Yesterday for example, I managed to make it home again without crying. That made two days in a row-how small is my life now that making it home without slumping over the steering wheel in sobs at a red light is the main achievement of the entire day?
I never had the Cinderella Syndrome, as I've mentioned in this blog before, but I did want to be a homemaker. I'm quite good at it. And in a way, being a homemaker is about making money-I have to say that I really think without someone at home taking care of all the little things frees up those with different aspirations. The aspirations to find one's job satisfaction in making oodles of money for someone else while making enough for the aforementioned one. (Something I've never 'got' and probably never will. I say if you're going to make piles of money for someone, it really out to be for you and yours.
My father always had a business; I started work in one of his factories at the age of five. I have a photograph of my youngerhalf-sister and I toting a venetian blind from the delivery truck. By six I was answering phones-rather nicely, thank-you, people mistook me for my sister (12 years older) or my wicked step-mother.
By eight or nine I was secretly checking the books after the aforementioned step-mother-who was robbing my dad, and thus the sibs and me, blind as a three day old fish.
Pop didn't want to hear it, although he must have noticed something, because for my birthday one year he gave me a really fine slide rule-which my step-mother promptly stole and pawned.
I'm a damned good business person, an outstanding business manager. I've no idea why anyone thinks that odd, given my homemaking skills-a good homemaker in my day (oh Christ, could my day really be so far in the past?) had to run an estate of well over 5K hectares! People starved if I screwed up-I got good at managing and I stayed that way.
I mean, stuff happens, right, and even the vest efforts can be momentarily thwarted by the avaricious; so there were a couple of lifetimes wherein Pinhead Boy (AKA husband of the lifetime) got us into some fine mess, and at least two or three wherein politics found it's way to our part of the world-I will never forget the last days of the siege of R__n; that woman's eyes as she held the body of her son, who'd starved along with half the population, she blamed me for insisting along with my lord that we live free or die. Ergo I confess to not caring much if the woman survivied the rape/pillage that ensued when that filthy little scum of a knave opened the gates for a loaf of bread, as I was too busy running to the highest tower for a jump-the whole damn thing then as now was about who ends with the most toys and I've had an aversion to being some fat bastard's toy since day one.
This life, to put it crudely, has been something of a majour bitch. It's been increasingly difficult to find hope for improvement.
You see, every single damn time I think, whew, that's done, something else crops up to make the last look like a cake walk comparitively.
Well, I've no-one to talk to. It's interesting how very quickly one discovers just who really is one's friends during a disaster, and I've been made clear on just how friendless I am since Christmas 1998-all of a sudden the cards dropped from well over 50 to the house to three-all from business people.
And the phone calls stopped when what few 'friends' I thought stalwart discover I couldn't treat for lunch/lend out a few quid against the next pay packet/help out with the garage bill that cropped up unexpectdly...
Add to that I'm funny 'bout A-paying my bills and B-keeping the aforementioned bills done to the barest minimum 'casue there is more to life than bills.
So, I've been going without much of anything really, so that I can pay the car note and my storage bill, and the rent, and now I find, looking at my bank statement online, that the company I've been permitting to auto-debit my account has been double dipping-the NSF fees are triple digit, and although I'm reporting them, I don't see the money coming back fast enough to provide even enough money to buy a couple of loaves of bread and a jar of peanut butter-the staples of my diet since I arrived here really, since Roomie, who told me I could stay rent-free for a few months before I got here and promptly changed that offer the minute I arrived and demanded all that I had on arrival-he even accepted the $20.00 in pennies from the piggy bank I started for my grandson! I found work three weeks later and he demanded two-thirds of every paycheck saying I owed him.
When I told him I needed to pay my last cell phone bill and make the car and storage bills he became rather frightening. As I've no-where to go, I ask you, what do I do?
So I started this blog, for amoung other things such as a 'safe' place to vent, for a place where the occassional visitor might leave a suggestion as to just what the bloody hell I should do-ya know, a bit of advice here, someone, anyone...
I've mentioned that elsewhere, too.
I got a comment on the last couple of days blog; it made me think and I made some changes hoping to make it easier. I read back over some to see what I sound like.
Truth is, from looking back, I'm fairly certain I won't be read again anytime soon-folks don't like Debbie Downers, myself included, so why read on?
I used to have a sense of humour, I miss it-I used to be able to make a laugh into food.
Things are so grim right now. What does meat and fruit taste like? I've forgot.
God help me, when did I become such a damn pity princess?
When did I become so bloody damn tired?