Still with me? All right, then. You had your chance. I'm not going to apologize for what you're going to read next.
I’ve mentioned before that I haven’t been having the greatest time of things these days. In fact, the last few months have been rather hellish. I’ve noticed a theme and that theme is Murphy’s Law. Now, bear with me; here’s where it starts to get rant-y.
Let’s begin with all of the little things that go wrong. For instance, my home life.
(Just a disclaimer: Any complaints directed at The Mister aren’t really fair. He is currently one of the few things still keeping me sane and is probably the best thing that has ever happened to me and I love him more than I love snack cakes. But I’m feeling bitchy and he happens to be standing on the firing range.)
I live in a tiny apartment. Miniscule. And it’s full of animals because I have no self control and nobody stopped me from getting all of these pets and cramming them into my tiny apartment. I’m working full time, attending college with a ¾ course load, and performing with my band every weekend. I have no time to do anything, much less clean up after my plethora of pets. The Mister goes to school. The rest of his time is spent playing video games and waiting for me to come home. Cleaning? Not without being forced to by me. Don’t get me wrong, he’s astoundingly thorough once he gets going. But he has ZERO motivation to do so if I’m not there.
Last month, when I tried to add Writing A Novel to the giant stack of responsibilities (disastrous, yes it was) I expressed my distress over the sight and smell of the living room a few times, usually accompanied by sobbing over how overwhelmed I was by life. He reassured me each time that he would take care of it, not to worry about the chores, he wanted me to succeed, etc… I guess what he really meant was that he wouldn’t mind leaving it like it is until I’ve cleared enough off my plate to start doing all of the chores again. Yeaaah. Thanks. Very helpful. So rather than keeping it clean a little at a time, I’m now going to have to devote at least a full weekend to gathering up and taking out the piles of garbage, disposing of animal waste, steam-cleaning all of the carpets, doing 10 loads of laundry, scrubbing out the fridge, sweeping and mopping, unclogging the tub and bathroom sink, digging out the study, and finding and washing every single dish in the house except for the two plates and fork that are somehow, miraculously clean and put away.
Dishes. Oh, yes. How difficult is it to scrape the food scraps into the garbage can when you bring your plate to the sink? The garbage can is only a few feet away. Scrape and rinse, it’s pretty simple. I’m going to need a mask to protect myself from the fungal spores that are growing in the terrarium that used to be the kitchen sink. There are wads of napkins in there. I guarantee you I did not put them there. There’s only one other person in the house. Does he LIKE wads of paper fiber clogging the sink? Did he want to turn the kitchen counter into a stagnant cesspool of nastiness? I can’t even bring myself to reach in there and pull them out. I’m a germaphobic, obsessive-compulsive hand-washer. I freak out when I get splashed while rinsing crumbs off my plate. I can’t handle that sink. It’s developing intelligence. There are organisms in there. I’m thinking I need a flamethrower, not a dishrag, for this.
And the sink itself. Which moron designed a sink that’s so shallow you can barely fit an average saucepan between the drain and the faucet? Doing dishes is the equivalent of running through the sprinkler six or seven times. Might as well put on a bathing suit. In fact, the whole kitchen is fucked. No usable counter space, the wiring is so bad that if the fuse blows if the microwave and the toaster are on at the same time, and the stove apparently has only one temperature setting, which should be labeled: FLAMES OF HELL. Grilled cheese sandwich? More like lump-of-carbon sandwich! At least it only took 13 seconds to cook. No need to waste more time than that on food I won’t even get to eat.
Actually the stove temperature is moot-point, since the stove top is UNUSABLE due to the STACKS OF SODA CANS AND BOTTLES. The recycling bin is literally next to the oven. Right next to it. Shift that stack six inches to the left and it would be IN the bin. I was curious as to why it would be more preferable to stack them on the only cooking surface in the kitchen, so I went ahead and asked. His justification? “I didn’t want the bin to get full.”
Wow. Genius. If the cans aren’t in the bin, then you don’t have to take the recycling out with the garbage. Of course. Why didn’t I think of that? We’ll never have to take out any trash ever again! That will save us TONS of work!
Speaking of tons of work, how about the laundry piled up in the bedroom? If I work five nights a week and spend the other two playing gigs, then I’m probably not going to have time to do your laundry. You might actually have to do it yourself. I can’t always be the one to say, “Hey, let’s pop down to the Laundromat and wash these smelly clothes.” I know I usually wash, dry, and fold everything, but you were capable of doing it before we moved in together and I really doubt you somehow forgot how a washing machine works.
Hmm. After going back and rereading that, I realized I sound rather like a petulant child. And to be fair, since I wrote that a couple days ago, he did wash a few loads of dishes, cleaned out the sink (sorta), and did the laundry all without me making him. He even took out the garbage and most of the recycling. It took him a while to get around to it, but he did do it.
I’m still going to leave what I wrote, though. The house was like that for over a month, the whole time he was telling me he would “take care of it.” My ire is legitimate.\
That’s just the stuff at home. My family life…I won’t even go into that because I’m going to break down and start bawling again and I just really don’t want to think about it. That was the main thing that destroyed my NaNoWriMo. And in the end, all of the effort I poured into helping that one person was meaningless, because they went right back to the way they were. I still love them, but they’re not getting any more of me. I’m done. It took me 20 years to realize that it’s their decision and they have to live with it. I don’t. I’m not going to reach out anymore. If they decide they want to fix their life and ask for my help, I might consider it. But I’m sure as hell not offering it any more.
Work has been miserable. I’m manager now, which means all of the shit gets dumped on me and everyone expects me to fix their problems for them. I’m not a miracle worker. And I’m not getting any support from my superiors, because they’re busy with the shitstorm of lawsuits that some upset employees have brought down on them. At least they still have time to let me know that I’m not doing my job well enough. Kinda wish they would tell me their expectations rather than just criticize me, but I guess that’s asking for too much. Obviously, I must have missed the part of my job description where it says I need to be a mind-reader and automatically know what they want me to do. Back when I was promoted, I asked the program manager what exactly my duties would be. She answered, “Oh, you know, just the usual stuff. And anything else I need you to do.” Laughed when I asked her to elaborate a little more on that. Told me I would “figure it out quick” since I’ve done such a good job so far.
Oh, and it would be really cool if I could get my paycheck on time. Even better if it would actually have the correct amount on it. But again, I know I’m asking for a lot. I shouldn’t be so selfish.
Ugh. I’m losing steam. Just going through all of this mentally is exhausting. I better wrap this up.
To top it all off, we were hit with a MASSIVE blizzard this past weekend. 20 inches of snow. The drifts are piled up so high at the intersections, I can’t even see around them without pulling out! I’ve gotten stuck TWICE, burned through an entire tank of gas in two days, and some inattentive driver pulled out of a driveway and wrecked my passenger side door. I don’t have insurance because I can barely afford to pay my rent. Plus, I got a parking ticket the ONE TIME I had to park on the wrong side of the street because there was snow piled up in the only other spot and we NEVER GET PLOWED. I’m a paranoid wreck while driving because people are fucking maniacs and won’t slow down even though everything is iced over. I’m supposed to drive my clients around while I’m in this condition? I think I’m getting an ulcer. I might just die.
Plus, my laptop broke and I have 4 huge projects due and they’re all on a computer that doesn’t have a working screen. The only reason I’m not failing my classes is because I can take my homework with me to my job and squeeze in a few minutes every once in a while to do it. But now that my laptop is tethered to a spare monitor at home, my only time to do homework is at 11:00 at night when I have to get up for an 8am class every day. My grades have fallen from a high A to a C in the last two weeks. I’m not even going to class half the time because I’m so strung out and messed up over everything. I have no money, debt piling up around my ears, and I’m starting to think I should just check myself into the psych ward and save everyone the time.
In conclusion, my life is hell right now.
Okay, I’m glad that’s off my chest. I actually feel a bit better, too. Sorry for the epic whining post, but I really needed that. I promise, someday I won’t use my blog to emo-bitch about how much I suck. In fact, I promise the next post will be something pleasant and interesting and won’t make people want to punch me in the face. Pinky-swear.
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