It’s All Too Much

I thought I was doing okay. I am moving along, not trudging, not skipping, but moving along. Sure there are a few issues taking up residence, but that’s life and individually there is nothing horrendous signaling immediate doom. Then a random GLEE song pops on my ipod on the way into work this morning and I just lost it bawling in my car thinking about Cory Monteith.  Well that’s a sign I am feeling more fragile than I thought. Before I  put a stone on my chest and lie in the river ala Secret Life of Bees, perhaps I need to write down some of these issues. Perhaps more of a hormonal spring Festivus rather than my own personal wailing wall of grief, but hopefully getting this all out will provide some relief. (pretend these are formatted as simple bullets.)

Today is Tax Day. It is also the day my brother’s divorce was finalized and his broken heart never recovered. Now before I paint him as a victim, his ex-wife was fully justified in wanting to fix the mistake of their way-too-young marriage. I mean she went about it in a totally terrible way, but I cut her some slack because hello, who has the best relationship skills at 20? (NOT ME.) Anyway, my brother was already down a path of self-destructive behavior and bad decisions by this point, but he was also an incredibly sensitive soul who felt this rejection and smashing of his heart each and every day for the next decade. I wish things could have worked out differently for him and I wish I didn’t have the memory to have this hurtful date etched in my mind.

On the topic of relationship skills, and lack thereof, I am struggling with a personal communication issue. Just like people learn in different manners I know that communication styles are varied. I get this. Mars, Venus, the whole deal. I get it. The issue at hand is that J insists on communicating in a way that drives me completely up the wall and he knows it and does it anyway. Instead of asking if I would like to do something or instead of asking me to do something with him, he phrases it “are you/we going to (something)?” This turned into a huge fight last year when he never officially invited me to an out-of-state wedding for his cousin but then 2 weeks before asked “Are you coming to Jamie’s wedding?” I tried very hard to keep my cool and explain that the PROPER way to ask your girlfriend if you want her to come along is to INVITE her and REQUEST her presence. He thought that was an invitation. Despite numerous conversations about this approach, I still get questions such as “Are you coming over on Saturday?” or “Are we going to that wing place you like for the game?” as though we have discussed this topic previously and he is confirming prior plans instead of suggesting them for the first time or, you know, inviting me. Everyone I have talked to about this has basically said well tough shit, this is how he is, this is how he communicates. I do get I need to accept this and move on, but I hate it and it irks me (every effing time) and I don’t know HOW to get over it. It is a really stupid thing that reasonable people should be able to come together to fix in order to work in harmony, but we seem to be very Zax-like in this.

My mom needs surgery. Wonderful, amazing, hard-working, anti-cancer poison has kept my mom alive, but it is also destroying her joints (one of the most powerful results come from a drug that also weakens her heart. Lovely choices to make.) The woman trained so hard and finished a freaking sprint triathlon last year and her payback is having to get replacement hips? After some pain alleviating injections failed to provide lasting relief she had to have some x-rays. The doctor took FOREVER to get her results and I thought for sure her silence about it meant they found more tumors, so I am thankful the fix is a common orthopedic surgery.  Still, pretty pissed that in order to live my mom had to take drugs that will hijack the rest of her body piece by piece. I guess I should be thanking science that there are bionic fixes to keep her around, but I am still disgruntled nonetheless. It is not fair.

Pants. (Yes I have grumbles about cancer and pants on my list. I didn’t say all my issues were of great importance.) My pants don’t fit and I don’t like shopping for new ones and paying money to replace perfectly decent pants that I cannot find a way to continue fitting in to. Yes I am the heaviest I have ever been and whine about it, but the number and size is not what truly bothers me. The birth control method currently in use over here is a hormonal one and is the only option, for reasons, and although I know weight gain is a side effect, it coincides with everything just kind of shifting to a place where my pants don’t fit. Sure my eating choices can be atrocious and I am sure my age-related metabolism shift doesn’t help, but even if I am super strict and restrictive and I make a full effort to move my ass for needed exercise, nothing changes. The weight gain is not related to poor diet or lack of exercise. For the past year or so I have been in denial but since the birth control issue is not going to go anywhere, slowly I am adding pants that actually fit to my wardrobe. Last night I worked up the nerve to go shopping for some work pants to get me through the current period between stretchy corduroys and maxi skirt season. I can’t say I like past low rise styles by any means, but what the hell with this high-waisted, pleated bullshit that I seemed to encounter at every turn? Does that look good on anyone except a twig? (Jesus I sound like my Grams.) Since elastic waist stretchy pants are apparently NOT going to become the acceptable standard at work, I ended up getting some boring JCP Worthington pants because all I wanted was decent business appropriate pants for less than $60. Don’t even get me started on the peplum tops (still? go away!) or the acid washed jeggings I encountered. <shudder>

Work. There was a grace period where I thought there was going to be some real change in how the company I work for is run, but it seems that is not the case and once again mandates and hiring choices from our parent company are being pushed through without any regard for why they didn’t work out previously. It is aggravating all by itself, but I am also doubly angry for believing that things would get better. I don’t wanna look for another job. Ugh. I am also annoyed on the work front that in order to get anyone to do their freaking job around here you have to essentially tattle to their bosses. That is… not cool on so many fronts.

Everybody is a terrible driver this week. Is it really so hard to refrain from turning unless you are in the turning lane? My car is literally falling apart, but thankfully my horn works just great and has been used quite often lately. Oh, and then to top off my air of superiority I accidentally cut off a Fed Ex driver today. Whoops. I waved and shouted I was sorry, but yep I am included in my first sentence there.

Whew. I really needed that vent and there is no good way to end to this. Then I debate with myself why I even need an end, but I do. I was talking with a coworker about how hard it is to adult and why can’t I be more like so and so, and it reminded me of the relief I felt reading Anne Lamott’s words and the reminder to be kind to myself:

“Everyone is screwed up, broken, clingy, and scared, even the people who seem to have it more or less together. They are much more like you than you would believe. So try not to compare your insides to their outsides.”


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