I never read my old posts. I read everything going all the way back to February, when Bob passed. I read the letter I had written to Bob, three days after his passing I think. I asked him to send a message once in a while, especially to Kristin. I'd forgotten all about that. I read that and I just cried and cried.
I am still, STILL, trying to make sense of all this!
Thursday, September 11, 2014
Late Bloomer
When we had to put down our dog after 13 years, I cried every day for a solid month. I know it was a month because exactly thirty days later, Shawn began to drag me to animal shelters because the house was "too quiet" as he put it. I cried openly, unafraid of judgment. I no longer cared what people thought.
What really always amazed me was that I've been to countless funerals; I literally have lost count. My family has suffered a great many loses and I have not cried for any family member or friend as I did for that dog. She was not my child; I have never referenced my dogs as children. She was not my child, no, but she was my baby.
Almost three years later, we lost my uncle and I teared up yes, but I didn't cry. It wasn't until two months later I attended a Christmas event for the hospice program that cried. I attempted to suck it back, but as much as I tried, I could not contain it. It wasn't fear of what anyone thought. Many were crying openly for the angel they had placed on the tree, bearing the name of their loved one who'd they'd lost earlier in the year. I think in way I thought that maybe I'd grown string enough to not cry. But what does strength have to do with not crying? Isn't it having strength that allows us to cry? Shouldn't I have the strength to allow myself to grieve?
I felt as though I had grieved enough while he was living, yet dying more and more each day. But I stood there, facing the tree with its golden lights & countless angels with names and I cried. I could not have felt more alone in that small room squashed by so many people.
It wasn't until Bob died that I truly allowed myself to feel. It was so unexpected. And yet, it wasn't expected. It was not so much that I allowed myself to feel, but more that I could not help it. I could not hold back the anguish. And it was not just the fact that Bob was gone, but the conspiracy theories, the pain, the strife that our families added to the flame. Each combination of words was fueling that flame to a size I could not ever possibly imagine on my own.
I barely ate. I slept only because of dark whiskey. I looked forward to the time of day when the sky darkened and I have a sip that would make me forget everything that was going on. I began to quickly realize how people replace their feelings with alcohol. I understood now, why people pushed their pain with the bitter taste of beer or wine. I swore to control it, and I did. I never succumbed to the disease that has claimed so many so close to me.
But no matter how much I drank, how little I ate, the pain remained. It was different with Bob. With many others in my family, we'd known it was coming. For a year, two years, we'd always had an advanced warning. With Bob, we had only a handful of months when we felt something was not quite right, though we never spoke of it. Cancer was never diagnosed. Heart problems have been present since he was a teenager but he's made it this far, this long....Why not another ten years?
It was not to be. It was quick and sudden. Shawn and I had a grand scheme to help Bob and his family. We would open the store and hire Bob because everyone else was making buckets of cash. But we were too late. Time was not on our side. It wasn't since having to watch a doctor inject my dog with poison that would stop her heart that I felt such awful pain.
And I still cry.
With Bob gone and our grieving not quite passed, we decided we could make buckets of money to at least help his children, to make good on our promise that we never told him about. But that was not to be either. Others seem to be making money hand over fist in this business except us. We do OK, but it's not enough. Who will help his family? Isn't this the whole reason we started all this mess?!
I still have sharp memories of the funeral. There are some I have no memory of whatsoever. During the week of which Bob passed, I wrote notes. I intended to write it out as a story, to be kept privately, to help myself work out some this emotion. I never did. I am afraid I will not recall what some of the notes mean but it doesn't matter. It has served its purpose. It helped me to a point. In a way, it allowed to tell "someone" the things that could not be repeated.
I remember writing about how Bob looked in the casket. That's all I wrote about it. I had written no details. The truth is, I vividly remember how gray his skin looked, especially on his hands. I remember how it looked like Bob, but it didn't look like him at all. It was more of a shadow of Bob.
Perhaps that is the best way to remember someone when you see them after. It is a shell, a container for this life. Bob has moved on to the next life and has a new container. I do believe this because of the dream I had about a week after he passed. Bob didn't die. He passed along to the next world. I know he lives because he told me so in my dream. He told Kristin, his daughter the same thing.
Why then, does it still hurt so much? Why do I still cry?
What really always amazed me was that I've been to countless funerals; I literally have lost count. My family has suffered a great many loses and I have not cried for any family member or friend as I did for that dog. She was not my child; I have never referenced my dogs as children. She was not my child, no, but she was my baby.
Almost three years later, we lost my uncle and I teared up yes, but I didn't cry. It wasn't until two months later I attended a Christmas event for the hospice program that cried. I attempted to suck it back, but as much as I tried, I could not contain it. It wasn't fear of what anyone thought. Many were crying openly for the angel they had placed on the tree, bearing the name of their loved one who'd they'd lost earlier in the year. I think in way I thought that maybe I'd grown string enough to not cry. But what does strength have to do with not crying? Isn't it having strength that allows us to cry? Shouldn't I have the strength to allow myself to grieve?
I felt as though I had grieved enough while he was living, yet dying more and more each day. But I stood there, facing the tree with its golden lights & countless angels with names and I cried. I could not have felt more alone in that small room squashed by so many people.
It wasn't until Bob died that I truly allowed myself to feel. It was so unexpected. And yet, it wasn't expected. It was not so much that I allowed myself to feel, but more that I could not help it. I could not hold back the anguish. And it was not just the fact that Bob was gone, but the conspiracy theories, the pain, the strife that our families added to the flame. Each combination of words was fueling that flame to a size I could not ever possibly imagine on my own.
I barely ate. I slept only because of dark whiskey. I looked forward to the time of day when the sky darkened and I have a sip that would make me forget everything that was going on. I began to quickly realize how people replace their feelings with alcohol. I understood now, why people pushed their pain with the bitter taste of beer or wine. I swore to control it, and I did. I never succumbed to the disease that has claimed so many so close to me.
But no matter how much I drank, how little I ate, the pain remained. It was different with Bob. With many others in my family, we'd known it was coming. For a year, two years, we'd always had an advanced warning. With Bob, we had only a handful of months when we felt something was not quite right, though we never spoke of it. Cancer was never diagnosed. Heart problems have been present since he was a teenager but he's made it this far, this long....Why not another ten years?
It was not to be. It was quick and sudden. Shawn and I had a grand scheme to help Bob and his family. We would open the store and hire Bob because everyone else was making buckets of cash. But we were too late. Time was not on our side. It wasn't since having to watch a doctor inject my dog with poison that would stop her heart that I felt such awful pain.
And I still cry.
With Bob gone and our grieving not quite passed, we decided we could make buckets of money to at least help his children, to make good on our promise that we never told him about. But that was not to be either. Others seem to be making money hand over fist in this business except us. We do OK, but it's not enough. Who will help his family? Isn't this the whole reason we started all this mess?!
I still have sharp memories of the funeral. There are some I have no memory of whatsoever. During the week of which Bob passed, I wrote notes. I intended to write it out as a story, to be kept privately, to help myself work out some this emotion. I never did. I am afraid I will not recall what some of the notes mean but it doesn't matter. It has served its purpose. It helped me to a point. In a way, it allowed to tell "someone" the things that could not be repeated.
I remember writing about how Bob looked in the casket. That's all I wrote about it. I had written no details. The truth is, I vividly remember how gray his skin looked, especially on his hands. I remember how it looked like Bob, but it didn't look like him at all. It was more of a shadow of Bob.
Perhaps that is the best way to remember someone when you see them after. It is a shell, a container for this life. Bob has moved on to the next life and has a new container. I do believe this because of the dream I had about a week after he passed. Bob didn't die. He passed along to the next world. I know he lives because he told me so in my dream. He told Kristin, his daughter the same thing.
Why then, does it still hurt so much? Why do I still cry?
Tuesday, July 29, 2014
Chicken, Fried
I cry most days now, pretty regularly. When I am not crying I am focusing much of my energy trying to NOT cry. I got fried chicken at the grocery store today and ate until I felt sick. I was doing pretty well on my healthy eating routine. Hey, just because one is depressed, doesn't mean one has to indulge in an unhealthy lifestyle. Shawn and I had words last night. I don't remember a lot of it. I was fairly drunk at the time. I am a little drunk right now. I do faintly remember waving my hand in a circle and saying something like, "It's all about yooooouuuuuuu...." Though I cannot be sure.
I was going to ask at my yearly exam if the gyno would prescribe me a mild, inexpensive antidepressant. My application ran out with the women's health program so I had to reapply. This meant getting two months worth of birth control and sending a BUNCH of forms and documentation proving Shawn's income as he has been self employeed.
I pay taxes. I pay for young women to get a pap smear & free birth control. Two sixteen year old girls (who do not yet pay taxes) walked in while I was at the clinic. No problem for them. They should be spreading herpes right about......now.
However I am required to send a huge envelope of papers to Austin in order to (hopefully) be seen and continue on my birth control, which has done a lovely job of controlling my 9 days periods and severe cramps. It has also saved the state money as I have not become pregnant & asked the state to give me WIC and food stamps and free housing. I pay taxes and therefore I am saving other tax payers money by not having children, all by my own choice. If only everyone were so vigilant.
I am a little concerned though. I have no idea what a gyno visit would cost me out of pocket with no insurance. I am hoping that whoever is looking over our tax return from last year will be just as confused as I am when I look at it that they'll just pass my application. That's pretty much what happened last time. It's not as though Shawn made a lot of money last year, nor is he making a ton right now. I feel if we are working so much with so little to show for it and I still have to stay in my nightmarish hot, dirty job, then the least the state could do is give my birth control with a substantial discount. But who am I? I do not have 7 kids, nor a history of back or heart problems like most of the fakers out there. meanwhile, everyone who actually deserves disability waits for 3 years before anyone ever glances at their application. But I digress....
I started an essay about my uncle in order to enter a contest where the top prize is $2000 to be delivered next March. I started it. Then I lost interest.
I have decided that if we are ever rolling in ridiculous amounts of money that I would like to seek out & pay for clear skin. I'd like to take up jogging. I wanna be one of those women who jogs every morning. I want to learn to paint and I have always wanted to take boxing lessons. Yes, boxing. Maybe if I can hit something with gloved fists, I won't cry so much.
Maybe.
I was going to ask at my yearly exam if the gyno would prescribe me a mild, inexpensive antidepressant. My application ran out with the women's health program so I had to reapply. This meant getting two months worth of birth control and sending a BUNCH of forms and documentation proving Shawn's income as he has been self employeed.
I pay taxes. I pay for young women to get a pap smear & free birth control. Two sixteen year old girls (who do not yet pay taxes) walked in while I was at the clinic. No problem for them. They should be spreading herpes right about......now.
However I am required to send a huge envelope of papers to Austin in order to (hopefully) be seen and continue on my birth control, which has done a lovely job of controlling my 9 days periods and severe cramps. It has also saved the state money as I have not become pregnant & asked the state to give me WIC and food stamps and free housing. I pay taxes and therefore I am saving other tax payers money by not having children, all by my own choice. If only everyone were so vigilant.
I am a little concerned though. I have no idea what a gyno visit would cost me out of pocket with no insurance. I am hoping that whoever is looking over our tax return from last year will be just as confused as I am when I look at it that they'll just pass my application. That's pretty much what happened last time. It's not as though Shawn made a lot of money last year, nor is he making a ton right now. I feel if we are working so much with so little to show for it and I still have to stay in my nightmarish hot, dirty job, then the least the state could do is give my birth control with a substantial discount. But who am I? I do not have 7 kids, nor a history of back or heart problems like most of the fakers out there. meanwhile, everyone who actually deserves disability waits for 3 years before anyone ever glances at their application. But I digress....
I started an essay about my uncle in order to enter a contest where the top prize is $2000 to be delivered next March. I started it. Then I lost interest.
I have decided that if we are ever rolling in ridiculous amounts of money that I would like to seek out & pay for clear skin. I'd like to take up jogging. I wanna be one of those women who jogs every morning. I want to learn to paint and I have always wanted to take boxing lessons. Yes, boxing. Maybe if I can hit something with gloved fists, I won't cry so much.
Maybe.
Friday, July 18, 2014
Black
I thought it might help if I started wrinting. I don't think so. I feel trapped. Stuck. Unmoving. Trapped, more than anything. I cry a lot these days. Most days. I spend a lot of time trying not to cry. Angry because I should be allowed to cry, to release some of this anguish. I do not think I have ever been as unhappy as I am now. For months.
I do not know what to do. I am not where I want to be. I am not who I want to be. I sometimes wish I were dead. I sometimes wish I was someone else in a different time & place.
I'm tied of living like this. Living? This is not living. This is dying slowly in a hidden manner. I cannot share it. I want to be alone. I want to live my own life, to make my own decisions. But I am trapped. Bound. Shackled forever. I cannot change any of this. I am a slave to all fo this. I need to find a way out but I cannot find the opening. I don't know where God has gone. He's on vacation I think, at least from me. Why do I still ask him for help? He doesn't seem to hear me, or care or notice m,aybe even. I am unsuyre. I can't talk to anyone about this. If I talk to God about it I may as well talk tot he wall. I get no answers, no reassurances. Nothing.
Still trapped. I hate this, I hate all of this and everything that I ahve to do. I want to be free. Why can't i just be free?
I do not know what to do. I am not where I want to be. I am not who I want to be. I sometimes wish I were dead. I sometimes wish I was someone else in a different time & place.
I'm tied of living like this. Living? This is not living. This is dying slowly in a hidden manner. I cannot share it. I want to be alone. I want to live my own life, to make my own decisions. But I am trapped. Bound. Shackled forever. I cannot change any of this. I am a slave to all fo this. I need to find a way out but I cannot find the opening. I don't know where God has gone. He's on vacation I think, at least from me. Why do I still ask him for help? He doesn't seem to hear me, or care or notice m,aybe even. I am unsuyre. I can't talk to anyone about this. If I talk to God about it I may as well talk tot he wall. I get no answers, no reassurances. Nothing.
Still trapped. I hate this, I hate all of this and everything that I ahve to do. I want to be free. Why can't i just be free?
Wednesday, April 16, 2014
Whiskey River
As soon as I got home, as soon as I opened the door I fell to my knees. And cried and cried. I held my dog who licked my eyeballs and cried some more.
Maybe this is why I've started drinking again.
It's a funny thing about alcohol. The thing is, whenever anyone in my family gets anywhere near it, they are immediately, instanously, an alcoholic. I've seen it happen too many times and therefore I was terrified of alcohol until I got drunk for the first time on my 27th birthday. I could've sworn I was walking straight for the door, but apparently Shawn had to guide me all the way down the street to the car. I could swear we parked closer!
I'm proud to say I've never operated heavy machinery while drunk (I can barely operate the DVD player while drunk) and I've never once had a hangover. I've never once lost entire hours either. I remember everything right up till I fall asleep in a drunken stupor.
It began when Shawn and I were setting up the equipment for Hot Torch Designs, his new business. I'd get up at 4:30 AM for my job, go to work, run the errands, do the chores at home. We'd go to the shop and work till around 10 PM and do it all over again the next day. I could not sleep and I needed to wind down quickly so I could get in a quick 6 hours sleep so I began with a shot or two of whiskey or rum.
Then I gained ten pounds without even trying. "It's because of a big dose of calories and sugar right before bed," said our friend Richard, who is a professional drinker with LOTS of experience.
So I switched to Benadryl. It's low in fat and has no calories! Beginning sometime in December, around the time that all this fuss with Don began, I began to slip in a little whiskey after I'd already taken Benadryl. Don't know if this is considered safe and quite frankly I don't care anymore.
Another funny thing about alcohol is that women get drunker faster than men because of higher fat content and lower muscle content. I'm five feet tall and I have plenty of fat to quickly absorb the whiskey so it really doesn't take much. Last night I timed it. I poured a shot, not quite to the top and downed it. Made a sour face (because it's like $6 a gallon) and I was plenty toasted within four minuets.
Ah, sweet river of whiskey. Within no time, my problems had fallen by the wayside. My worries cast aside, I watched a DVD of "My Name is Earl" and chuckled slightly until I fell into a silent doze. Not that I intend to become an alcoholic (who does?) but I can certainly understand why one would turn to drugs or alcohol to make everything go away. My problem is that I care about my dogs getting fed, having food around, even if it's only Ramen noodles and electricity. I really like electricity.
So I drink before bed to force myself to become as dumb as a doorknob and relax. Naturally, it's always in the back of my head of what has happened with other close family members and their drug and alcohol usage, of course there's always that lingering worry that I may not be able to save myself in case of fire, flood or tornado. But the whiskey washes most of those worries away. They're barely there. And then I become very sleepy. And hopefully I can sleep in a very deep stupor until midnight, at which point I'll get up and pee as if I were peeing for the first time ever, then literally fall into the bed and sleep like a dead thing till that awful hatred sound of the alram clock goes off again in four and a half hours.
So today wasn't good and I'm very much looking forward to bedtime and my whiskey river. Hey, at least I've got something to look forward to.
Maybe this is why I've started drinking again.
It's a funny thing about alcohol. The thing is, whenever anyone in my family gets anywhere near it, they are immediately, instanously, an alcoholic. I've seen it happen too many times and therefore I was terrified of alcohol until I got drunk for the first time on my 27th birthday. I could've sworn I was walking straight for the door, but apparently Shawn had to guide me all the way down the street to the car. I could swear we parked closer!
I'm proud to say I've never operated heavy machinery while drunk (I can barely operate the DVD player while drunk) and I've never once had a hangover. I've never once lost entire hours either. I remember everything right up till I fall asleep in a drunken stupor.
It began when Shawn and I were setting up the equipment for Hot Torch Designs, his new business. I'd get up at 4:30 AM for my job, go to work, run the errands, do the chores at home. We'd go to the shop and work till around 10 PM and do it all over again the next day. I could not sleep and I needed to wind down quickly so I could get in a quick 6 hours sleep so I began with a shot or two of whiskey or rum.
Then I gained ten pounds without even trying. "It's because of a big dose of calories and sugar right before bed," said our friend Richard, who is a professional drinker with LOTS of experience.
So I switched to Benadryl. It's low in fat and has no calories! Beginning sometime in December, around the time that all this fuss with Don began, I began to slip in a little whiskey after I'd already taken Benadryl. Don't know if this is considered safe and quite frankly I don't care anymore.
Another funny thing about alcohol is that women get drunker faster than men because of higher fat content and lower muscle content. I'm five feet tall and I have plenty of fat to quickly absorb the whiskey so it really doesn't take much. Last night I timed it. I poured a shot, not quite to the top and downed it. Made a sour face (because it's like $6 a gallon) and I was plenty toasted within four minuets.
Ah, sweet river of whiskey. Within no time, my problems had fallen by the wayside. My worries cast aside, I watched a DVD of "My Name is Earl" and chuckled slightly until I fell into a silent doze. Not that I intend to become an alcoholic (who does?) but I can certainly understand why one would turn to drugs or alcohol to make everything go away. My problem is that I care about my dogs getting fed, having food around, even if it's only Ramen noodles and electricity. I really like electricity.
So I drink before bed to force myself to become as dumb as a doorknob and relax. Naturally, it's always in the back of my head of what has happened with other close family members and their drug and alcohol usage, of course there's always that lingering worry that I may not be able to save myself in case of fire, flood or tornado. But the whiskey washes most of those worries away. They're barely there. And then I become very sleepy. And hopefully I can sleep in a very deep stupor until midnight, at which point I'll get up and pee as if I were peeing for the first time ever, then literally fall into the bed and sleep like a dead thing till that awful hatred sound of the alram clock goes off again in four and a half hours.
So today wasn't good and I'm very much looking forward to bedtime and my whiskey river. Hey, at least I've got something to look forward to.
Tuesday, April 15, 2014
Pusher
Back when Don was ordering 1,000 bottles at a time, Shawn suggested that perhaps I could quit my job and just make juice. That was OK with me. A couple of times, Mom came over and helped me out on a Saturday. She put on nipples, caps, and labels and that's a huge help when you're facing large orders and doing everything by hand.
A couple of weeks ago, Allan mentioned to me that a vapor store opened on Ave. M. I've been a bit a powder keg lately from lack of sleep, food and money. I wished he hadn't told me because I thought no, it couldn't possibly be at our location where we'd signed a lease and lost $2,000.
Of course it was. Shawn stopped by the store & chatted with the guys there. On Sunday I made up sample kits with the plans to drive all over this county as time permitted and push this electronic cigarette juice as hard as possible. I have to get out of my job. I've been doing it too long and I'm so tired of freezing every winter and spring.
So I changed my clothes, slapped on some make-up and stopped by the new vapor store at our location. It went well, although I'm not sure if these guys will order anything based onthe fact they make their own juice. I explained the following behind Flavorful brand until our fall out with a censored store owner. I told them I would not talk bad about this person, nor was I seeking revenge. However, if they decided to carry my juice line, I would send over everyone I knew to help them out. After all, what helps you out, helps me out.
This of course, was mostly lies. Yes, I am still very bitter about what happened between us and Don. I see what I am doing with two views. One is all business. This is a legitimate business with a huge local fan following; good for all involved. Two, I see myself as acting on Karma's behalf and hope to bring Flavorful back to Bell County to both allow me to quit my job and crush Don. It would be an added bonus, that's all. Someone that evil doesn't deserve to do so well. And naturally, what goes around comes around.
I will not speak badly about him outside of my own home. I am merely doing business. Selling a premium product made with my own hands, my heart and soul poured into it.
Later, as I became scatter brained and a form of ADD kicked in because I had three skillion things to do and was running out of day, as usual, I began to cry.
Normally, as of lately, I cry every single day now. However this was one of a broken heart. It broke my heart to go into that building that was mine. Mine! And see what a beautiful job they had done with it. Everything came rushing into my head like a bad storm rolling in. I never wanted to open a store to begin with. I certainly didn't want to be outside of my city! After I'd gotten home, I looked around that store in my head and thought, this should be me! This was supposed to my ten minuet drive!
Gas is now $3.50 per gallon and our dreve is 40 miles littered with interstate construction and huge concrete walls 2 inches from each lane. Shawn was offered another large job and I don't know how all this going to work out. I don't understand why we are put into these situations, why we are left to flounder and flop. In the shower, I cried out to God. Why are you having us go through all this? Why won't you help me? I'm so tired! I am SO TIRED! Where are you? Why can't I have something, ONE THING the way I want it?
And so on and so forth. Most days I cry for 10 or 15 minuets and shut it off before Shawn gets home. I've been crying on and off for about 2 hours now. I hid it well. I've trained myself pretty well at least with him. All I ever wanted was a simple life, a clean home. Neat and clean is organized and simple. I hate people; I don't really want to instruct people for a living six days a week while making juice at night and on Sunday. I told Shawn a few days ago I want to make juice, that's all I want to do. He said he'd help me in any way he could.
Of course I don't want to spend every waking minuet making juice, but it's alone. And if I was selling enough my mom would help me, she said she would. I don't know how much time I have left with my mom and I think that situation would work out real good. After a day of filling bottles, we could go have lunch. I'd like that.
I'm so tired of Ramen noodles. I haven't been this bloated since I was 17 and Shawn and I moved in together. So now I'm tired and bloated. And broke, of course. Don't forget the unforgivable debts! God, please make these stores want to order up all this juice. I need something to go my way. I need something to change.
Damn, I really want to a cheeseburger, too.
A couple of weeks ago, Allan mentioned to me that a vapor store opened on Ave. M. I've been a bit a powder keg lately from lack of sleep, food and money. I wished he hadn't told me because I thought no, it couldn't possibly be at our location where we'd signed a lease and lost $2,000.
Of course it was. Shawn stopped by the store & chatted with the guys there. On Sunday I made up sample kits with the plans to drive all over this county as time permitted and push this electronic cigarette juice as hard as possible. I have to get out of my job. I've been doing it too long and I'm so tired of freezing every winter and spring.
So I changed my clothes, slapped on some make-up and stopped by the new vapor store at our location. It went well, although I'm not sure if these guys will order anything based onthe fact they make their own juice. I explained the following behind Flavorful brand until our fall out with a censored store owner. I told them I would not talk bad about this person, nor was I seeking revenge. However, if they decided to carry my juice line, I would send over everyone I knew to help them out. After all, what helps you out, helps me out.
This of course, was mostly lies. Yes, I am still very bitter about what happened between us and Don. I see what I am doing with two views. One is all business. This is a legitimate business with a huge local fan following; good for all involved. Two, I see myself as acting on Karma's behalf and hope to bring Flavorful back to Bell County to both allow me to quit my job and crush Don. It would be an added bonus, that's all. Someone that evil doesn't deserve to do so well. And naturally, what goes around comes around.
I will not speak badly about him outside of my own home. I am merely doing business. Selling a premium product made with my own hands, my heart and soul poured into it.
Later, as I became scatter brained and a form of ADD kicked in because I had three skillion things to do and was running out of day, as usual, I began to cry.
Normally, as of lately, I cry every single day now. However this was one of a broken heart. It broke my heart to go into that building that was mine. Mine! And see what a beautiful job they had done with it. Everything came rushing into my head like a bad storm rolling in. I never wanted to open a store to begin with. I certainly didn't want to be outside of my city! After I'd gotten home, I looked around that store in my head and thought, this should be me! This was supposed to my ten minuet drive!
Gas is now $3.50 per gallon and our dreve is 40 miles littered with interstate construction and huge concrete walls 2 inches from each lane. Shawn was offered another large job and I don't know how all this going to work out. I don't understand why we are put into these situations, why we are left to flounder and flop. In the shower, I cried out to God. Why are you having us go through all this? Why won't you help me? I'm so tired! I am SO TIRED! Where are you? Why can't I have something, ONE THING the way I want it?
And so on and so forth. Most days I cry for 10 or 15 minuets and shut it off before Shawn gets home. I've been crying on and off for about 2 hours now. I hid it well. I've trained myself pretty well at least with him. All I ever wanted was a simple life, a clean home. Neat and clean is organized and simple. I hate people; I don't really want to instruct people for a living six days a week while making juice at night and on Sunday. I told Shawn a few days ago I want to make juice, that's all I want to do. He said he'd help me in any way he could.
Of course I don't want to spend every waking minuet making juice, but it's alone. And if I was selling enough my mom would help me, she said she would. I don't know how much time I have left with my mom and I think that situation would work out real good. After a day of filling bottles, we could go have lunch. I'd like that.
I'm so tired of Ramen noodles. I haven't been this bloated since I was 17 and Shawn and I moved in together. So now I'm tired and bloated. And broke, of course. Don't forget the unforgivable debts! God, please make these stores want to order up all this juice. I need something to go my way. I need something to change.
Damn, I really want to a cheeseburger, too.
Monday, April 14, 2014
You Have GOT to be Kidding Me!
Today was interesting. After an hour on the clock I told Terry, "Just so we're clear, nothing's gonna change between us just because you tattled on me."
Terry, who is big and dumb didn't quite understand at first. "Huh? Who tattled?"
I walked away & went to work in my area. He came over several minuets later (I guess he had to think real hard about it) and said that if I wasn't a woman he would have gotten fired that day "with the way that you talked to me!" (You see, he deserves respect simply because he's a man and I'm a lowly woman. I don't have a complex or anything, it's just the way things are sometimes with some people. Ask Allan about it sometime)
Some things I thought of too late after the fact:
"That's mighty strong words coming from a tattle tell."
"You call me when you have a dog that lives longer than 6 months & I'll give you the respect that you so clearly deserve."
"Dude, I would kick your ass! Let's go! Come on!"
What I said: "If I wasn't at work I would've gotten REAL serious!"
Terry began speaking but I never heard the words that came out of his mouth. Everything I said from the very beginning came out mono-toned and very calm. "I don't think we have any reason to ever communicate again, Terry," I said calmly not once ever looking up from my work. He could've been a voice floating in the air for all I know.
"Man, I don't even WANT to talk to you!" he stammered. I pictured a child kicking the dirt and screaming, "We're not friends anymore!"
Calmly, without looking up; Terry STILL talking, I stated, "I'm done Terry, I am so done." I may have said it more than once or twice. I really didn't catch what he was saying because I was telling him how done I was. He walked away and that was it.
Terry has been on the job for something like 4 years now. Truthfully, he should be fine without my holding his hand all the time and catching all the things he'd forgotten. We'll see. We certainly will see.
I now, finally have learned my place. If I had a dick and balls, I am quite certain things would be different with Allan. "That's Allan's baby," said one coworker referring to Terry. Another said, "Terry can do no wrong."
I'm starting to believe that what's Allan believes. However, Allan still sees a need for Terry and I to communicate "in case he might have a question". It's been over 4 years. Terry should know how to wash the damn clothes by now.
And by the way, I COULD have kicked his ass if necessary. He's big and slow and dumb. That's a fatal combination in my neighborhood, last I checked. (I'm small and feisty and also, I fight dirty)
Terry, who is big and dumb didn't quite understand at first. "Huh? Who tattled?"
I walked away & went to work in my area. He came over several minuets later (I guess he had to think real hard about it) and said that if I wasn't a woman he would have gotten fired that day "with the way that you talked to me!" (You see, he deserves respect simply because he's a man and I'm a lowly woman. I don't have a complex or anything, it's just the way things are sometimes with some people. Ask Allan about it sometime)
Some things I thought of too late after the fact:
"That's mighty strong words coming from a tattle tell."
"You call me when you have a dog that lives longer than 6 months & I'll give you the respect that you so clearly deserve."
"Dude, I would kick your ass! Let's go! Come on!"
What I said: "If I wasn't at work I would've gotten REAL serious!"
Terry began speaking but I never heard the words that came out of his mouth. Everything I said from the very beginning came out mono-toned and very calm. "I don't think we have any reason to ever communicate again, Terry," I said calmly not once ever looking up from my work. He could've been a voice floating in the air for all I know.
"Man, I don't even WANT to talk to you!" he stammered. I pictured a child kicking the dirt and screaming, "We're not friends anymore!"
Calmly, without looking up; Terry STILL talking, I stated, "I'm done Terry, I am so done." I may have said it more than once or twice. I really didn't catch what he was saying because I was telling him how done I was. He walked away and that was it.
Terry has been on the job for something like 4 years now. Truthfully, he should be fine without my holding his hand all the time and catching all the things he'd forgotten. We'll see. We certainly will see.
I now, finally have learned my place. If I had a dick and balls, I am quite certain things would be different with Allan. "That's Allan's baby," said one coworker referring to Terry. Another said, "Terry can do no wrong."
I'm starting to believe that what's Allan believes. However, Allan still sees a need for Terry and I to communicate "in case he might have a question". It's been over 4 years. Terry should know how to wash the damn clothes by now.
And by the way, I COULD have kicked his ass if necessary. He's big and slow and dumb. That's a fatal combination in my neighborhood, last I checked. (I'm small and feisty and also, I fight dirty)
Sunday, April 13, 2014
Really?
How dare you say you understand I'm under a lot of pressure? I don't think you could even begin to have a clue. Look, I"m real sorry that I didn't go to college and take a psychology course (a hundred years ago) and therefore think I understand how people work. And I'm real sorry I don't have the balls to walk around telling everyone in my path "don't throw stones!" And I'm real sorry I don't measure up to Terry, who by the way when was hired I couldn't tell is he was stoned or stupid. Looks like I was wrong on both accounts. He's just a big baby.
If you listen real close, you'll occasionaly hear Martha and me screaming at each other. Though neither one of us runs tot he boss and tells on each other. I'm SO sorry I wasn't acting "like an adult" for a couple of minuets but that shit happens down stairs practically every day. Too bad you're not around to witness it all. How conveinent it must be to just wait for Terry to tell it on somebody.
I hope you don't lose any sleep over my mouth. My mouth and my attitude is exactly why I'm alive today. I'm sorry we can't all be like you, all laid back and cool. There might be fewer wars. I'm sorry you don't understand what it's like to go through a Ramen noodle period. I'm talking about having Ramen noodles & rice for months, not because you have a cold or because it's cold. I'm sorry I didn't have my life all planned and laid out for me. Then maybe I'd be just as laid back and cool. Then maybe when Terry does something to piss me off I could turn a blind eye.
I'm not doing the things he forgets anymore. I'm not picking up his slack. I seriously doubt you'll talk to him just like you never talked to Jennifer. You have certain ones you have NO problem speaking to and others...well they can ignore the bathroom trash even though their paid to take it out and that's OK by you. Must be so nice to be so laid back and cool, huh?
Terry and I do not need to communicate. Martha and I stopped speaking several years ago and the store still thrives. The only reason Terry and I would need to communicate is because I do a decent portion (even though he gets more per hour) of his damn job. I'm done. Terry can do his own damn job. I have never once had him ask me if I need help, even when I was sick with a cold or vomiting slightly. Terry is gonna do the minimum required and nothing extra. I'm not doing that shit anymore. If that's me "causing problems", well I;m sorry about that. Maybe you shouldn't have hired such a dumb baby.
I don't need this. I don't need to be condescended on anymore. You act as if I am the ONLY ONE who occasionally acts out or has these wretched feelings about Terry. Go ahead. I dare you. Ask anyone. He's lazy and dumb. He leaves chicken bones on the table. He sets the washer to longest cycle ON PURPOSE for 4 shirts EVERY SINGLE TIME! He has helped tag maybe twice, ever. Usually he just stands there and watches the rest of us work. He's real good at that. He speaks in two words--even you know that. "Some pants."
WHAT ABOUT SOME PANTS? WHAT?!!!
You have no idea what it's like working with him when you're not the one signing the paychecks. NO IDEA! I could get more comprehension and work ethic out of my 12 year old nephew. I can't wait to get out of here. I never hated my job so much until Terry was hired. Never! Now I've reached my breaking point. You pretty much set that line for me the other day. The day I walk out will be the last time I ever set foot on property again. Oh, and by the way, I didn't realize I was causing so many problems to begin with. My bad.
If you listen real close, you'll occasionaly hear Martha and me screaming at each other. Though neither one of us runs tot he boss and tells on each other. I'm SO sorry I wasn't acting "like an adult" for a couple of minuets but that shit happens down stairs practically every day. Too bad you're not around to witness it all. How conveinent it must be to just wait for Terry to tell it on somebody.
I hope you don't lose any sleep over my mouth. My mouth and my attitude is exactly why I'm alive today. I'm sorry we can't all be like you, all laid back and cool. There might be fewer wars. I'm sorry you don't understand what it's like to go through a Ramen noodle period. I'm talking about having Ramen noodles & rice for months, not because you have a cold or because it's cold. I'm sorry I didn't have my life all planned and laid out for me. Then maybe I'd be just as laid back and cool. Then maybe when Terry does something to piss me off I could turn a blind eye.
I'm not doing the things he forgets anymore. I'm not picking up his slack. I seriously doubt you'll talk to him just like you never talked to Jennifer. You have certain ones you have NO problem speaking to and others...well they can ignore the bathroom trash even though their paid to take it out and that's OK by you. Must be so nice to be so laid back and cool, huh?
Terry and I do not need to communicate. Martha and I stopped speaking several years ago and the store still thrives. The only reason Terry and I would need to communicate is because I do a decent portion (even though he gets more per hour) of his damn job. I'm done. Terry can do his own damn job. I have never once had him ask me if I need help, even when I was sick with a cold or vomiting slightly. Terry is gonna do the minimum required and nothing extra. I'm not doing that shit anymore. If that's me "causing problems", well I;m sorry about that. Maybe you shouldn't have hired such a dumb baby.
I don't need this. I don't need to be condescended on anymore. You act as if I am the ONLY ONE who occasionally acts out or has these wretched feelings about Terry. Go ahead. I dare you. Ask anyone. He's lazy and dumb. He leaves chicken bones on the table. He sets the washer to longest cycle ON PURPOSE for 4 shirts EVERY SINGLE TIME! He has helped tag maybe twice, ever. Usually he just stands there and watches the rest of us work. He's real good at that. He speaks in two words--even you know that. "Some pants."
WHAT ABOUT SOME PANTS? WHAT?!!!
You have no idea what it's like working with him when you're not the one signing the paychecks. NO IDEA! I could get more comprehension and work ethic out of my 12 year old nephew. I can't wait to get out of here. I never hated my job so much until Terry was hired. Never! Now I've reached my breaking point. You pretty much set that line for me the other day. The day I walk out will be the last time I ever set foot on property again. Oh, and by the way, I didn't realize I was causing so many problems to begin with. My bad.
Sunday, April 6, 2014
Decision Making
Saturday you asked me if I was mad at you. "Because of all this...."
I shook my head and said nothing because the thoughts in my head are really mean & hurtful.
You just make bad decisions. Every time I pass that pile of metal in the backyard it reminds me that we could be $330 richer. But the shed was on sale & you just had to have it. And all you managed to accomplish was to open the box, lose the instructions and leave it there in the yard, in a pile, to rot for 3 years.
Every time I drive down Ave. M. I am reminded how we lost $1800 on that lease along with over $200 on the insurance policy for the location.
Your dad left you $40,000 in a life insurance policy and you gave it to your mom who gave it to your siblings (!!!!!) little by little. And now she's broke.
And now we're broke and up to our eyeballs in debt.
When you first mentioned opening a store I cried because I didn't want the hassle, the cost, the dealings with people. I cried because I would have been happy to sit at home and make juice. I cried because I knew IT DID NOT MATTER what I wanted or how I felt about it. I cried because I knew we would most definitely be opening a store. And now we're broke and up to our eyeballs in debt.
I do 100% of everything at home; I pick up after you daily; I have a day job and I do 100% of everything you ask/tell me to do. And yet I get blamed for WET PAINT, BROKEN PLASTIC, AND BOLTS THAT WON'T GO INTO THE FLOOR!!!! You scream at me as if I have sabotaged these things when all I've ever done is everything you've asked/told me to do. No one has ever made me cry as much as you have.
You say you do all this for me, to give me a better life and yet all you've ever done is drive us further into debt as though it were a hobby, hurt my feelings, and raise the stress levels through the roof.
I think you do all this for you. It has NEVER mattered what I wanted. And now we're broke and up to our eyeballs in debt.
I am nothing that I wanted to be. I am nothing like the person that I hoped to be by this time in my life because I have been to damn busy doing everything that you wanted to do and what you decided to do. Maybe for once, just once, you ought to listen my opinions and decisions. You have to over ride even the tiniest of suggestions!
If you'll recall, I never wanted to open a store. And now, if everything works out alright, I get to do everything around the house, keep my day job and spend every waking minuet making & peddling juice.
I wanted to be writer. But that never interested you.
I shook my head and said nothing because the thoughts in my head are really mean & hurtful.
You just make bad decisions. Every time I pass that pile of metal in the backyard it reminds me that we could be $330 richer. But the shed was on sale & you just had to have it. And all you managed to accomplish was to open the box, lose the instructions and leave it there in the yard, in a pile, to rot for 3 years.
Every time I drive down Ave. M. I am reminded how we lost $1800 on that lease along with over $200 on the insurance policy for the location.
Your dad left you $40,000 in a life insurance policy and you gave it to your mom who gave it to your siblings (!!!!!) little by little. And now she's broke.
And now we're broke and up to our eyeballs in debt.
When you first mentioned opening a store I cried because I didn't want the hassle, the cost, the dealings with people. I cried because I would have been happy to sit at home and make juice. I cried because I knew IT DID NOT MATTER what I wanted or how I felt about it. I cried because I knew we would most definitely be opening a store. And now we're broke and up to our eyeballs in debt.
I do 100% of everything at home; I pick up after you daily; I have a day job and I do 100% of everything you ask/tell me to do. And yet I get blamed for WET PAINT, BROKEN PLASTIC, AND BOLTS THAT WON'T GO INTO THE FLOOR!!!! You scream at me as if I have sabotaged these things when all I've ever done is everything you've asked/told me to do. No one has ever made me cry as much as you have.
You say you do all this for me, to give me a better life and yet all you've ever done is drive us further into debt as though it were a hobby, hurt my feelings, and raise the stress levels through the roof.
I think you do all this for you. It has NEVER mattered what I wanted. And now we're broke and up to our eyeballs in debt.
I am nothing that I wanted to be. I am nothing like the person that I hoped to be by this time in my life because I have been to damn busy doing everything that you wanted to do and what you decided to do. Maybe for once, just once, you ought to listen my opinions and decisions. You have to over ride even the tiniest of suggestions!
If you'll recall, I never wanted to open a store. And now, if everything works out alright, I get to do everything around the house, keep my day job and spend every waking minuet making & peddling juice.
I wanted to be writer. But that never interested you.
Sunday, March 30, 2014
86
$86,000. Eighty-Six Thousand Dollars.
"Mickey said that Don made eighty-six thousand dollars last month," Shawn said.
Why are you telling me this? Do you think it will make me feel better?
"I really don't give a fuck what Don did!" I exclaimed. "And why is Mickey going around telling other people's business? It's none of our fucking business!!"
We brought in around thirty dollars the day before. I don't understand why everything--EVERYTHING-- always has to so fucking difficult for us. Don is a liar; he sells junk at outrageous prices; he screws people every chance he gets. We get fucked because we're decent people. Don is simply a bad person. He's not a good person.
"We can't compare ourselves to what others are doing," Shawn said.
"Of course we can! Isn't that why we started all this? Because we saw what everyone else was doing?"
I never wanted to open a store. I told him that. He always talks about having a kid. I've told him I may never want to have a child. I've told him that. Will he talk me into that too?
Out of the blue today, as though a switch were flipped, I became suddenly, severely depressed. I am not in the place where I want to be. I am nothing that I want to be. I have never followed my "passion" as Shawn has spoken about his metal works many, many, many times. I always do what he wants to do. He repeats himself often. Ninety percent of what he is saying is repeat conversation. After the third time, it's hard to feign interest. He gets mad when I finish the sentence for him. It's the fourth time I'd heard it. I could tell your story back to you as though it were my own. I will not allow myself to have a baby because I was talked into it. And I don't necessarily want to be alive just so I can work 15 hours per day. I want to live.
Don't tell me these things take time. It didn't take time for Don the Liar, or for Chuck & Melanie, or for Gerald & Angie. Fucking hyprocrites. Thirty fucking dollars....
My mom asked me to make copies of Bob's slideshow. I'd put it off for so long. I don't have to watch it or anything, just move files and click the mouse. It's hard to believe he's really gone. Still. The CD drive whirs as I type this. It's still so difficult. I still don't understand why Bob had to die. It's been six weeks and it still doesn't make any damn sense to me. I feel as if as long as I've been alive, nothing has gone the way that it should. I told Shawn I was a jinx because when I watch the store a single customer never enters. I compare that to the day of the first memory I can remember. Maybe I am jinx. Look at what has followed me. Look at what I have followed. Fucking jinx.
"Mickey said that Don made eighty-six thousand dollars last month," Shawn said.
Why are you telling me this? Do you think it will make me feel better?
"I really don't give a fuck what Don did!" I exclaimed. "And why is Mickey going around telling other people's business? It's none of our fucking business!!"
We brought in around thirty dollars the day before. I don't understand why everything--EVERYTHING-- always has to so fucking difficult for us. Don is a liar; he sells junk at outrageous prices; he screws people every chance he gets. We get fucked because we're decent people. Don is simply a bad person. He's not a good person.
"We can't compare ourselves to what others are doing," Shawn said.
"Of course we can! Isn't that why we started all this? Because we saw what everyone else was doing?"
I never wanted to open a store. I told him that. He always talks about having a kid. I've told him I may never want to have a child. I've told him that. Will he talk me into that too?
Out of the blue today, as though a switch were flipped, I became suddenly, severely depressed. I am not in the place where I want to be. I am nothing that I want to be. I have never followed my "passion" as Shawn has spoken about his metal works many, many, many times. I always do what he wants to do. He repeats himself often. Ninety percent of what he is saying is repeat conversation. After the third time, it's hard to feign interest. He gets mad when I finish the sentence for him. It's the fourth time I'd heard it. I could tell your story back to you as though it were my own. I will not allow myself to have a baby because I was talked into it. And I don't necessarily want to be alive just so I can work 15 hours per day. I want to live.
Don't tell me these things take time. It didn't take time for Don the Liar, or for Chuck & Melanie, or for Gerald & Angie. Fucking hyprocrites. Thirty fucking dollars....
My mom asked me to make copies of Bob's slideshow. I'd put it off for so long. I don't have to watch it or anything, just move files and click the mouse. It's hard to believe he's really gone. Still. The CD drive whirs as I type this. It's still so difficult. I still don't understand why Bob had to die. It's been six weeks and it still doesn't make any damn sense to me. I feel as if as long as I've been alive, nothing has gone the way that it should. I told Shawn I was a jinx because when I watch the store a single customer never enters. I compare that to the day of the first memory I can remember. Maybe I am jinx. Look at what has followed me. Look at what I have followed. Fucking jinx.
Wednesday, March 19, 2014
The Dark Side of Crazy
Before everything happened with Bob, there was all that happened with Don. I quickly learned exactly what sort of person Don is and what he is capable of. I hope karma returns him the favor ten fold. Shawn thought I was going to leave him, which is stupid. I have only a couple of reasons for leaving him and one ongoing problem a few years ago was one of them. I stayed.
I have 4 pages of notes in the depth of my purse. I wrote these notes throughout the days after Bob passed away. I always meant to come back around to it. I wanted to write about it because I thought it might help with the pain. It's been a month and three days since Bob died and yes, it's still quite painful. It still hurts very much.
I haven't had time to write. I didn't even want to write about everything that happened with Don. I was too angry. We lost $1800. We haven't had anything in our saving account for three years and we LOST $1800. I'm still angry. I never wanted to open a vapor store. I tried to explain this to Shawn months ago but it doesn't really matter what I want. I'm not interested in this stuff, not enthusiastic, not excited. It doesn't matter what I want.
Sometimes I think I'd be better off alone. No one to irritate me or mess up my mood. No one to make messes and leaves trails behind them for me to clean up. But then I'd be alone.
After everything that's happened, I feel like I'm starting to lose my mind. It's taking all my energy to not swallow an entire bottle of pills. Who would feed the dogs if I didn't? Shawn would never remember. So I live. I continue on.
I never wanted any of this I crave simplicity. That's why I love for things to be neat and clean and organized. The alternative stresses me out and makes me depressed. Shawn doesn't understand this, no matter how I've tried to explain it. It doesn't matter what I want, even if it would make me happy. Shawn does these things to try and provide better for me; he thinks that will make me happy. It doesn't matter.
It's much too soon to write about Bob and the FUCKED UP things that happened after his death. I cry now just thinking of it. I cry because there's nothing else I can do.
Why does Don get to be an immediate success? I'll give the answer: It's because he's a bad person. We've tried so many things, so many ventures but we always fail because we're good people. We're generous and kind and decent. These sort of people never make it unless they're characters in a movie. I am not saying this merely because I am bitter--I've seen it time and time again. Decent people always seem to fail, to be without.
The meek shall inherit the earth. What's left of it will be up to those who were successful. Most likely, they will have scorched the earth and that will be all that's left.
I think it's really fucked up that Bob died. I think what happened with out families is really fucked up. And I think it's really fucked up with the mess he left us when we're already working 2 jobs a piece six days a week and now we have to spend every available Sunday over there fixing this shit. We could've done this a long time ago if we'd known anything about it.
I just need things to be simple.
I need things to be simpler.
Everyone says Oh just give it time, these things take time. Fuck that! Shawn wanted to start a business so we refinanced the house, took a loan, then another loan and barely got by for 2 or 3 years. The minuet it begins to become lucrative he says OH! Let's open a vapor store. So now we owe almost $10,000 to Visa and around $3000 or $4000 to his sister (give or take) ON TOP OF AND IN ADDITION TO all the other loans for his first business.
Give it time? Don opened and immediately was making money hand over fist. His wife put in her 2 week notice at her job TWO WEEKS after he opened. I know exactly what he was making per month because we made the product. I know how much he was ordering from us and I know what he was selling it for. Give it time? Unbelievable! I wish we'd never met Don. We could've continued on our merry way. I'd be down right HAPPY to stay at the job that I hate if none of this would have ever happened.
Every time I cross the tracks on my way home I imagine a train clipping my vehicle. Not enough to cause serious injuries, you know, just enough that Santa Fe would give me a huge settlement to keep my mouth shut. It's crazy, I know, wishing for that to happen. As I've said, I feel like I'm losing my damn mind.
It's really a miracle I haven't slit my wrists yet. Miracles? Where is God? WHERE?! I feel alone and abandoned. ARE YOU EVEN LISTENING ANYMORE?
I can't take much more. I've said this before, I know, but I seriously cannot take much more. If so much as the weight of a feather falls on me I'm gonna crack. "God only gives you what you can handle...." Really? (tell that to anyone who's attempted suicide) REALLY? Well, I've had about as much as a person can fucking handle, alright? This is IT. This is my limit!
Every time I think things have to start looking up, they fall again. It's enough to make a person lose their damn mind. Give it time...
I have 4 pages of notes in the depth of my purse. I wrote these notes throughout the days after Bob passed away. I always meant to come back around to it. I wanted to write about it because I thought it might help with the pain. It's been a month and three days since Bob died and yes, it's still quite painful. It still hurts very much.
I haven't had time to write. I didn't even want to write about everything that happened with Don. I was too angry. We lost $1800. We haven't had anything in our saving account for three years and we LOST $1800. I'm still angry. I never wanted to open a vapor store. I tried to explain this to Shawn months ago but it doesn't really matter what I want. I'm not interested in this stuff, not enthusiastic, not excited. It doesn't matter what I want.
Sometimes I think I'd be better off alone. No one to irritate me or mess up my mood. No one to make messes and leaves trails behind them for me to clean up. But then I'd be alone.
After everything that's happened, I feel like I'm starting to lose my mind. It's taking all my energy to not swallow an entire bottle of pills. Who would feed the dogs if I didn't? Shawn would never remember. So I live. I continue on.
I never wanted any of this I crave simplicity. That's why I love for things to be neat and clean and organized. The alternative stresses me out and makes me depressed. Shawn doesn't understand this, no matter how I've tried to explain it. It doesn't matter what I want, even if it would make me happy. Shawn does these things to try and provide better for me; he thinks that will make me happy. It doesn't matter.
It's much too soon to write about Bob and the FUCKED UP things that happened after his death. I cry now just thinking of it. I cry because there's nothing else I can do.
Why does Don get to be an immediate success? I'll give the answer: It's because he's a bad person. We've tried so many things, so many ventures but we always fail because we're good people. We're generous and kind and decent. These sort of people never make it unless they're characters in a movie. I am not saying this merely because I am bitter--I've seen it time and time again. Decent people always seem to fail, to be without.
The meek shall inherit the earth. What's left of it will be up to those who were successful. Most likely, they will have scorched the earth and that will be all that's left.
I think it's really fucked up that Bob died. I think what happened with out families is really fucked up. And I think it's really fucked up with the mess he left us when we're already working 2 jobs a piece six days a week and now we have to spend every available Sunday over there fixing this shit. We could've done this a long time ago if we'd known anything about it.
I just need things to be simple.
I need things to be simpler.
Everyone says Oh just give it time, these things take time. Fuck that! Shawn wanted to start a business so we refinanced the house, took a loan, then another loan and barely got by for 2 or 3 years. The minuet it begins to become lucrative he says OH! Let's open a vapor store. So now we owe almost $10,000 to Visa and around $3000 or $4000 to his sister (give or take) ON TOP OF AND IN ADDITION TO all the other loans for his first business.
Give it time? Don opened and immediately was making money hand over fist. His wife put in her 2 week notice at her job TWO WEEKS after he opened. I know exactly what he was making per month because we made the product. I know how much he was ordering from us and I know what he was selling it for. Give it time? Unbelievable! I wish we'd never met Don. We could've continued on our merry way. I'd be down right HAPPY to stay at the job that I hate if none of this would have ever happened.
Every time I cross the tracks on my way home I imagine a train clipping my vehicle. Not enough to cause serious injuries, you know, just enough that Santa Fe would give me a huge settlement to keep my mouth shut. It's crazy, I know, wishing for that to happen. As I've said, I feel like I'm losing my damn mind.
It's really a miracle I haven't slit my wrists yet. Miracles? Where is God? WHERE?! I feel alone and abandoned. ARE YOU EVEN LISTENING ANYMORE?
I can't take much more. I've said this before, I know, but I seriously cannot take much more. If so much as the weight of a feather falls on me I'm gonna crack. "God only gives you what you can handle...." Really? (tell that to anyone who's attempted suicide) REALLY? Well, I've had about as much as a person can fucking handle, alright? This is IT. This is my limit!
Every time I think things have to start looking up, they fall again. It's enough to make a person lose their damn mind. Give it time...
Tuesday, February 18, 2014
Titus has nothing on our family
kelly has convinced Marge that when Bob was having his asthma attack, Sheila put "something" in his nebulizer and murdered him. They believe my paranets covered it up because they paid for the funeral services.
Sheila stole morphine from my dying uncle. Once Mom caught her in the act, the drugs were placed in a lock box and my sister was banned from coming inside. (this was last summer) Junkies typically do not save up their drugs, they use them. Also, Bob did not have $5 million life insurance policy. He had a small one left in the names of his children. But mrage will be convinced of this until the day she dies. Thanks kelly.
Sheila stole morphine from my dying uncle. Once Mom caught her in the act, the drugs were placed in a lock box and my sister was banned from coming inside. (this was last summer) Junkies typically do not save up their drugs, they use them. Also, Bob did not have $5 million life insurance policy. He had a small one left in the names of his children. But mrage will be convinced of this until the day she dies. Thanks kelly.
Titles are Unnecessary
Dear Bob,
I really wanted to write about everything that's happened. This may be my only chance for a while but I'm too exhausted to account for the last 3 days events. I wake up in the morning and it's like nothing happened. As I brush my teeth, it hits me that you're gone. I think, "I can't believe Bob's gone." Then I'm a complete mess all day.
I keep going over the What Ifs and it's making me crazy. Your family is making me crazy and giving Shawn a new kind of stress. Your sister has completely lost her mind. So much in fact that I've completely written her off. I'm done with her. If I could break her nose, I might feel better but I won't do that. I keep thinking about the time you taught me how to play "Enter Sandman" on the guitar--the first song I ever learned--but hearing the song now doesn't make cry. I cry for a lot of other reasons.
Your children are Shawn's and my priority. If things head south, we will take care of them. I still think if you'd have moved out so many years ago as you told me, you might still be alive. But maybe not. You still would have smoked and ate pounds and pounds of red meat. I respect you for staying and I respect for you for not believing in divorce. I respect that you always defended her. I respect that you always believed things would turn a corner.
I don't believe what is being said. Same goes for Shawn. You had a weak heart and it failed. I do not question that. You had nothing to offer by leaving us.
The whole world has gone mad. Both families are going mad. But you'd be so proud at how your children are handling themselves. Yes, they've cried but their behavior is impeccable.
I miss you. Maybe where you are it'll be like ten minuets and we'll all meet again. The last three days have felt like ten years. If you are in Heaven, touch your children now and then, leave a message for poor Kristin. Your heart stopped while hers continued on and it will be with her forever. I'm keeping an eye on her as always.
My heart is broken and I miss you and your thousands of jokes (where did you store them all?) and your quick wit and odd humor. I hope to see you soon.
I really wanted to write about everything that's happened. This may be my only chance for a while but I'm too exhausted to account for the last 3 days events. I wake up in the morning and it's like nothing happened. As I brush my teeth, it hits me that you're gone. I think, "I can't believe Bob's gone." Then I'm a complete mess all day.
I keep going over the What Ifs and it's making me crazy. Your family is making me crazy and giving Shawn a new kind of stress. Your sister has completely lost her mind. So much in fact that I've completely written her off. I'm done with her. If I could break her nose, I might feel better but I won't do that. I keep thinking about the time you taught me how to play "Enter Sandman" on the guitar--the first song I ever learned--but hearing the song now doesn't make cry. I cry for a lot of other reasons.
Your children are Shawn's and my priority. If things head south, we will take care of them. I still think if you'd have moved out so many years ago as you told me, you might still be alive. But maybe not. You still would have smoked and ate pounds and pounds of red meat. I respect you for staying and I respect for you for not believing in divorce. I respect that you always defended her. I respect that you always believed things would turn a corner.
I don't believe what is being said. Same goes for Shawn. You had a weak heart and it failed. I do not question that. You had nothing to offer by leaving us.
The whole world has gone mad. Both families are going mad. But you'd be so proud at how your children are handling themselves. Yes, they've cried but their behavior is impeccable.
I miss you. Maybe where you are it'll be like ten minuets and we'll all meet again. The last three days have felt like ten years. If you are in Heaven, touch your children now and then, leave a message for poor Kristin. Your heart stopped while hers continued on and it will be with her forever. I'm keeping an eye on her as always.
My heart is broken and I miss you and your thousands of jokes (where did you store them all?) and your quick wit and odd humor. I hope to see you soon.
Monday, November 25, 2013
Not My Skin
This morning at work I was hangin clothes and could see my own breath. Indoors, mind you. It's like tyhis every winter and every winter I am so fucking miserable. I kept thinking this wasn't meant for me. I don't need to be here, in this place where my hands & feet are so cold they hurt. I fought tears all day.
I keep feeling like this isn't me. I wasn't born in the right time or place. This isn't my skin, this isn't my body--it can't be! How can this fat ugly body be mine? I feel like I wanna crawl out of my skin and go somewhere--anywhere else.
As always, soon the stinging behind my eyes turns to rage that I do not conceal. I cuss out loud and while I do not throw things I may perhaps, things down loudly and such. I cannot contain it. The frustration eats me alive from the outside. I curse myslf for thinking of what could have been, other choices I could have made. Why do that? It's not going to make me any warmer, any happier.
Soon, I'm fighting back tears. I hate this place. I hate this job. I hate that even after 9 or 10 hours on the clock, I face another 5 or 6 when I clock out. Every winter I think it's going to be the one that breaks me. And yet I survive.
I'm so fucking tired. Exhausted. Tired of thinking about what could have been, what should have been. You stupid, fat, ugly cow. You fucked up everything! Nobody cares if you're cold.
I gotta get out of here. It's only been one very cold day, the first of many and it's already breaking me. I'm home now, alone and sobbing freely. This cannot be my skin.
I keep feeling like this isn't me. I wasn't born in the right time or place. This isn't my skin, this isn't my body--it can't be! How can this fat ugly body be mine? I feel like I wanna crawl out of my skin and go somewhere--anywhere else.
As always, soon the stinging behind my eyes turns to rage that I do not conceal. I cuss out loud and while I do not throw things I may perhaps, things down loudly and such. I cannot contain it. The frustration eats me alive from the outside. I curse myslf for thinking of what could have been, other choices I could have made. Why do that? It's not going to make me any warmer, any happier.
Soon, I'm fighting back tears. I hate this place. I hate this job. I hate that even after 9 or 10 hours on the clock, I face another 5 or 6 when I clock out. Every winter I think it's going to be the one that breaks me. And yet I survive.
I'm so fucking tired. Exhausted. Tired of thinking about what could have been, what should have been. You stupid, fat, ugly cow. You fucked up everything! Nobody cares if you're cold.
I gotta get out of here. It's only been one very cold day, the first of many and it's already breaking me. I'm home now, alone and sobbing freely. This cannot be my skin.
Thursday, November 21, 2013
50/50
So much has happened and yet so much has not yet happened. Oddly enough, Shawn was approached by a couple of ladies through an aquaintance. They wanted a partnership to build an electronic cigarette shop. They know there's decent enough profits there but know little about the product or where to buy it wholsale. Shawn can supply such information.
We all had a meeting, my first, everyone else's second. It seemed so promising until last night. I took it all to mean that these women would put up about $10,000 or so to cover the first round of merchandise & supplies. We would supply the juice. We would run the store, reorder, deal with customersa nd so forth. Theyw ould not give up their jobs or income. We would. And the profits would be split 50/50. Forever.
A lot of things were said very quickly. A lot of numbers were thrown about. For about twenty minuets, Shawn argued with on of the women. We left last night on good terms. It was a whirlwind of information so fast I didn't have time time to absorb it all. When this all began, it seemed like a good idea. They have money; we do not. We have knowledge; they do not. I was wary at first but the more Shawn spoke of these women, the more I fell on board. Until last night.
The next morning, at work I had time to think. I wouldn't bust my ass at work for 50% of my paycheck. We're giving up Shawn's business and my steady, secure paycheck. They are giving up, what...ten grand? They keep their jobs so what are they risking exactly? Their homes are paid for; they're older than we are. Our house is not paid for, not by far. We discussed the risks of being taken advantage of. Would they merely take our wholsale information and run?
It's quite possible. This is an almost guarenteed money maker. The only problem is that we don't have the money to get it started. In a couple of months, we may have enough to half ass it. Don half assed it and cleared $22,000 in 30 days.
That's another thing that bothers me too. Normally, I"m not the jealous kind. I usually feel as long as I have a roof and food, I have nothing to be jealous of. Normally I am quite content, except maybe when I cannot find the right sort of coupons. But usally I am mostly content even when we are peniless, which is quite often. Lately though I'vew feeling a surging rage of jealously. Don is a half-wit, most how have met him will agree on that. He's seems to have tripped into this business, didn't know what he was doing--I know this because he would call Shawn, who he just met asking, "What do I do?!!"
And suddenly this man is rich. I feel like after everything we've done, all the money we've borrowed and spent and the endless, endless hours we've put in...
It should be us. What an easy, air conditioned way to make tens of thousands in a month. Yes, I am quite ashamed that I feel this way, deeply ashamed. I cannot tuck this feeling away and I keep asking, why does everything have to be so damn hard ALL THE TIME? OK, God, I've experienced struggle. I've been hungry and cold. Can you give us a break for once, maybe? Hmm? I do not like this side of me. I hate it. But I am also tired of my job, I can't do this forever. I'm tired of the hours spent searching for coupons, eating dinner an hour before bed, and the sleep loss.
Wasn't I meant for something better? I don't have to be rich, hell I don't want to be rich. I want things to stop being so fucking hard. I want us to catch a break! I want to work in a place where the profits will be mine, not an hourly wage, barely making the bills. I want heat int he winter, a/c in the summer. I want to stop sweating and shivering so damn much. I gotta get away from some of my coworkers! I swear if I keep my thoughts to myself any longer someone's gonna slapped in the mouth! OK, that's really just one and I've gotten really good at keeping my shit together. I'm afraid after another year or two of being hot and cold and dealing with this chick's mouth I;'m just gonna freaking lose it.
Yeah, I guess a lot of this is talk. I'm just immesley frustrated with everything in general.
We all had a meeting, my first, everyone else's second. It seemed so promising until last night. I took it all to mean that these women would put up about $10,000 or so to cover the first round of merchandise & supplies. We would supply the juice. We would run the store, reorder, deal with customersa nd so forth. Theyw ould not give up their jobs or income. We would. And the profits would be split 50/50. Forever.
A lot of things were said very quickly. A lot of numbers were thrown about. For about twenty minuets, Shawn argued with on of the women. We left last night on good terms. It was a whirlwind of information so fast I didn't have time time to absorb it all. When this all began, it seemed like a good idea. They have money; we do not. We have knowledge; they do not. I was wary at first but the more Shawn spoke of these women, the more I fell on board. Until last night.
The next morning, at work I had time to think. I wouldn't bust my ass at work for 50% of my paycheck. We're giving up Shawn's business and my steady, secure paycheck. They are giving up, what...ten grand? They keep their jobs so what are they risking exactly? Their homes are paid for; they're older than we are. Our house is not paid for, not by far. We discussed the risks of being taken advantage of. Would they merely take our wholsale information and run?
It's quite possible. This is an almost guarenteed money maker. The only problem is that we don't have the money to get it started. In a couple of months, we may have enough to half ass it. Don half assed it and cleared $22,000 in 30 days.
That's another thing that bothers me too. Normally, I"m not the jealous kind. I usually feel as long as I have a roof and food, I have nothing to be jealous of. Normally I am quite content, except maybe when I cannot find the right sort of coupons. But usally I am mostly content even when we are peniless, which is quite often. Lately though I'vew feeling a surging rage of jealously. Don is a half-wit, most how have met him will agree on that. He's seems to have tripped into this business, didn't know what he was doing--I know this because he would call Shawn, who he just met asking, "What do I do?!!"
And suddenly this man is rich. I feel like after everything we've done, all the money we've borrowed and spent and the endless, endless hours we've put in...
It should be us. What an easy, air conditioned way to make tens of thousands in a month. Yes, I am quite ashamed that I feel this way, deeply ashamed. I cannot tuck this feeling away and I keep asking, why does everything have to be so damn hard ALL THE TIME? OK, God, I've experienced struggle. I've been hungry and cold. Can you give us a break for once, maybe? Hmm? I do not like this side of me. I hate it. But I am also tired of my job, I can't do this forever. I'm tired of the hours spent searching for coupons, eating dinner an hour before bed, and the sleep loss.
Wasn't I meant for something better? I don't have to be rich, hell I don't want to be rich. I want things to stop being so fucking hard. I want us to catch a break! I want to work in a place where the profits will be mine, not an hourly wage, barely making the bills. I want heat int he winter, a/c in the summer. I want to stop sweating and shivering so damn much. I gotta get away from some of my coworkers! I swear if I keep my thoughts to myself any longer someone's gonna slapped in the mouth! OK, that's really just one and I've gotten really good at keeping my shit together. I'm afraid after another year or two of being hot and cold and dealing with this chick's mouth I;'m just gonna freaking lose it.
Yeah, I guess a lot of this is talk. I'm just immesley frustrated with everything in general.
Saturday, November 16, 2013
Vicious Green Eyed Monster
I'll just go ahead and say it. It should've been us to have the $20,000 per month profit store. It's easy for me to say that because I don't really know Don and Victoria. It may be that they've overcome some hardships and truly deserve all this, not that deserving or not deserving is a good reason for being jealous. There is never a good reason to be jealous. It's a combination of me being so tired of watching literally every dime and nickel, years of eBay struggles, and idly watching as others succeed. It's not as though I've been sitting on my ass waiting for a miracle to happen. We're doers in this household, dammit!
Part of my jealously stems from Don's stupidity. He's been in business a little over a month. He made $22,000 profit in his first 30 days and now he's raising prices. Stupid. He's going to drive his customers right intot he cheap, loving arms of internet orders. When he gave Shawn suppliues to start making liquids, he'd left invoices in the box. We knew exactly where he'd ordered from and as such, we ordered from those places. We're going to order batteries and tanks to sell to friends and eBay so we can prepare a $20K profit store for ourselves.
When Shawn delivers a box of liquids to Don, he whips out a wad of cash (in front of customers too) to pay him. Don flashes this wad of cash in front of people--not just Shawn. He's so inviting a robbery. He talks way too much. But because of his ignornace and diarhea of the mouth (seriously diarhea) we know exactly where to drive for emergency merchandise, where to order, how much to pay, etc. We have learned from Don's mistakes and we also possess common sense--something not held by the majority of the population.
Shawn and I discussed where to open a store and it's not that he's against burning Don. Of course we both hold very high moral standards, it's the idea enough money to be made by all. SHawn's convinced that there's not enough customers in our city. "Don's customers LOVE him. They wouldn't do business any where else," Shawn explained. They might if he raises prices like he's doing. He's already added $10 to a basic starter kit. He buys it for $5 and was selling for $40. Now he wants $50. Because he's greedy. And stupid.
On Don's store facebook page, he has "liked" every vapor store from here to who knows where. Why? Because he's stupid. He's created a virtual yellow pages for his competition on his very own page. We could do this better. You don't raise prices before Christmas--you create a sale. Give the gift of quitting smoking for Christmas! I'm so much smarter than this.
We're not yet sure if this other douche is gonna open a store in Harker Heights. We were thinking that even if he did, if it were far away enough from our ideal area, it wouldn't matter. The area we're thinking of I would imagine, has gargantuan rent, but the area is conveinet, in a really decent neighborhood and would assume high profits. We couldn't fail. And we have yet to see if this douche is serious.
I'm not sure yet what's going to happen for us. I really try, so hard, not to get my hopes up because I'm so fed up with disapointment. I don't know what's in store for us. I hope it does happen because if we were making a fraction of what Don makes, we wouldn't have to it for very long. We could retire young and enjoy life. We could help people with this money. And yes, as harsh and I come off, I really want to help my parents, my nieces get a hard start on life, and I'd really love to stock the local pantries with food. I don't want to do these things so I can feel good about myself and say, "Look at what I did!" I want to do these things because I've never had the means to before.
Shawn and I have always felt this way. We decided long ago, we'd set up scholarships for less privaliged kids, like my nephew--one helped him at least get started. I'd always wanted to save animals from the death needle in shelters and volunteer at the children's hospital--or at least donate tons of fun board games. All these things take money and time--neither of which are available at the moment. I want my dad to be able to retire and I want to pay for my mom's back pain to be taken away. After all she's been through, she deserves to be pain free.
Even though I'm bitter and jealous, I still have good intentions. I'm passionate enough about these causes that there's no way I'd let them slip through my fingers once the money started rolling in. I'm tired of listening to my mom cry over the phone and I would be devasted if my nieces (with 1.5 years of school left) wound up working in a place full of chemicals, noise and weather.
My family deserves better.
Part of my jealously stems from Don's stupidity. He's been in business a little over a month. He made $22,000 profit in his first 30 days and now he's raising prices. Stupid. He's going to drive his customers right intot he cheap, loving arms of internet orders. When he gave Shawn suppliues to start making liquids, he'd left invoices in the box. We knew exactly where he'd ordered from and as such, we ordered from those places. We're going to order batteries and tanks to sell to friends and eBay so we can prepare a $20K profit store for ourselves.
When Shawn delivers a box of liquids to Don, he whips out a wad of cash (in front of customers too) to pay him. Don flashes this wad of cash in front of people--not just Shawn. He's so inviting a robbery. He talks way too much. But because of his ignornace and diarhea of the mouth (seriously diarhea) we know exactly where to drive for emergency merchandise, where to order, how much to pay, etc. We have learned from Don's mistakes and we also possess common sense--something not held by the majority of the population.
Shawn and I discussed where to open a store and it's not that he's against burning Don. Of course we both hold very high moral standards, it's the idea enough money to be made by all. SHawn's convinced that there's not enough customers in our city. "Don's customers LOVE him. They wouldn't do business any where else," Shawn explained. They might if he raises prices like he's doing. He's already added $10 to a basic starter kit. He buys it for $5 and was selling for $40. Now he wants $50. Because he's greedy. And stupid.
On Don's store facebook page, he has "liked" every vapor store from here to who knows where. Why? Because he's stupid. He's created a virtual yellow pages for his competition on his very own page. We could do this better. You don't raise prices before Christmas--you create a sale. Give the gift of quitting smoking for Christmas! I'm so much smarter than this.
We're not yet sure if this other douche is gonna open a store in Harker Heights. We were thinking that even if he did, if it were far away enough from our ideal area, it wouldn't matter. The area we're thinking of I would imagine, has gargantuan rent, but the area is conveinet, in a really decent neighborhood and would assume high profits. We couldn't fail. And we have yet to see if this douche is serious.
I'm not sure yet what's going to happen for us. I really try, so hard, not to get my hopes up because I'm so fed up with disapointment. I don't know what's in store for us. I hope it does happen because if we were making a fraction of what Don makes, we wouldn't have to it for very long. We could retire young and enjoy life. We could help people with this money. And yes, as harsh and I come off, I really want to help my parents, my nieces get a hard start on life, and I'd really love to stock the local pantries with food. I don't want to do these things so I can feel good about myself and say, "Look at what I did!" I want to do these things because I've never had the means to before.
Shawn and I have always felt this way. We decided long ago, we'd set up scholarships for less privaliged kids, like my nephew--one helped him at least get started. I'd always wanted to save animals from the death needle in shelters and volunteer at the children's hospital--or at least donate tons of fun board games. All these things take money and time--neither of which are available at the moment. I want my dad to be able to retire and I want to pay for my mom's back pain to be taken away. After all she's been through, she deserves to be pain free.
Even though I'm bitter and jealous, I still have good intentions. I'm passionate enough about these causes that there's no way I'd let them slip through my fingers once the money started rolling in. I'm tired of listening to my mom cry over the phone and I would be devasted if my nieces (with 1.5 years of school left) wound up working in a place full of chemicals, noise and weather.
My family deserves better.
Tuesday, November 12, 2013
I'm throwing a pity party and everyone's invited! (byob--lots of it)
Hope deffered makes the heart sick.
--The Bible
I don't know exactly where in the Bible it says that but just take my word for it; it's in there. I practically woke up crying this monring and fought tears all day at work. So much has happened. So much that was supposed to happen, didn't. And so I awoke with tears in my eyes. SOmething was taken from me last night--my last shred of hope.
I'll elaborate. First of all, I was telling Shawn that because of the rain--lots and lots of rain--Darrell's ashes would not return to the earth. I explained to him that it probably won't be this weekend ewither. "Why?" he demanded.
"Because Nikki's sister is coming down," I replied.
"So?" asked Shawn.
I explained that we cannot route this event around the weekends of 30 people but for some reason this side of the family does not apply and that Nikki suggested maybe we should just wait till January, after the holidays.
"WHAT?!" Shawn was furious and then decided to make a joke. "But we can't do it in January--that's my BIRTHDAY MONTH!!"
So that's that. Whatever.
About 11 years ago we decided to give eBay a go and I soon developed a stern hatred for the beast. I've told SHawn over and over how I hate doing it, it's such a hassle and he throws a fit and whines until I give in and simply continue doing it. We started small and began watching what others were selling. We would see such people were making a killing on said items. We'd buy said item ourselves and sell them for peanuts. No matter what we tried, how many times we tried it or in what ways we tried it, we always made peanuts. We had fantastic dreams of quitting our jobs over this but it was always quickly squashed.
I used to remember all the different items we'd sold but I've long since forgotten. The video game thing was the most devasting. As oon as we got rolling a little bit, Buy.com came into ebay and ruined it for everyone. We wern't the only ones that got hurt by these mega sellers.
I've hated my job for a long time and I've followed SHawn's coat tails for a long, long time. Over two years ago, Shawn quit his job to start up his business Hot Torch Designs. We took out loans, refinanced the house (making the house payment astronomical) and seetled in to bide our time. Last November he had no jobs at all. We were ina dire situation for several months. I even got food stamps for the first time in our lives. They gave me $72 each month for six months. Doesn't sound like much, but I made it work to my advantage.
This November he's been offered 3 well paying jobs--all within a week. I wondered where all this was this time last year when he had little to eat. We decided to bypass these offers because of one reason:
Shawn had decided to open an electronic cigarette store.
This came to us by pure accident. Shawn had worked for the same employeer as Victoria. Victoria is married to Don, who a month ago opend a e-cig shop. Don came to Shawn to mix the liquids. He wanted no part of it and the guy he hired to do turned out to be a scame artist. Over the next couple of weeks, we received rave, rave, rave reviews on the liquids. Shawn observed how much money Do was making over cheap Chinese made products and decided this would be the best route for us. Also, Don talks way too much without being asked. He told SHawn in his first month of business he cleared $22,000 profits.
That's stupid amounts of money. Once I heard this, I was on board with SHawn. I thought of all the things I would not have to do or put up with if I didn't work at the cleaners. No harmful chemicals (pretty much), climate controlled! No sweltering summers or freezing winters. I said once aghain, "I don't know if I can handle another winter here." I say it every year however this time around we've got TWO exhaust fans in the wall and I'm pretty much the only one standing NOT going through menopause. I spent most of each winter trying not to cry because I am so miserable and cold and I cannot beleive I ended up in this place.
Anyways, we decied that Don already has a customer base we'd open a store in Harker Heights, small enough to function in but big enough to grab profits and entice the soldiers of Ft. Hood. Shawn had lined up 2 or 3 jobs that would secure the means for opening the store. If we made half as much as Don in our first month, we'd be pretty well off. Really well off.
Last night Don called & explained to SHawn that he had set up SHawn's liquid making talents for a new store opening in Harker Heights. And that's where it all fell apart. This guy is a childhood friend of Don's so he's showing the guy the ropes. I failed to state earlier that Don isn't the sharpest pencil in the box. In fact, he's kinda dumb about some stuff. Nicest dude you'll meet, but dumb. This makes at least 2 store in Heights that we know of. Killen is taken over and SHawn's doesn't set up here in town becxause of Don's customer bases. Personally I think he doesn't want to take away from Don and after 11 years of trying to make something work--I hate to say it, I really do--but I'm at the point of saying, Take what you can and fuck the rest.
We don't know these people super well or are even close with them. I personally don't think a little competition would hurt anyone but well, this is shawn. I've gotten harder; he's grown softer. I hate my fucking job. I hate the cold, the sweaty stinky heat. I hate the lack of common sense of my coworkers. I hate dealing with poop! I'm sick of touching used tissues in pockets and I'm sick of useless conversations that go no where just because someone feels the need to chat (I swear these people CANNOT read my mood--It's simple. My mood says this: GO AWAY!)
I'll never make much more salary than what I've got and we're never going to get anywhere making peanuts. we've always got debts and huge house payments. When things start looking ok, one of the dogs had a $400 vet bill or something.
SO this monring I woke up crying. I sobbed freely until it was time to drive and then I forced myself to push it down as I always do. They say stuffing down your feelings causes tumors. I must be riddled with them but I wasn't any better when I talked about my feelings all the time. It makes me sick to remember how I used to be and it still makes me sick when others behave that way. Shut the fuck up, put on your big girl panties and DEAL WITH IT!!
However, it was difficulkt to simply accept all this as the cold front moved in. To be rational, Shawn's got Don and two new stores lined up for liquid making. I suppose we could hit the head shops and tobacco stores with samples....
...and what, become thousandaires? I guess it's better than nothing but we've been with nothing for a very long time and I'm growing very impatinet. This morning I cleaned the workplace microwave. Again. There was fuzzy mold growing on the base, under the turn plate. I'm so sick of these filthy fucking people. I ate my monring oatmeal, trying not to cry.
Sometime in the afternoon, the recesses of my memory spoke to me. An old Joyce Meyer CD replayed in my head as she reminded me that God may have another plan in the works. Just because you told God your plans does not mean it's God's plan. Well, I sure wish he'd give me a little hint or let me in on it just a tiny bit. I'm so tired of being so frustrated all the time.
Allow me to say right here that Shawn has finally quit smoking and I am thankful for that beyonw what words can describe. I have also asked God to make my dogs stop peeing on the rug and he hasn't asnwered me. I suppose it'll be another eight years and perhaps the dogs will go where their supposed to go 100% of the time rather than the current 70%.
Agin, very frustrating and I've about had it. I feel as though I want to deperastely give up and quit. I give up several times a year. I always pick myself back up but I am afraid there may come a time when I cannot pick myself up after another disappointment. God, is it truly your plan to have us fail at everything all the time? I'm afarid I'll be at the cleaners for the rest of my life, or at least until they find a spot on my lung.
I'm so glad I'm me.
--The Bible
I don't know exactly where in the Bible it says that but just take my word for it; it's in there. I practically woke up crying this monring and fought tears all day at work. So much has happened. So much that was supposed to happen, didn't. And so I awoke with tears in my eyes. SOmething was taken from me last night--my last shred of hope.
I'll elaborate. First of all, I was telling Shawn that because of the rain--lots and lots of rain--Darrell's ashes would not return to the earth. I explained to him that it probably won't be this weekend ewither. "Why?" he demanded.
"Because Nikki's sister is coming down," I replied.
"So?" asked Shawn.
I explained that we cannot route this event around the weekends of 30 people but for some reason this side of the family does not apply and that Nikki suggested maybe we should just wait till January, after the holidays.
"WHAT?!" Shawn was furious and then decided to make a joke. "But we can't do it in January--that's my BIRTHDAY MONTH!!"
So that's that. Whatever.
About 11 years ago we decided to give eBay a go and I soon developed a stern hatred for the beast. I've told SHawn over and over how I hate doing it, it's such a hassle and he throws a fit and whines until I give in and simply continue doing it. We started small and began watching what others were selling. We would see such people were making a killing on said items. We'd buy said item ourselves and sell them for peanuts. No matter what we tried, how many times we tried it or in what ways we tried it, we always made peanuts. We had fantastic dreams of quitting our jobs over this but it was always quickly squashed.
I used to remember all the different items we'd sold but I've long since forgotten. The video game thing was the most devasting. As oon as we got rolling a little bit, Buy.com came into ebay and ruined it for everyone. We wern't the only ones that got hurt by these mega sellers.
I've hated my job for a long time and I've followed SHawn's coat tails for a long, long time. Over two years ago, Shawn quit his job to start up his business Hot Torch Designs. We took out loans, refinanced the house (making the house payment astronomical) and seetled in to bide our time. Last November he had no jobs at all. We were ina dire situation for several months. I even got food stamps for the first time in our lives. They gave me $72 each month for six months. Doesn't sound like much, but I made it work to my advantage.
This November he's been offered 3 well paying jobs--all within a week. I wondered where all this was this time last year when he had little to eat. We decided to bypass these offers because of one reason:
Shawn had decided to open an electronic cigarette store.
This came to us by pure accident. Shawn had worked for the same employeer as Victoria. Victoria is married to Don, who a month ago opend a e-cig shop. Don came to Shawn to mix the liquids. He wanted no part of it and the guy he hired to do turned out to be a scame artist. Over the next couple of weeks, we received rave, rave, rave reviews on the liquids. Shawn observed how much money Do was making over cheap Chinese made products and decided this would be the best route for us. Also, Don talks way too much without being asked. He told SHawn in his first month of business he cleared $22,000 profits.
That's stupid amounts of money. Once I heard this, I was on board with SHawn. I thought of all the things I would not have to do or put up with if I didn't work at the cleaners. No harmful chemicals (pretty much), climate controlled! No sweltering summers or freezing winters. I said once aghain, "I don't know if I can handle another winter here." I say it every year however this time around we've got TWO exhaust fans in the wall and I'm pretty much the only one standing NOT going through menopause. I spent most of each winter trying not to cry because I am so miserable and cold and I cannot beleive I ended up in this place.
Anyways, we decied that Don already has a customer base we'd open a store in Harker Heights, small enough to function in but big enough to grab profits and entice the soldiers of Ft. Hood. Shawn had lined up 2 or 3 jobs that would secure the means for opening the store. If we made half as much as Don in our first month, we'd be pretty well off. Really well off.
Last night Don called & explained to SHawn that he had set up SHawn's liquid making talents for a new store opening in Harker Heights. And that's where it all fell apart. This guy is a childhood friend of Don's so he's showing the guy the ropes. I failed to state earlier that Don isn't the sharpest pencil in the box. In fact, he's kinda dumb about some stuff. Nicest dude you'll meet, but dumb. This makes at least 2 store in Heights that we know of. Killen is taken over and SHawn's doesn't set up here in town becxause of Don's customer bases. Personally I think he doesn't want to take away from Don and after 11 years of trying to make something work--I hate to say it, I really do--but I'm at the point of saying, Take what you can and fuck the rest.
We don't know these people super well or are even close with them. I personally don't think a little competition would hurt anyone but well, this is shawn. I've gotten harder; he's grown softer. I hate my fucking job. I hate the cold, the sweaty stinky heat. I hate the lack of common sense of my coworkers. I hate dealing with poop! I'm sick of touching used tissues in pockets and I'm sick of useless conversations that go no where just because someone feels the need to chat (I swear these people CANNOT read my mood--It's simple. My mood says this: GO AWAY!)
I'll never make much more salary than what I've got and we're never going to get anywhere making peanuts. we've always got debts and huge house payments. When things start looking ok, one of the dogs had a $400 vet bill or something.
SO this monring I woke up crying. I sobbed freely until it was time to drive and then I forced myself to push it down as I always do. They say stuffing down your feelings causes tumors. I must be riddled with them but I wasn't any better when I talked about my feelings all the time. It makes me sick to remember how I used to be and it still makes me sick when others behave that way. Shut the fuck up, put on your big girl panties and DEAL WITH IT!!
However, it was difficulkt to simply accept all this as the cold front moved in. To be rational, Shawn's got Don and two new stores lined up for liquid making. I suppose we could hit the head shops and tobacco stores with samples....
...and what, become thousandaires? I guess it's better than nothing but we've been with nothing for a very long time and I'm growing very impatinet. This morning I cleaned the workplace microwave. Again. There was fuzzy mold growing on the base, under the turn plate. I'm so sick of these filthy fucking people. I ate my monring oatmeal, trying not to cry.
Sometime in the afternoon, the recesses of my memory spoke to me. An old Joyce Meyer CD replayed in my head as she reminded me that God may have another plan in the works. Just because you told God your plans does not mean it's God's plan. Well, I sure wish he'd give me a little hint or let me in on it just a tiny bit. I'm so tired of being so frustrated all the time.
Allow me to say right here that Shawn has finally quit smoking and I am thankful for that beyonw what words can describe. I have also asked God to make my dogs stop peeing on the rug and he hasn't asnwered me. I suppose it'll be another eight years and perhaps the dogs will go where their supposed to go 100% of the time rather than the current 70%.
Agin, very frustrating and I've about had it. I feel as though I want to deperastely give up and quit. I give up several times a year. I always pick myself back up but I am afraid there may come a time when I cannot pick myself up after another disappointment. God, is it truly your plan to have us fail at everything all the time? I'm afarid I'll be at the cleaners for the rest of my life, or at least until they find a spot on my lung.
I'm so glad I'm me.
Thursday, October 31, 2013
All Hallow's Eve
I really hate Halloween. Why is it up tot he masses to purchase sugar filled candy for everyone else's children? It's nothing but a day that upsets my evening.
At work, some of the chicks dressed up as nothing more than "look at me". ANd for adults, that all it is. It gives young women an excuse to dress as sluts, and men an excuse to openly leer at them. That was not the case ta work but it still annoyed me for some reason. I think it' the whole Me Mentality. LOOK AT ME! PAY ATTENTION TO ME! Around here we like to call people like that Attention Sluts.
Then there's Shawn's sister, Kelly, who invites herself and her children to our house every Halloween and every 4th of July. I wouldn't mind so much if her children weren't such spoiled brats and Kelly didn't linger. It's what she does. SHe invites herself and lingers as though she has nothing to do, no where to be. It's because she really doesn't. And it doesn't matter how many times I've reminded her that I wake at 4:30 in the AM, she doesn't care. She truly doesn't care and I hate that about her. I"ve tried to be very sweet about it, pleading to be quiet so I can go to bed, I've tried to be mean to her face, abhorently rude and nothing works. SHe drags her kids around and lingers. Lingers.
The eldest is now 19 I think and still dresses up and trick or treats with them all in our neighborhood. If you're old enough to vote, you're too old to trick or treat! If you can drive through our neighborhood, you don't need to camp at our house! THe eldest daughter is 17 and dresses pretty provocatively thorugh the rest of the year so you can imagine how she likes to Miley Cirus it up on Halloween. It drives both me and Shawn absolutely crazy the way the girl dresses and the older she gets, the more her boobs grow, thus the more they practically fall out of her blouse. It makes most of the family nuts but you can't say anything to Kelly about it.
There's also the whole Lucy Issue. SHe hates all these people. SHe barks constantly and there's nothing I can do to quiet her. As long as these people are int he house, Lucy barks and growls and snarls. She'd bite them if she had any front teeth left. This is what Kelly doesn't understand. I could go to bed at a reasonable hour, quiet Lucy int he bedroom, but the moment she hears the baboon laughter, Lucy goes nuts barking and inenitably wakes me.
A couple weeks ago I found a naturally wonderful solution: Two shots of whiskey on an empty stomach. Within twenty minuets I didn't care if the house was shaking with baboon laughter. I could have cared less if the whole family wanted to move in! Within another 5 minuets I was out like a deads thing and I dind't hear anything intil my alarm clock went off hours later.
It's currently 6:30 pm on Halloween and already I can hear the neighborhood dogs stirring. I think it's time for a drink....
At work, some of the chicks dressed up as nothing more than "look at me". ANd for adults, that all it is. It gives young women an excuse to dress as sluts, and men an excuse to openly leer at them. That was not the case ta work but it still annoyed me for some reason. I think it' the whole Me Mentality. LOOK AT ME! PAY ATTENTION TO ME! Around here we like to call people like that Attention Sluts.
Then there's Shawn's sister, Kelly, who invites herself and her children to our house every Halloween and every 4th of July. I wouldn't mind so much if her children weren't such spoiled brats and Kelly didn't linger. It's what she does. SHe invites herself and lingers as though she has nothing to do, no where to be. It's because she really doesn't. And it doesn't matter how many times I've reminded her that I wake at 4:30 in the AM, she doesn't care. She truly doesn't care and I hate that about her. I"ve tried to be very sweet about it, pleading to be quiet so I can go to bed, I've tried to be mean to her face, abhorently rude and nothing works. SHe drags her kids around and lingers. Lingers.
The eldest is now 19 I think and still dresses up and trick or treats with them all in our neighborhood. If you're old enough to vote, you're too old to trick or treat! If you can drive through our neighborhood, you don't need to camp at our house! THe eldest daughter is 17 and dresses pretty provocatively thorugh the rest of the year so you can imagine how she likes to Miley Cirus it up on Halloween. It drives both me and Shawn absolutely crazy the way the girl dresses and the older she gets, the more her boobs grow, thus the more they practically fall out of her blouse. It makes most of the family nuts but you can't say anything to Kelly about it.
There's also the whole Lucy Issue. SHe hates all these people. SHe barks constantly and there's nothing I can do to quiet her. As long as these people are int he house, Lucy barks and growls and snarls. She'd bite them if she had any front teeth left. This is what Kelly doesn't understand. I could go to bed at a reasonable hour, quiet Lucy int he bedroom, but the moment she hears the baboon laughter, Lucy goes nuts barking and inenitably wakes me.
A couple weeks ago I found a naturally wonderful solution: Two shots of whiskey on an empty stomach. Within twenty minuets I didn't care if the house was shaking with baboon laughter. I could have cared less if the whole family wanted to move in! Within another 5 minuets I was out like a deads thing and I dind't hear anything intil my alarm clock went off hours later.
It's currently 6:30 pm on Halloween and already I can hear the neighborhood dogs stirring. I think it's time for a drink....
Ashes to Ashes But Not in My Son's Birthday Month
I well aware of the irony of all this rain. It's not completely lost on me, here. Yes, Darrell did state that after he passed it would rain buckets and buckets. We could have had the memorial in October if not for Justin's stubborness, and yet here are, the 1st Saturday of November coming up and it has rained more in the last few days than it has all year (or at least it seems that way). Soon it will be colder and grayer and so the memorial will be postponed until the following weekend, weather permitting of course. And God forbid any of these people have a birthday in the month of November or December. I fear Darrell may never be put to rest.
It has also been suggested that we all cook Darrell's favorite foods and get together for a potluck. I admonished Mom for not severely and immediately pointing out that it will not be at her home. This was all through Justin's seperated wife, since neither of Darrell's sons have bothered to contact my parents since the passing.
Perhaps this eating can be at a church or somewhere in a parking lot or something. I don't want these people in my parents' house anymore, particular the wife, ugh, Betty. I'm afraid of what she's capable of. And needless to say, we'll all have to spend one more day together. I told my mom I wasn't pleased about having to eat with these people and I don't really care to spend a lot of time with them. "You don't have to," she told me in a very serious voice as though she thoroughly meant it. Keeping my big mouth shut is sure to cause tumors to form and the more time I spend with Darrell's family, the more tumors are likely to form somewhere in my body.
One of these days, I'm certainly going to rectify that. I look forward to it.
It has also been suggested that we all cook Darrell's favorite foods and get together for a potluck. I admonished Mom for not severely and immediately pointing out that it will not be at her home. This was all through Justin's seperated wife, since neither of Darrell's sons have bothered to contact my parents since the passing.
Perhaps this eating can be at a church or somewhere in a parking lot or something. I don't want these people in my parents' house anymore, particular the wife, ugh, Betty. I'm afraid of what she's capable of. And needless to say, we'll all have to spend one more day together. I told my mom I wasn't pleased about having to eat with these people and I don't really care to spend a lot of time with them. "You don't have to," she told me in a very serious voice as though she thoroughly meant it. Keeping my big mouth shut is sure to cause tumors to form and the more time I spend with Darrell's family, the more tumors are likely to form somewhere in my body.
One of these days, I'm certainly going to rectify that. I look forward to it.
Monday, October 28, 2013
Butterflies
Soon after Darrell's passing, I received a beautiful greeting card in the mail. It reads: God works through you in beautiful ways. He's always putting you where He needs you to be. And you're always doing what He needs you to do. He gives you strength and you reach out to help those who need a hand. He gives you love and you bless others with your caring heart. Best of all, He's given you and your friendship to me. And that's the most beautiful blessing anyone could ask for. Thanks for all your helpful ways.
Inside the card, Mom wrote: Dear Shawn & Misty, I can't begin to tell you both how much we truly appreciate all you did during Darrell's illness. All of the "Sam's runs" for Darrell & most of all for the many visits and letting me cry on your precious shoulders so many times! I know you both loved him as he did you both too. I could never have made it without y'all. May God bless you both each day and we love you both! --Mom & Dad
I had barely began reading it before I started sobbing. I even told Mom that I'm not one for keeping greeting cards, but this one was surely a keeper. Occasionally she would call me at work and ask if I could pick up something at Sam's. Of course she would tell me not to go out of my way, only if I happened to be going, yada, yada. On the outside I would be like it's not big deal and inside I would silently, secretly grouch about the giant box store and suddenly catch myself. I would tell myself, Don't you dare complain about a few things from the store--you have it easy! That was in the beginning. As I grew up, I offered to pick up things from the grocery store for Mom, not just Darrell's cigarettes and cases of apple juice. I'd buy her sugar free chocolate covered peanuts because I knew it was her favorite little treat and stuff like that just may help a person get through the day.
I'm not trying to brag on myself at all. I'm trying to explain what a person can do for another. It's the small gestures that make a world of difference for a person that's hurting and exhausted. Go the store and buy that person's dog food and paper plates!
Before Darrell had passed, Mom asked him to send her a sign. "Well, what do you want me to send?" he asked. Mom thought about it and suggested butterflies. SHe admitted later that she could have come up with something more obscure, but oh well. She complained to me on the phone that she hasn't seen a single butterfly and Christy has been seeing them ALL OVER THE PLACE! On one trip to Buckholts, I saw eight fly directly in front of my car on the highway. They were all monarchs and I felt as though I had remembered something about monarch butterflies migrating to Mexico int he fall and set aside this thought.
One day last week, Mom had forgotten about the highway constructiuon and absetmindly forgot her back way route. Sitting ont he highway, trapped, waiting for a single lane to open up, a singular yellow butterfly flitting all around her truck for the entire time that she sat there.
Darrell's scattering is supposed to be November 2nd. Darrell's eldest, Justing didn't want to do it in October because his own son was born in October and he couldn't do it doing his son's "birthay month". Whatever, dude. You really can't plan when a person passes and in normal circumstances, you don't plan when the funeral will be. He's just always have to have his way. He hasn't changed a bit since we were kids. I'm proud to say I am no longer the six year old throwing fits. I wish I could say the same for the rest of them.
It's rained a lot though. Where Darrell marked for his ashes to scatter has no paved, or even gravel roads. It's just dirt. Lots and lots of dirt and dirt roads for travel. If the rain continues, we'll have to push it back another week or so until it's dry enough to drive a passenger vehicle out there. We've had dry beautiful days, "Darrell Weather" we call it, but oh no! We can't scatter the man's ashes int he same month that Justin's kid was born in like, 10 years ago. Stubborn, selfish, twit.
The tray for our keyboard broke so the key board is sitting on top of the desk. My hands positively ache and my back feels as though I offended it and it's out for revenge. My future writings may be kept very, very short for this reason. I hope we find another free desk!
Inside the card, Mom wrote: Dear Shawn & Misty, I can't begin to tell you both how much we truly appreciate all you did during Darrell's illness. All of the "Sam's runs" for Darrell & most of all for the many visits and letting me cry on your precious shoulders so many times! I know you both loved him as he did you both too. I could never have made it without y'all. May God bless you both each day and we love you both! --Mom & Dad
I had barely began reading it before I started sobbing. I even told Mom that I'm not one for keeping greeting cards, but this one was surely a keeper. Occasionally she would call me at work and ask if I could pick up something at Sam's. Of course she would tell me not to go out of my way, only if I happened to be going, yada, yada. On the outside I would be like it's not big deal and inside I would silently, secretly grouch about the giant box store and suddenly catch myself. I would tell myself, Don't you dare complain about a few things from the store--you have it easy! That was in the beginning. As I grew up, I offered to pick up things from the grocery store for Mom, not just Darrell's cigarettes and cases of apple juice. I'd buy her sugar free chocolate covered peanuts because I knew it was her favorite little treat and stuff like that just may help a person get through the day.
I'm not trying to brag on myself at all. I'm trying to explain what a person can do for another. It's the small gestures that make a world of difference for a person that's hurting and exhausted. Go the store and buy that person's dog food and paper plates!
Before Darrell had passed, Mom asked him to send her a sign. "Well, what do you want me to send?" he asked. Mom thought about it and suggested butterflies. SHe admitted later that she could have come up with something more obscure, but oh well. She complained to me on the phone that she hasn't seen a single butterfly and Christy has been seeing them ALL OVER THE PLACE! On one trip to Buckholts, I saw eight fly directly in front of my car on the highway. They were all monarchs and I felt as though I had remembered something about monarch butterflies migrating to Mexico int he fall and set aside this thought.
One day last week, Mom had forgotten about the highway constructiuon and absetmindly forgot her back way route. Sitting ont he highway, trapped, waiting for a single lane to open up, a singular yellow butterfly flitting all around her truck for the entire time that she sat there.
Darrell's scattering is supposed to be November 2nd. Darrell's eldest, Justing didn't want to do it in October because his own son was born in October and he couldn't do it doing his son's "birthay month". Whatever, dude. You really can't plan when a person passes and in normal circumstances, you don't plan when the funeral will be. He's just always have to have his way. He hasn't changed a bit since we were kids. I'm proud to say I am no longer the six year old throwing fits. I wish I could say the same for the rest of them.
It's rained a lot though. Where Darrell marked for his ashes to scatter has no paved, or even gravel roads. It's just dirt. Lots and lots of dirt and dirt roads for travel. If the rain continues, we'll have to push it back another week or so until it's dry enough to drive a passenger vehicle out there. We've had dry beautiful days, "Darrell Weather" we call it, but oh no! We can't scatter the man's ashes int he same month that Justin's kid was born in like, 10 years ago. Stubborn, selfish, twit.
The tray for our keyboard broke so the key board is sitting on top of the desk. My hands positively ache and my back feels as though I offended it and it's out for revenge. My future writings may be kept very, very short for this reason. I hope we find another free desk!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
