Mom was concerned that my sister would show up while I was there (not sure why she thought this, given the last visit, my sister clearly saw my car in the drive way and just kept driving past the house). So mom enlisted my brother for advice, and he texted my sister and told her this was my weekend. My brother in turn told mom that he likes to remind our sister that the house is mom's (and note: No, mom does not live with my sister or in a mother-daughter arrangement. She lives in a house of her own a half mile away).
That notwithstanding, roughly around 9:30 Saturday night, with the front of the house dark as a tomb, there was a knock at the door. I flooded the house with light and as I got to the door, I heard my niece say, "It's me, I want to show grandma my dress." So I let her in, all the while my sister sat in the car, outside, like a cowardly weasel).
Both, my mother and I were stunned. I felt awkward and unsure of what was transpiring, and was so thrown off kilter, I failed to have the presence of mind to snap a photo of her in this dress. The visit had all the unexpected timing of a drive-by shooting, and before it was done, my niece turned to me and said, "It's good to see you," and hugged me. Which I thought was sweet, but confusing.
So of course, mom and I spent the rest of the evening analyzing what transpired and the possible motivations for it. Mom suspects it was my sister's attempts at an olive branch being extended; whereas I believe the visit was entirely my niece's doing. Also, you don't send a child into a situation/problem caused by adults, and think that's going to fix everything. I viewed this entire thing with a jaundiced eye: that IF it was motivated by my sister, this is not an olive branch, but a means of trying to manipulate me by way of baiting the hook with a big fat worm, expecting ME to make the next move, and call HER. At this point in time, my mother was trying to convince me to get a Barnes & Noble gift card for my niece for Xmas, which, of course, I immediately shot down. I'm not mad at my niece, hell, this has nothing to do with her directly. But my sister used her as a pawn, and I refuse to take the bait and do the same.
My sister has a long wait if she thinks I'm going to call her.
Sunday I awoke to a headache bordering on a migraine (fortunately it never bloomed fully, but tormented me all damned day), and I realized I failed to pack even one spare tablet of migraine medication. I refused the offer of a vicodin because that would ensure I wouldn't get home, or at a minimum I would not be able to finish out my Sunday as planned. And yes, I always have a plan, and I always stick to a set schedule, otherwise the entire day or even the entire weekend will get sucked into a big black hole where time doesn't exist, thus putting me squarely behind the eight ball, playing Beat the Clock, and of course, setting me up to be a flake on other people, with whom I've made plans.
By 11 a.m., still stifling dry heaves and wondering how the day would play out as I was clearly feeling like shit, I forced myself to stick to my schedule. Other people were counting on me, so that's a good motivator (most of the time).
I left her house, headed to Edison to do some Indian grocery shopping, and to pick up some very special take out the Maharajah ordered online. From there, I headed to my great aunt & cousin's house for a visit. And this visit was very nice. My cousin is a year older than I am (actually a first cousin of my mother), and my great aunt (his mom) is actually the sister of my grandfather. The visit was lovely, and he's a superior baker, so I was a bit reluctant to give him the cake I made for him--especially given my mother insisted it was so dry--when clearly it was not.
Three hours later, I begged off and headed home. I didn't want to stay too long and over-stay my welcome, plus I wanted to be on the road while still daylight and in that, I did fail, as I left at dusk, and darkness quickly descended on me while I drove. The drive from there is not normally too demanding, as it's only an hour from my home, but I was tired, and fighting off that headache, and driving with bifocals, and it's now dark, and I felt more than a bit anxious driving home.
I got home totally, physically spent. I immediately heated up some heating pads for my neck, fixed myself a cocktail (a Boulevardier), got situated with some snacks, and called my mother to let her know I got home okay but a longer call would happen Monday night as I was exhausted. And I was. Exhausted.
And on Monday when I called mom to let her know how the visit with our aunt and cousin went, she tried, yet again, to manipulate me into buying a gift for my niece, which I shot down yet again. I could tell there were more things she wanted to say (perhaps things my sister said to her about me). But I did not push. I did not ask, "So, what did she say?" Because in all honesty, I don't give a shit. Ultimately what happened a year ago was both, compounded by years of her bullshit jealousy as well as something utterly stupid which could have been remedied AT THAT TIME, yanno, if she were an adult.
A friend of mine who knows of this SHITuation was listening to a song, Boy With a Gun, recently and it reminded her vividly of the current state of things, and it truly is fitting:
He knows well his wicked ways
A course of bitterness
A grudge held from his childhood days
As if life had loved him less
Reading down his list of names
He ticks them one by one
He points the barrel at the sky
Firing shots off at the sun
Monday, December 7, 2015
Thanksgiving: Post-Game Wrap Up
I am a bit remiss in not immediately posting about this; however, figure I might as well share it, as it IS related to the theme of this blog.
Thanksgiving. No. I did not go to my family's Thanksgiving Fuckfest Extravaganza catered entirely by Boston Market. Rather, I hosted a lovely Thanksgiving with six guests, so eight if you include us. Glorious day summed up succinctly by one of the eight year olds in attendance: "B.E.E. -- BEST. EXPERIENCE. EVER."
I can honestly say in 47 years, I have never had that sensation after Thanksgiving with my own family. There were SOME Thanksgivings that were nice-ish, or had some nice aspects to them, but in the last 25 years, the "nice" has been ground down to an imperceptible nub.
So, I no sooner emptied the house of guests and was about to put my feet up when my mother called to give me her report of how her day went. Turns out we both had lovely days. I am not sure if this is a facade or what (on her part), but so far, my aunt and my brother both have confirmed they had a nice time, drama-free in fact!
And of course, mom can't keep a confidence to save her life. She's got to gossip--
My great failure was not asking her at the time the date of the Family Winter Holiday Fuckfest. So, I texted my aunt to find out the date. She was kind of gleeful, "Are you going to it?" And I replied, "No. Don't forget, I'm Freddo Corleone." And she chimed in how we should get together again (as she did in October), and (much like my reply in October) I said, "I'll be going to NYC this coming weekend," she immediately had (yet another) excuse for not being available.
The reality is she lives the closest to me out of everyone in the family and I never see her--and she's mobile. Visiting me is not a priority. I "get" that. OWN IT. 45 minutes is not like I live on Planet Jupiter. It's a do-able drive. And I've stopped doing pop-ins (years ago) when I'd pass through her area, because why should I pop-in? She doesn't do it the countless times she's passed through my neck of the woods. This whole conditional bullshit is endemic to my mother's side of the family.
And much in line with the excuse she had at-the-ready to decline my suggestion we meet in NYC this past weekend, also characteristic of her was the lack of an invitation for me to visit either Xmas Eve (she does the feast of the seven fishes) or Xmas Day or whatever. And that's fine. I've got plans. And even if I didn't have plans, spending the day in my pajamas, or going without pants, and drinking gin based cocktails DOES have its allure.
Twelve more days and it will be a full year of zero communication with my sister. I can intellectualize it. The waste of time. Tomorrow isn't promised to any of us. And she'd rather waste time doing this. However, I can respect it. The silence. But it's not silence. She's using my mother as a go-between. WAFFLING. I hate waffling.
Want me in your life? Fine.
Don't want me in your life? Fine.
Shit or get off the pot. It doesn't matter to me at all.
Thanksgiving. No. I did not go to my family's Thanksgiving Fuckfest Extravaganza catered entirely by Boston Market. Rather, I hosted a lovely Thanksgiving with six guests, so eight if you include us. Glorious day summed up succinctly by one of the eight year olds in attendance: "B.E.E. -- BEST. EXPERIENCE. EVER."
I can honestly say in 47 years, I have never had that sensation after Thanksgiving with my own family. There were SOME Thanksgivings that were nice-ish, or had some nice aspects to them, but in the last 25 years, the "nice" has been ground down to an imperceptible nub.
So, I no sooner emptied the house of guests and was about to put my feet up when my mother called to give me her report of how her day went. Turns out we both had lovely days. I am not sure if this is a facade or what (on her part), but so far, my aunt and my brother both have confirmed they had a nice time, drama-free in fact!
And of course, mom can't keep a confidence to save her life. She's got to gossip--
Mom: "I have something I need to tell you, but you have to promise me you won't tell a soul."
Me: "Who the fuck do I talk to? Anyway--what is the deal? Did J's MS come out of remission?"
Mom: "WHO TOLD YOU THAT? YOUR BROTHER?"
Me: "No. I kinda figured everyone in the family has been waiting the last 15-20 years for 'the other shoe to drop,' so it seemed like an obvious secret you wanted to tell me./endscene
Mom: "Oh. And your sister said that if you were to call her, she doesn't want you to call her because his MS is out of remission."
Me: "She's got a long wait if she thinks I'm going to call her:) SHE is the one who started this great silence, not me. If she wants to speak to/with me, she can pick up the phone herself. Afterall, she started THIS, she can end this."
Mom: "So, when I die, are you going to attend my funeral?"
Me: "That's entirely up to your other daughter, not me."
My great failure was not asking her at the time the date of the Family Winter Holiday Fuckfest. So, I texted my aunt to find out the date. She was kind of gleeful, "Are you going to it?" And I replied, "No. Don't forget, I'm Freddo Corleone." And she chimed in how we should get together again (as she did in October), and (much like my reply in October) I said, "I'll be going to NYC this coming weekend," she immediately had (yet another) excuse for not being available.
The reality is she lives the closest to me out of everyone in the family and I never see her--and she's mobile. Visiting me is not a priority. I "get" that. OWN IT. 45 minutes is not like I live on Planet Jupiter. It's a do-able drive. And I've stopped doing pop-ins (years ago) when I'd pass through her area, because why should I pop-in? She doesn't do it the countless times she's passed through my neck of the woods. This whole conditional bullshit is endemic to my mother's side of the family.
And much in line with the excuse she had at-the-ready to decline my suggestion we meet in NYC this past weekend, also characteristic of her was the lack of an invitation for me to visit either Xmas Eve (she does the feast of the seven fishes) or Xmas Day or whatever. And that's fine. I've got plans. And even if I didn't have plans, spending the day in my pajamas, or going without pants, and drinking gin based cocktails DOES have its allure.
Twelve more days and it will be a full year of zero communication with my sister. I can intellectualize it. The waste of time. Tomorrow isn't promised to any of us. And she'd rather waste time doing this. However, I can respect it. The silence. But it's not silence. She's using my mother as a go-between. WAFFLING. I hate waffling.
Want me in your life? Fine.
Don't want me in your life? Fine.
Shit or get off the pot. It doesn't matter to me at all.
Friday, October 23, 2015
Cross Posting This: Email from Dad, 1/18/06
Email from me to dad with the comment attached, “Does this sound like someone you know?”:
Dad's reply to me, Subject: “Sh*anty Irish":
Hey there, It sure rings a bell——-there was a piece in dear Abby today-I thought maybe your sis or you wrote it, but it was from someone in the Midwest having the same problem. After Monday’s blast—–because i wasn’t going to drive her—–told me if she slips and falls don’t come to the hospital——-got tears & tears and curses galore——-
I’m an infernal optimist so here it goes—– if i die i’m free—–if she dies I’m free—*There are a lot of similarities in that diagnosis—–like she is jealous of my relationship with you, your sis, your brother, your niece, the dogs, birds, my fishing, my shooting, when i was doing it my photography, anyone that i talk or associate with. and the Dirtiest trick of all——–its old hat—-but when i think of it i get furious, how I thought I failed and reproached myself for years——and it was all her doing and her mother went along with it, s*hanty Irish bitch.
Well after reading that i guess there is a lot of them running around.
Love, Dad
*Tomorrow is the anniversary of his passing, so for me to read this today, it reminds me that however things "washed out," it was to be. It's okay. He's free.
Partners from hell: ‘Borderline’ people have needy, fractured psyches and make life miserable for those closest to them. Sound like anyone you know? By Christmas Day in 2000, Jean Smith’s husband of 23 years shot himself. She found him but was unable to help – just four days earlier she had undergone back surgery. He survived, and when he recovered she recalled his words: “It was all your fault. You were such a b- the whole year.” This wasn’t the first time Smith’s husband refused to accept responsibility for his actions, she said. (The couple, who have since separated, requested that their real surname not be used.) […]
While he was in the hospital, a social worker told her that it sounded as if her husband suffered from borderline personality disorder. “I’d never heard of it before,” said Smith, who turned to the Internet. “This was him, 100 percent. I couldn’t believe there were others out there like this.” Believed to afflict from 2% to 3% of the general population, BPD is more common than Alzheimer’s, which affects an estimated 4 million Americans, and more prevalent than bipolar disorder and schizophrenia combined. It’s seen in 10% to 20% of psychiatric outpatients and from 15% to 20% of inpatients. Tally the partners and children of those with BPD, and 30 million may suffer its effects, according to Randi Kreger, coauthor of “Stop Walking on Eggshells” (New Harbinger Publications, 1998), a book for family members of those with BPD. […]
A study of twins by Dr. Svenn Torgersen of Norway, the only significant twin study on the subject to date, suggested a surprisingly strong genetic predisposition. What is inherited is not the disorder per se, Gunderson said, but probably its hallmark traits of impulsivity, aggressiveness and emotional intensity. Superimpose environmental factors, such as an abusive or distant parent, and BPD may develop. […]
[This next passage made me think of that Irish term, “House Devil & Street Angel.”] “They can appear quite functional in their interactions with others – highly competent, focused, driven to be successful – but there’s intense inner chaos that tends to be projected only onto close family members,” said Michael Roe, a family law attorney and mediator in Chicago specializing in divorce and custody cases involving personality disorders. […] In a word, Roe said, BPD is “traumatic” for family members. […]
Dad's reply to me, Subject: “Sh*anty Irish":
Hey there, It sure rings a bell——-there was a piece in dear Abby today-I thought maybe your sis or you wrote it, but it was from someone in the Midwest having the same problem. After Monday’s blast—–because i wasn’t going to drive her—–told me if she slips and falls don’t come to the hospital——-got tears & tears and curses galore——-
I’m an infernal optimist so here it goes—– if i die i’m free—–if she dies I’m free—*There are a lot of similarities in that diagnosis—–like she is jealous of my relationship with you, your sis, your brother, your niece, the dogs, birds, my fishing, my shooting, when i was doing it my photography, anyone that i talk or associate with. and the Dirtiest trick of all——–its old hat—-but when i think of it i get furious, how I thought I failed and reproached myself for years——and it was all her doing and her mother went along with it, s*hanty Irish bitch.
Well after reading that i guess there is a lot of them running around.
Love, Dad
*Tomorrow is the anniversary of his passing, so for me to read this today, it reminds me that however things "washed out," it was to be. It's okay. He's free.
Friday, September 25, 2015
Nine Months Into This
Still maintaining radio silence on my end.
Of course, Audrey has to get involved. She knows my sister and I are not talking. She claims that:
1. My sister said she was going to text me regarding my birthday (and didn't); and
2. My sister allegedly asks if *I* ask about her (which I don't).
When I asked Audrey how did she reply when she was asked #2, she said, "Oh yes, I told her you ask about her." Which of course is a bold faced lie. Who knows? Perhaps even #2 never even happened. Perhaps that, too was a lie to manipulate ME into calling my sister. It's all suspicious. And on the off chance that #2 was asked and Audrey lied and said I am asking about my sister, my sister is now smug or thinking that I miss her or some other ridiculous thing.
All I know is I have not heard from my sister. I am waiting it out to see if I get one of her inane holiday photo cards, which will no doubt be snapped either at Disney or somewhere in NYC, a scant half hour from my home.
I have purchased a self-inking "return to sender" stamper so that if she does send a card, I'll just calmly stamp it and return it back to her unopened. To me, unless she calls or emails me to re-open an actual, direct line of communication, I am uninterested in getting a card with a picture of my niece, of whom she's forbidden me to contact.
She can't have it both ways. You want me out of your life. Fine. You don't want to talk to me. Fine. You don't want me to have a relationship with my niece? Fine. I'm not going to participate in your delusion at all.
So there ya have it. I have managed 3/4 of a year so far! I can do a whole year standing on my head.
Of course, Audrey has to get involved. She knows my sister and I are not talking. She claims that:
1. My sister said she was going to text me regarding my birthday (and didn't); and
2. My sister allegedly asks if *I* ask about her (which I don't).
When I asked Audrey how did she reply when she was asked #2, she said, "Oh yes, I told her you ask about her." Which of course is a bold faced lie. Who knows? Perhaps even #2 never even happened. Perhaps that, too was a lie to manipulate ME into calling my sister. It's all suspicious. And on the off chance that #2 was asked and Audrey lied and said I am asking about my sister, my sister is now smug or thinking that I miss her or some other ridiculous thing.
All I know is I have not heard from my sister. I am waiting it out to see if I get one of her inane holiday photo cards, which will no doubt be snapped either at Disney or somewhere in NYC, a scant half hour from my home.
I have purchased a self-inking "return to sender" stamper so that if she does send a card, I'll just calmly stamp it and return it back to her unopened. To me, unless she calls or emails me to re-open an actual, direct line of communication, I am uninterested in getting a card with a picture of my niece, of whom she's forbidden me to contact.
She can't have it both ways. You want me out of your life. Fine. You don't want to talk to me. Fine. You don't want me to have a relationship with my niece? Fine. I'm not going to participate in your delusion at all.
So there ya have it. I have managed 3/4 of a year so far! I can do a whole year standing on my head.
Thursday, May 21, 2015
Five Months Later: Continued Radio Silence
Not much new to report here, other than radio silence has been maintained. And yet? I cannot help but feel that my relationship with my mother, as tenuous as it always has been, is perhaps the best it's ever been. I cannot help but connect the dots and come to the conclusion that she and I have a complicated ENOUGH relationship, and subtract my sister from it, the relationship seems on an even enough keel.
At the end of April, knowing I would not be around or able to visit on Mother's Day, I made the trip to visit mom, and even did a sleep over there, and, as far as these things go, it was about as pleasant as it could be.
This is not to say I do not suspect my mother still has Borderline Personality Disorder, CLEARLY SHE DOES; however, without my sister's interference and influence on us, directly, in a visit? The visit was "nice."
However, initially, when I arrived, my mother was anxious about the possibility of my sister showing up, and (I guess) being upset that I was there. I said to my mother that she should just stop worrying and that one of two scenarios were likely to happen:
I stand by my resolve that she was the one who insisted we stop talking; and if we are to recommence talking, it will be SHE who initiates it, not me.
As I said to my therapist, I can only handle one nutjob at a time. "There's a time and a place for everything, and everyone, and the time is now, and the person right now is my mother." Given my mother's health, who knows how much time she's got left. She's 70 and to be blunt we are always one medical drama away from "the inevitable." But at the moment she's holding her own--who knows how long this will last. But my focus right now is sobering that given I only visit 4x a year if that, and given her age and health, there is a finite amount of visits, so why not make them pleasant ones?
Perhaps this is the natural order of things. Perhaps my focus SHOULD be on my mom. Ideally it would be nice if my sister were to get her head out of her ass before mom gets ill again and/or dies. I am not in control of that. Perhaps there will be reconciliation or not. Who knows. But I cannot fixate myself or my finite energy on trying to be someone I am not all in an attempt to try to make someone who is incapable of being happy (my sister), HAPPY? I did my best in the past, and that wasn't appreciated or acknowledged, and was insulted with the accusation of half-assing things. As I see it, it would be utter insanity to put myself out there more, and in doing so, potentially injure or kill myself (as evidenced by that fateful car accident I had, while dad languished in a hospital ventilator unit), all in the name to make her happy--when clearly by her own actions (or lack thereof), she's obviously and consistently not been all that concerned about my well being or happiness.
A friend asked me recently if I missed my sister, and to be blunt, there's not much to miss. I pretty much was her scapegoat and at times her sounding board upon which she'd vent her spleen about how others have done her wrong or how she's doing so much for our mother or whatever. It always had been a one way street with her. It had easily been 15-20 years since we had done anything remotely sisterly," and the only thing that remained was passive-aggression, resentment, and tsouris. "So do I miss the grief? NO." In the absence of anything loving or kind or supportive or "sisterly," I will gladly accept her silence.
My only regret is that my relationship with my niece is collateral damage as a result of all this. She's 13, has email and a cell phone, and communicating with me is not important to her. So I shouldn't fixate too heavily on this detail.
I just know I will never truly have any peace regarding my sister, until our mother is gone. I'm not wishing for an early demise for mom, but merely intellectualizing the truth. Once mom's gone, that's it. Maybe I'll see my brother on occasion, but if things continue with the radio silence as status quo, the notion of reconciliation seems fairly unlikely.
Tomorrow isn't promised to any of us--all the more reason for us to focus on living in the NOW. That's all I am capable of doing. And in doing so, I hope to stave off a cascade of regrets later. At least I know, in the end, I did what I was able to do.
At the end of April, knowing I would not be around or able to visit on Mother's Day, I made the trip to visit mom, and even did a sleep over there, and, as far as these things go, it was about as pleasant as it could be.
This is not to say I do not suspect my mother still has Borderline Personality Disorder, CLEARLY SHE DOES; however, without my sister's interference and influence on us, directly, in a visit? The visit was "nice."
However, initially, when I arrived, my mother was anxious about the possibility of my sister showing up, and (I guess) being upset that I was there. I said to my mother that she should just stop worrying and that one of two scenarios were likely to happen:
- My sister would show up, see my car in the driveway, and just decide to drive home; or
- My sister would come inside to either continue fighting with me or buck up and be an adult and end this thing.
I stand by my resolve that she was the one who insisted we stop talking; and if we are to recommence talking, it will be SHE who initiates it, not me.
As I said to my therapist, I can only handle one nutjob at a time. "There's a time and a place for everything, and everyone, and the time is now, and the person right now is my mother." Given my mother's health, who knows how much time she's got left. She's 70 and to be blunt we are always one medical drama away from "the inevitable." But at the moment she's holding her own--who knows how long this will last. But my focus right now is sobering that given I only visit 4x a year if that, and given her age and health, there is a finite amount of visits, so why not make them pleasant ones?
Perhaps this is the natural order of things. Perhaps my focus SHOULD be on my mom. Ideally it would be nice if my sister were to get her head out of her ass before mom gets ill again and/or dies. I am not in control of that. Perhaps there will be reconciliation or not. Who knows. But I cannot fixate myself or my finite energy on trying to be someone I am not all in an attempt to try to make someone who is incapable of being happy (my sister), HAPPY? I did my best in the past, and that wasn't appreciated or acknowledged, and was insulted with the accusation of half-assing things. As I see it, it would be utter insanity to put myself out there more, and in doing so, potentially injure or kill myself (as evidenced by that fateful car accident I had, while dad languished in a hospital ventilator unit), all in the name to make her happy--when clearly by her own actions (or lack thereof), she's obviously and consistently not been all that concerned about my well being or happiness.
A friend asked me recently if I missed my sister, and to be blunt, there's not much to miss. I pretty much was her scapegoat and at times her sounding board upon which she'd vent her spleen about how others have done her wrong or how she's doing so much for our mother or whatever. It always had been a one way street with her. It had easily been 15-20 years since we had done anything remotely sisterly," and the only thing that remained was passive-aggression, resentment, and tsouris. "So do I miss the grief? NO." In the absence of anything loving or kind or supportive or "sisterly," I will gladly accept her silence.
My only regret is that my relationship with my niece is collateral damage as a result of all this. She's 13, has email and a cell phone, and communicating with me is not important to her. So I shouldn't fixate too heavily on this detail.
I just know I will never truly have any peace regarding my sister, until our mother is gone. I'm not wishing for an early demise for mom, but merely intellectualizing the truth. Once mom's gone, that's it. Maybe I'll see my brother on occasion, but if things continue with the radio silence as status quo, the notion of reconciliation seems fairly unlikely.
Tomorrow isn't promised to any of us--all the more reason for us to focus on living in the NOW. That's all I am capable of doing. And in doing so, I hope to stave off a cascade of regrets later. At least I know, in the end, I did what I was able to do.
Saturday, April 18, 2015
It's Deja Vu All Over Again
Hey. Remember a year ago, Audrey was in the hospital, and I was going to take a bushel of her used books to Good Will for a "hit and run" type of drop off, only to discover there were some used hypodermics in her book box?
Yeah. Well. Before my trip to Europe next week, I went and visited Audrey. Had a nice enough visit. (Surprised? :) )
Anywhooooo...
Whilst sitting in a recliner, this was my view:
Yep. There's a sneaky Pete right there. A used hypodermic in the crevice of the chair. It's becoming a lot like "Where's Waldo" when visiting, to find the hypodermic. And there WILL be a hypodermic!
Yeah. Well. Before my trip to Europe next week, I went and visited Audrey. Had a nice enough visit. (Surprised? :) )
Anywhooooo...
Whilst sitting in a recliner, this was my view:
Monday, March 30, 2015
Vintage Telephone Twattery
Not sure if I shared this gem herein, and it's been blogged about elsewhere, but I figured I'd tuck it in here for continuity. Originally posted sometime in 2009. I'm not even going to fix the formatting.
I really should stop doing things that normal folks would do in similar situations.
Srsly.
Last week, I called my dad’s (now-former) vet to take his name off the reminders list (yanno those reminder cards they mail out), and let them know his sister will be taking care of his dog from now on, and that I’ll be letting my aunt know the vet’s #, and that she might be calling them for the dog’s medical records, vaccinations list, etc. (The only way to stop getting mail addressed to my dad is simply by doing this, over and over again, with magazines, newspapers, and all the charities he managed to give money to.)
The vet in turn calls my mother to:
The moment she hung up with the vet, she:
When the man was alive, she treated me as if I were the “other woman” (need I remind anyone how she introduced me to dad’s day nurse as, “Oh, let me introduce you to my HUSBAND’S DAUGHTER.”;
Since he’s been gone, she treats me like I’m an effing thief when I’m at the house;
And in the meantime somehow or another, she obviously thinks this type of behavior is acceptable. Or worse: normal.
Whether I am subtle or I go for the effing jugular, it doesn’t make a difference; because she simply does not give a shit that not everyone wants to talk to her every effing moment of every effing day; totally disregarding the fact that she has absolutely nothing to talk about (to my face; behind my back, I know for a fact it’s a different story).
Oh, and the whole vet situation is on top of the already fucked up, ”I’m calling you, but I don’t have anything to talk about,” or the “I’m calling you because I don’t want you to think I’m avoiding you,” type telephone calls. WTF?
She’s avoiding me? Sign me up! Where do I sign? Aren’t I entitled to some down time? Some decompression? Time alone with my own thoughts, my own life, totally and mutually exclusive from her?
I really should stop doing things that normal folks would do in similar situations.
Srsly.
Last week, I called my dad’s (now-former) vet to take his name off the reminders list (yanno those reminder cards they mail out), and let them know his sister will be taking care of his dog from now on, and that I’ll be letting my aunt know the vet’s #, and that she might be calling them for the dog’s medical records, vaccinations list, etc. (The only way to stop getting mail addressed to my dad is simply by doing this, over and over again, with magazines, newspapers, and all the charities he managed to give money to.)
The vet in turn calls my mother to:
- Verify that all this is true;
- To extend their condolences.
The moment she hung up with the vet, she:
- Called me AT work (I let it roll to voice mail, as I’m tired of this bullshitty bullshit of talking every day to her);
- When I didn’t answer my desk phone, she then called my cell phone, again, letting it go to voicemail, with her leaving this message, “IT’S YOUR MOTHER.” click!;
- While I am at the chiropractor, she called FOUR MORE EFFING TIMES
in quick succession with similarly rude/terse/cunty-voiced messages
ranging from: “It’s your mother,” to “CALL ME,” to “Did you call the vet?” (Never a “please” nor a splinter of good manners in the lot.);
Subtotal of calls thus far: 6
- I get home, and there are THREE EFFING MESSAGES on the machine, all identical to the ones she’s already left; Subtotal of calls thus far: 9
- As I am finishing cooking dinner and about to sit down (time: roughly 9 p.m.), she calls YET AGAIN. Seeing the name on the caller ID, I pick up and say real pissy, “YES?!?”
Her: I’ve been real worried. Did you call the vet today? Me: Obviously. Her: Why? Me: Obviously I thought it was necessary. Her: Oh. Me: I’m eating dinner. Her: Okay. Bye.
10.
That’s TEN MOTHER-EFFING-PHONE CALLS about NOTHING. This is the type of harassment I am dealing with from her.When the man was alive, she treated me as if I were the “other woman” (need I remind anyone how she introduced me to dad’s day nurse as, “Oh, let me introduce you to my HUSBAND’S DAUGHTER.”;
Since he’s been gone, she treats me like I’m an effing thief when I’m at the house;
And in the meantime somehow or another, she obviously thinks this type of behavior is acceptable. Or worse: normal.
Whether I am subtle or I go for the effing jugular, it doesn’t make a difference; because she simply does not give a shit that not everyone wants to talk to her every effing moment of every effing day; totally disregarding the fact that she has absolutely nothing to talk about (to my face; behind my back, I know for a fact it’s a different story).
Oh, and the whole vet situation is on top of the already fucked up, ”I’m calling you, but I don’t have anything to talk about,” or the “I’m calling you because I don’t want you to think I’m avoiding you,” type telephone calls. WTF?
She’s avoiding me? Sign me up! Where do I sign? Aren’t I entitled to some down time? Some decompression? Time alone with my own thoughts, my own life, totally and mutually exclusive from her?
Thursday, March 12, 2015
On Cunty Consistency
March 10th:
9:30 a.m.: Arrive to the office.
9:35 a.m.: Get call from Bossman #1 that there's something super urgent I need to work on with him. We work on it all day.
3:25 p.m.: Give the document to our director (in the presence of Bossman #1). Director says, "It's perfect, please email it to me. Thanks." I left her office in such a hurry (as I thought expedience in getting this emailed to her was more important than curtseying and kissing the ring with a "You're welcome" in reply to her thank you). As I exited, I was about 2-3 feet from her office, when I heard her passively-aggressively snarl out, "YOU'RE WELCOME."
3:30 p.m.: I inform bossman of two things: "Did I hear her passively-aggressively blurt out "You're Welcome to me? (He replied, "You heard THAT?") I replied, "I hear EVERYTHING," and then I blurted out "HEY. I AM HUNGRY." And he says, "Go for your lunch!" (FINALLY)
4:15 p.m.: He walks into the break room in the dungeon, interrupting my Fortress of Solitude, and I launched into "Gee, it's nice to know that the fact I delayed my lunch by three and a half hours was greatly appreciated by her." And I brought up the "You're welcome" (and in my mind, if you're playing along at home, the voice in my head sounds like Large Marge from PeeWee's Big Adventure).
9:30 a.m.: Arrive to the office.
9:35 a.m.: Get call from Bossman #1 that there's something super urgent I need to work on with him. We work on it all day.
3:25 p.m.: Give the document to our director (in the presence of Bossman #1). Director says, "It's perfect, please email it to me. Thanks." I left her office in such a hurry (as I thought expedience in getting this emailed to her was more important than curtseying and kissing the ring with a "You're welcome" in reply to her thank you). As I exited, I was about 2-3 feet from her office, when I heard her passively-aggressively snarl out, "YOU'RE WELCOME."
3:30 p.m.: I inform bossman of two things: "Did I hear her passively-aggressively blurt out "You're Welcome to me? (He replied, "You heard THAT?") I replied, "I hear EVERYTHING," and then I blurted out "HEY. I AM HUNGRY." And he says, "Go for your lunch!" (FINALLY)
4:15 p.m.: He walks into the break room in the dungeon, interrupting my Fortress of Solitude, and I launched into "Gee, it's nice to know that the fact I delayed my lunch by three and a half hours was greatly appreciated by her." And I brought up the "You're welcome" (and in my mind, if you're playing along at home, the voice in my head sounds like Large Marge from PeeWee's Big Adventure).
I said, "Yanno, a four letter word, starting with C and ending with T
really applies here." And he said, "Nope. Nope. I don't want to hear
that word!" And I said, "I'm far too clever for you. The word that
applies here is CURT." (He agreed.) He then replied, "Hey, she told you
the document was PERFECT! I've never heard that I did anything
perfectly!" My reply back to him was, "Well she fucked up the slap and
tickle! Slap and tickle, you start with the negative, and conclude with
something positive. She fucked up the compliment by being curt."
The final exchange here was his reply to that, "Well, at least "I" appreciate you!" And I said, "And to that, I say, thank you Good Sir! Right back atcha!"
March 11th:
After regaling my mother of the aforementioned exchange, without missing a beat she said, "Yeah... but still, you could have said you're welcome."
I seriously am laughing at this and not steamed, because what she thinks matters so very little to me. But, I think if she ever did say something in the least bit SUPPORTIVE of me and my point of view, I think I'd keel over dead from abject shock.
The final exchange here was his reply to that, "Well, at least "I" appreciate you!" And I said, "And to that, I say, thank you Good Sir! Right back atcha!"
March 11th:
After regaling my mother of the aforementioned exchange, without missing a beat she said, "Yeah... but still, you could have said you're welcome."
I seriously am laughing at this and not steamed, because what she thinks matters so very little to me. But, I think if she ever did say something in the least bit SUPPORTIVE of me and my point of view, I think I'd keel over dead from abject shock.
Thursday, February 26, 2015
In Other News
Last night I made my weekly call to my mom. I'd call more frequently, but there's nothing really to talk about. That aside...
Everything was pleasant enough, and then she blindsided me with the Whopper of All Whoppers: "What kind of mother was I?" I replied, "How am I supposed to answer that?" She said, "Honestly, I can handle it." And I paused while I collected my thoughts, and I leaned into my need to be honest rather than "be nice" and perpetuate any delusions she may have, as I am convinced we all possess the ability to know how good or how horrible each of us truly is.
"You were a difficult person to love."
(Pause)
"However, to your credit, at your best you were perversely dark, twisted, hilarious, too."
I call this type of response, giving the bad first, and the good last as the "Ol' Slap and Tickle."
She seemed to handle it well enough. The conversation then veered to this coming weekend, when she turns 70. She's downright shocked she's reached such an age, and no doubt, she's keenly aware that she won't live forever. At her worst she was horrible and abusive, but now, I see her as mostly de-fanged, a human, fragile, and in need of validation. However, I am also keenly aware of the potential for things to go sideways at any point in time, so I am still guarded.
She let me know a hairdresser is coming to the house, and she's going to go blonde. This is a huge deal. Because in the last six years (since dad's been gone), she's not given too much care to her appearance. Getting her hair colored and "done," no doubt, will boost her. And of course, the timing is such, it's obvious, she's getting ready for the party on Sunday, so I dared to ask THE question.
"So is anyone coming by for your birthday?" And she downplayed it, but the more she talked, the more it was apparent there was a party going on. And everyone invited was, I suppose, sworn to secrecy. "You know, you are more than welcome here, anytime you wish." And I said that I was aware of that. "Are you coming?" And I said, "I wasn't invited by the person throwing the party. And even if I were, I won't." And she asked why, and I said, "To be honest, I am not physically up to it--the drive--the party--the crowd--and more importantly, I don't want whatever this weirdness with my sister to ruin your day. I can come visit another day, and it'll be just you and I." This seemed to placate her. We chatted a bit more and concluded the call.
We are now two months, one week, and two days into The Great Silence with my sister. Today, I have no further words on this.
Everything was pleasant enough, and then she blindsided me with the Whopper of All Whoppers: "What kind of mother was I?" I replied, "How am I supposed to answer that?" She said, "Honestly, I can handle it." And I paused while I collected my thoughts, and I leaned into my need to be honest rather than "be nice" and perpetuate any delusions she may have, as I am convinced we all possess the ability to know how good or how horrible each of us truly is.
"You were a difficult person to love."
(Pause)
"However, to your credit, at your best you were perversely dark, twisted, hilarious, too."
I call this type of response, giving the bad first, and the good last as the "Ol' Slap and Tickle."
She seemed to handle it well enough. The conversation then veered to this coming weekend, when she turns 70. She's downright shocked she's reached such an age, and no doubt, she's keenly aware that she won't live forever. At her worst she was horrible and abusive, but now, I see her as mostly de-fanged, a human, fragile, and in need of validation. However, I am also keenly aware of the potential for things to go sideways at any point in time, so I am still guarded.
She let me know a hairdresser is coming to the house, and she's going to go blonde. This is a huge deal. Because in the last six years (since dad's been gone), she's not given too much care to her appearance. Getting her hair colored and "done," no doubt, will boost her. And of course, the timing is such, it's obvious, she's getting ready for the party on Sunday, so I dared to ask THE question.
"So is anyone coming by for your birthday?" And she downplayed it, but the more she talked, the more it was apparent there was a party going on. And everyone invited was, I suppose, sworn to secrecy. "You know, you are more than welcome here, anytime you wish." And I said that I was aware of that. "Are you coming?" And I said, "I wasn't invited by the person throwing the party. And even if I were, I won't." And she asked why, and I said, "To be honest, I am not physically up to it--the drive--the party--the crowd--and more importantly, I don't want whatever this weirdness with my sister to ruin your day. I can come visit another day, and it'll be just you and I." This seemed to placate her. We chatted a bit more and concluded the call.
We are now two months, one week, and two days into The Great Silence with my sister. Today, I have no further words on this.
Tuesday, February 24, 2015
On Being an Adult
So. Rather than sit and analyze this further, or feel compelled to avoid the front desk during my lunch hour, I figured I owed it to myself to articulate what needed articulating.
This a.m., while heading down to the lower level to drop off mail, I swung by the front desk where Jean was, and I initiated (what I hope will be) the final discussion on yesterday's topic. And given this is right before the lunchtime rush of people, this was the ideal time to do so. No interruptions, no one else around so hopefully it will minimize whatever embarrassment he may have during this conversation.
I reaffirmed that I am a deep thinker, and I could not stop thinking about yesterday's topic, especially given he's brought it up in the past before, several times.
I reaffirmed that I am a very good judge of character, and I am going to crack all of this up to "the culture gap."
I stated the obvious, that there is no type of indoctrination for foreigners who come here, to learn the finer points, or nuances, of being polite. Little things like hygiene for some, or finding out about what might be inappropriate behaviors for others.
Directly, and as non-condescending as I could, I started with, "a little friendly advice," and I told him that most businesses have a zero tolerance policy on sexual harassment. The mere question of a sexual nature, even if it's asked out of innocent enough curiosity, could constitute harassment. To ask this to any female in the workplace, even if it's "just making conversation," if that female feels threatened, it could constitute harassment. If, after I've asked him not to ask me this again, he asks it again, that counts as harassment.
He asked me if I thought there was more to the asking than superficial asking. And I replied, "Of course. It could be one of three scenarios: 1. You're trying to see if I'm inclined to cheat; 2. Your wife cheated on you and you're trying to figure out why she cheated; or 3. You've got a guilty conscience because YOU cheated. In any of these scenarios, I AM NOT INTERESTED."
At this point he said he was very sorry for offending me. And I thanked him for his apology.
I informed him that these are the types of questions to ask close friends, and while I am flattered that he either thinks we are that close or that he is that comfortable asking such things of me, we are not close friends.
In the mix somewhere, I mentioned that I am a happily married, contented person. Somewhere in the mix. I didn't conclude with that.
Hopefully this will be the end of this nonsense with him.
Monday, February 23, 2015
My Stalker Part 17: Meh.
I really am beginning to feel like a trapped animal during the work day. I am still squirreled away inside, in my suite of offices most of the day. And the brutally cold weather is kind of fortifying that as a habit for a while. But there comes a breaking point where I need to stretch my legs or get sunshine on my face and fresh (BRACINGLY COLD) air in my lungs. And today was such a day.
So my normal excuse to get out is to walk to the dollar store for zip lock bags or mailing supplies and a Snapple. And of course, returning into the building means I am walking past the front desk where the Haitian doorman is.
And while I have broken him of his insistence on asking me the same question over and over again, about whether I regret not having kids, I thought I had broken him of asking me the double whammy of "would you ever cheat on your husband?" I've politely danced around this question in the past and thought I finally killed it as a conversational topic, and today I went in for the kill and flat out told Jean it's none of his fucking business, and that I'm not married to him, so I don't understand the curiosity.
And though we laughed about it, I did, in fact, call him out for this. It's a rude question, and the constant asking (he has asked it in an assortment of ways in the past year, and I'm tired of it. No. I'm BORED with it. It's tedious, and it's none of his fucking business.)
And the topic came back to the Stalker. And how I'm killing him by cutting him off. And I let Jean know about the forced interaction roughly nine days ago at the elevator, and how I know that the Stalker is still... STALKING me because of his choice to meet me at that particular elevator instead of taking the freight elevator which is his norm, and which was more convenient for him to take.
Point blank, I told Jean, that I know that the problem that Jean and the Stalker have with me is they are not used to a woman who is staunch, who has a fairly decent sense of self and self worth. And to be honest, neither of them are married to me, fucking me, nor paying my bills, so who ARE THEY to me, anyway? We are here because of work, not as a social networking group. And I'm pretty much DONE with some charming sociopath (Stalker) manipulating the truth and half truths to Jean to paint a picture of me as some sort of reactionary bitch. HE is the one who made something that was mutually pleasant into something that was singularly UNPLEASANT for me. End. Of. Story.
In the course of laughing, I looked at Jean and told him that bit about a Churchill quote, "The height of diplomacy is to tell someone to go to hell in such a way, they look forward to the trip." I said, "See, you're laughing, and I don't think you realize I just called out your rudeness and told you it's none of your fucking business," which of course, elicited more laughter. But point was received. And hopefully in the future, this question will be struck from Jean's conversational repertoire. It really is none of his business. And it really IS tedious as fuck. And really? I'm tired of being hit on by little boys, and really really tired of unsophisticated Third Worlders (friends and/or family) expecting or demanding that they know every little detail of my life. Not every topic is open for discussion.
So my normal excuse to get out is to walk to the dollar store for zip lock bags or mailing supplies and a Snapple. And of course, returning into the building means I am walking past the front desk where the Haitian doorman is.
And while I have broken him of his insistence on asking me the same question over and over again, about whether I regret not having kids, I thought I had broken him of asking me the double whammy of "would you ever cheat on your husband?" I've politely danced around this question in the past and thought I finally killed it as a conversational topic, and today I went in for the kill and flat out told Jean it's none of his fucking business, and that I'm not married to him, so I don't understand the curiosity.
And though we laughed about it, I did, in fact, call him out for this. It's a rude question, and the constant asking (he has asked it in an assortment of ways in the past year, and I'm tired of it. No. I'm BORED with it. It's tedious, and it's none of his fucking business.)
And the topic came back to the Stalker. And how I'm killing him by cutting him off. And I let Jean know about the forced interaction roughly nine days ago at the elevator, and how I know that the Stalker is still... STALKING me because of his choice to meet me at that particular elevator instead of taking the freight elevator which is his norm, and which was more convenient for him to take.
Point blank, I told Jean, that I know that the problem that Jean and the Stalker have with me is they are not used to a woman who is staunch, who has a fairly decent sense of self and self worth. And to be honest, neither of them are married to me, fucking me, nor paying my bills, so who ARE THEY to me, anyway? We are here because of work, not as a social networking group. And I'm pretty much DONE with some charming sociopath (Stalker) manipulating the truth and half truths to Jean to paint a picture of me as some sort of reactionary bitch. HE is the one who made something that was mutually pleasant into something that was singularly UNPLEASANT for me. End. Of. Story.
In the course of laughing, I looked at Jean and told him that bit about a Churchill quote, "The height of diplomacy is to tell someone to go to hell in such a way, they look forward to the trip." I said, "See, you're laughing, and I don't think you realize I just called out your rudeness and told you it's none of your fucking business," which of course, elicited more laughter. But point was received. And hopefully in the future, this question will be struck from Jean's conversational repertoire. It really is none of his business. And it really IS tedious as fuck. And really? I'm tired of being hit on by little boys, and really really tired of unsophisticated Third Worlders (friends and/or family) expecting or demanding that they know every little detail of my life. Not every topic is open for discussion.
Saturday, February 14, 2015
My Stalker: Part 16 Something or Nothing--Perspective is Everything
So yesterday was the last working day before a three day weekend. As part of my usual routine, I check the mail bin, because there is always SOME ASSHOLE who insists on putting mail in the mail bin even though they CLEARLY KNOW they have missed the 4 p.m. deadline to do so.
Given I was vexed about holding the piece of mail until TUESDAY, I decided fuck it, and stamped it, and went down to the mail bin. I went via the freight elevator. Perhaps I shouldn't. Who knows. But it tipped off my Stalker that I was en route. And of course, it's a few minutes past 6 p.m., and as such he was getting ready to transition to the lobby for his last hour of his shift.
I put the mail into the mail slot and decide not to take the freight elevator up. I heard his voice, so I decided to take the longer route around to the bank of elevators for the rest of the building, and doing so in the hopes of circumventing a potential interaction.
Little did I realize or forget, there is a groundhog like warren of hallways and tunnels in the building that the building maintenance staff take, and of course, this spry old fucker decided he was going to get the jump on me, take the tunnel and meet me at the elevator.
Or it could be purely coincidental. But I'm one of those people who are generally distrustful of others, especially when someone has exhibited weird, cruel and or stupid behavior in the past with me, as he clearly has. I'm forever on my guard.
To date, we are almost into month five of the Deep Freeze and starving the beast of any interaction.
He seized the opportunity and said hello as I entered the elevator.
With my eyes facing the doors, never looking at him or otherwise acknowledging his presence, I gave a terse but polite hello, the kind you'd give a complete stranger who happened to extend a polite hello to you.
The elevator doors opened up, and I exited the elevator walking with firm intent (not rushed, not running, but DELIBERATE), and without looking back, and without any further acknowledgement of a possible good bye, as I don't want to encourage him into thinking I am starting to thaw.
That Gotye song, "Someone I used to know" applies so much here, however, clearly my point of view is entirely different than the singer of that song. He's just somebody I used to know.
Given I was vexed about holding the piece of mail until TUESDAY, I decided fuck it, and stamped it, and went down to the mail bin. I went via the freight elevator. Perhaps I shouldn't. Who knows. But it tipped off my Stalker that I was en route. And of course, it's a few minutes past 6 p.m., and as such he was getting ready to transition to the lobby for his last hour of his shift.
I put the mail into the mail slot and decide not to take the freight elevator up. I heard his voice, so I decided to take the longer route around to the bank of elevators for the rest of the building, and doing so in the hopes of circumventing a potential interaction.
Little did I realize or forget, there is a groundhog like warren of hallways and tunnels in the building that the building maintenance staff take, and of course, this spry old fucker decided he was going to get the jump on me, take the tunnel and meet me at the elevator.
Or it could be purely coincidental. But I'm one of those people who are generally distrustful of others, especially when someone has exhibited weird, cruel and or stupid behavior in the past with me, as he clearly has. I'm forever on my guard.
To date, we are almost into month five of the Deep Freeze and starving the beast of any interaction.
He seized the opportunity and said hello as I entered the elevator.
With my eyes facing the doors, never looking at him or otherwise acknowledging his presence, I gave a terse but polite hello, the kind you'd give a complete stranger who happened to extend a polite hello to you.
The elevator doors opened up, and I exited the elevator walking with firm intent (not rushed, not running, but DELIBERATE), and without looking back, and without any further acknowledgement of a possible good bye, as I don't want to encourage him into thinking I am starting to thaw.
That Gotye song, "Someone I used to know" applies so much here, however, clearly my point of view is entirely different than the singer of that song. He's just somebody I used to know.
Thursday, February 12, 2015
Natural State of Being: Instigator
I call Audrey on Sunday as it was nearing a full week since my last call. And our calls pretty much now are a weekly call whose sole purpose is to check in on her and hear that yes, she is still here in the land of the living. She's got nothing going on, hardly anyone calls her or visits, and she leads a pretty solitary life, partly by choice, and partly as a consequence of being handicapped and house bound due to neglect, which, let's face it: was by choice. Even choosing to do nothing is still a choice. Choosing not to act is still an action.
And rather than dwell on all that obviousness and get sucked down the vortex of negativity, of THAT hot mess further, let me just share what transpired.
So, whether directly or indirectly--whether intentional or unintentional, Audrey asks the customary thing, as if in 46 years of life I'd ever, ever forget when my sister's birthday was, and asked "Did you call your sister to wish her a happy birthday?"
Audrey KNOWS better than to ask me about my sister.
Audrey KNOWS the shitstorm that was stirred up in December.
Audrey KNOWS my sister and I are not speaking.
SURELY, this is a hook, baited with a big, fat, passive-aggressive worm.
"No," was my response.
"Why not?" was hers.
"Given she does not want to talk to me, I figured I'd honor that."
She then got a bit agitated, AS IF *I* were the one who was shit stirring. She's too far into her delusion or ignorance to realize it is SHE who is shit stirring.
"It is what it is. I'm not losing sleep over it, neither should you," I stated calmly. I continued to make small talk until it was obvious it was time to conclude the call.
The truth of the matter is, my sister does not return calls or simply PICK UP the phone. Whether mom calls or I (in the past) called, we were met with voicemail or if we called the house, my niece or brother-in-law would stonewall us. And that's okay. That's her delusion. Choosing not to answer the phone is an action, and there are consequences to that (one of which is estrangement, alienation etc) And this current state of non-talking is part of that delusion too. It doesn't change my status or experience, and yet somehow, the silence is even MORE deafening, and profound, and yet, oddly comforting.
As I've always said before, perhaps it might come off a bit glib, but it's something I feel firmly about: If you cannot be remotely loving or supportive, I'll gladly accept your silence.
So, in an unexpected turn with this little saga, I'm glad.
And rather than dwell on all that obviousness and get sucked down the vortex of negativity, of THAT hot mess further, let me just share what transpired.
So, whether directly or indirectly--whether intentional or unintentional, Audrey asks the customary thing, as if in 46 years of life I'd ever, ever forget when my sister's birthday was, and asked "Did you call your sister to wish her a happy birthday?"
Audrey KNOWS better than to ask me about my sister.
Audrey KNOWS the shitstorm that was stirred up in December.
Audrey KNOWS my sister and I are not speaking.
SURELY, this is a hook, baited with a big, fat, passive-aggressive worm.
"No," was my response.
"Why not?" was hers.
"Given she does not want to talk to me, I figured I'd honor that."
She then got a bit agitated, AS IF *I* were the one who was shit stirring. She's too far into her delusion or ignorance to realize it is SHE who is shit stirring.
"It is what it is. I'm not losing sleep over it, neither should you," I stated calmly. I continued to make small talk until it was obvious it was time to conclude the call.
The truth of the matter is, my sister does not return calls or simply PICK UP the phone. Whether mom calls or I (in the past) called, we were met with voicemail or if we called the house, my niece or brother-in-law would stonewall us. And that's okay. That's her delusion. Choosing not to answer the phone is an action, and there are consequences to that (one of which is estrangement, alienation etc) And this current state of non-talking is part of that delusion too. It doesn't change my status or experience, and yet somehow, the silence is even MORE deafening, and profound, and yet, oddly comforting.
As I've always said before, perhaps it might come off a bit glib, but it's something I feel firmly about: If you cannot be remotely loving or supportive, I'll gladly accept your silence.
So, in an unexpected turn with this little saga, I'm glad.
Monday, February 2, 2015
Polar Opposites
It's been about a week since I returned from India, where we went to visit my in-laws. It's an exhausting endeavor just to get there, but done out of love for his family, and done so, willingly.
Nothing really new to report, other than I felt as if I were in an alternate reality, in a time and place with people who truly are interested in being with me, in loving and respecting me, and in return, it's so incredibly easy to love and respect them in return, as they're very good people.
Lots of good chats with his mom, and I feel his brother and I got closer in the sense of realizing we are cast in the same role, but in different hemispheres on planet Earth.
His brother, mother, and father, all three having different personalities, each uttered the statement, "She's just like me." This I found amusing.
It's such a very difficult and inconvenient and polluted place to visit and live, but in a way I felt like so much emotional garbage was purged or cleansed with this trip.
I haven't gone into too much detail with Audrey about the trip--the less she knows, the less she is able to mar it. I'm withholding a good amount of what transpired, and holding it close, protecting it and protecting myself.
Tomorrow is my sister's birthday, and much like my niece's birthday two weeks ago, it, too, will go unacknowledged by card or gift or text or call or email. My sister pushed me away, and that's fine. I'll respect that boundary; however, if she's expecting me to come crawling back, begging for forgiveness (yes, I have no doubt that's what she anticipates), or perhaps expects me to do the passive-aggressive route and talk to Audrey or to our aunt, or to our brother, grousing about the injustice of it all, she will have a long wait.
At one point during the trip, my mother-in-law asked me if I called or emailed my niece to wish her a happy birthday (as even my mother-in-law remembers my niece's birthday), and well, that was enough to break me down into tears. It's frustrating. And upsetting. And upsetting and a bit shameful to be honest. But I will respect that boundary, and in doing so, I'm enabling my sister to continue to use my niece as a pawn. As I see it, she's been pushing me away for years, and this recent circumstance is just in an official, overt, aggressive capacity, but part of an on-going, 45+ year narrative.
Here I am, eight days home, and eight days out of the bubble of love and respect and constant discussion, and constant supervision of my in-laws. I have no doubt the Germans have a single word to describe the complex emotions afoot, of wanting to go home but not wanting to leave. That is very much at play here. And we went nearly two weeks of others tending to and anticipating all of our needs, bathing us in love, and now, the absence of it coupled up with the backdrop of snow snow snow, is now just depressing for us, and no doubt for them.
My brother-in-law and father-in-law hardly speak (from what I've been told; however, during our visit, they were well-behaved), and the bulk of my mother-in-law's socialization was with us with non-stop conversation and love and laughter. So us returning home has rendered things there back to their status quo. So, no. The grass isn't greener. We each have our own troubles in our own universes, and I am just glad that for a relatively small space in time, we were able to be there, in the moment, loving and being loved in return. Even my taciturn father-in-law summed it all up succinctly, "Was it all a dream?"
Nothing really new to report, other than I felt as if I were in an alternate reality, in a time and place with people who truly are interested in being with me, in loving and respecting me, and in return, it's so incredibly easy to love and respect them in return, as they're very good people.
Lots of good chats with his mom, and I feel his brother and I got closer in the sense of realizing we are cast in the same role, but in different hemispheres on planet Earth.
His brother, mother, and father, all three having different personalities, each uttered the statement, "She's just like me." This I found amusing.
It's such a very difficult and inconvenient and polluted place to visit and live, but in a way I felt like so much emotional garbage was purged or cleansed with this trip.
I haven't gone into too much detail with Audrey about the trip--the less she knows, the less she is able to mar it. I'm withholding a good amount of what transpired, and holding it close, protecting it and protecting myself.
Tomorrow is my sister's birthday, and much like my niece's birthday two weeks ago, it, too, will go unacknowledged by card or gift or text or call or email. My sister pushed me away, and that's fine. I'll respect that boundary; however, if she's expecting me to come crawling back, begging for forgiveness (yes, I have no doubt that's what she anticipates), or perhaps expects me to do the passive-aggressive route and talk to Audrey or to our aunt, or to our brother, grousing about the injustice of it all, she will have a long wait.
At one point during the trip, my mother-in-law asked me if I called or emailed my niece to wish her a happy birthday (as even my mother-in-law remembers my niece's birthday), and well, that was enough to break me down into tears. It's frustrating. And upsetting. And upsetting and a bit shameful to be honest. But I will respect that boundary, and in doing so, I'm enabling my sister to continue to use my niece as a pawn. As I see it, she's been pushing me away for years, and this recent circumstance is just in an official, overt, aggressive capacity, but part of an on-going, 45+ year narrative.
Here I am, eight days home, and eight days out of the bubble of love and respect and constant discussion, and constant supervision of my in-laws. I have no doubt the Germans have a single word to describe the complex emotions afoot, of wanting to go home but not wanting to leave. That is very much at play here. And we went nearly two weeks of others tending to and anticipating all of our needs, bathing us in love, and now, the absence of it coupled up with the backdrop of snow snow snow, is now just depressing for us, and no doubt for them.
My brother-in-law and father-in-law hardly speak (from what I've been told; however, during our visit, they were well-behaved), and the bulk of my mother-in-law's socialization was with us with non-stop conversation and love and laughter. So us returning home has rendered things there back to their status quo. So, no. The grass isn't greener. We each have our own troubles in our own universes, and I am just glad that for a relatively small space in time, we were able to be there, in the moment, loving and being loved in return. Even my taciturn father-in-law summed it all up succinctly, "Was it all a dream?"
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