The boyfriend got his dream job a little over a week ago. I couldn't be more excited for him. His official title is "Project Leader for New Game Development". It sounds important, doesn't it?
I kind of feel bad now about yelling at him for spending so much time making mods that he wasn't getting paid for. It finally did pay off, just like he told me. He got his name out there, people saw it, and he got hired.
On a semi-related note, if anyone plays or knows anyone who plays Skyrim for PC, check out his mod Tytanis-The Ultimate Mod. He's done some great stuff on it.
He's working from home, which has been a double-edged sword so far. He's supposed to work about 40 hours a week, but some days, he'll get into a groove and work all night, and other days he's stuck and frustrated and doesn't work much.
He's also been really irritable when the kids or I have to interrupt him for anything. So I've tried to be out of the house with the kids as much as possible. I usually take T to school and bring either Princess or Goober with me. Then I run some errands, come home, eat lunch, and take both the kids to pick him up from school. We've been going to my parents' house every day from 3 until 7 or 8 every night so he can have time alone.
I'm just happy he's working and looking forward to being able to pay some of our debts as well as more of our living expenses. My parents have been paying my credit cards off so I could put food on the table for a while now. I'm just lucky they've been so supportive and have faith that we will be able to pay them back everything we owe them. I would be totally lost and screwed without their help.
Oh, and the kicker about the new job is that his dad finally got back to him about working doing powerwashing the day after he accepted the computer job. The man has been putting him off since last August, and he finally got around to keeping his promise once we didn't need it anymore. The boyfriend felt obligated for a few days to try and juggle both jobs, but he's not cut out for manual labor, and there's no reason he should jeopardize his dream job because he feels obligated to his dad (who always falls through on him anyway)
Showing posts with label family. Show all posts
Showing posts with label family. Show all posts
Friday, April 6, 2012
Monday, March 5, 2012
Sensitivity
When I was 9, I had a hamster. His name was Brownie, and he was a long-haired brown and white teddy bear hamster. He was awesome, and was the first pet I really loved. Brownie used to sit in my shirt pocket, and I spent hours with him every day. He had a neat plastic cage in my basement with an attached wheel, loop, and attic.
One morning, Brownie was gone. Vanished. I enlisted my family to search for him, but we had no luck. I cried for hours. I held out hope that he would show up again. My family encouraged me that we would find him.
They were all lying. Brownie got out because my dad accidentally forgot to close the attic part of his cage when he fed him that night. He found him less than a week later, after smelling him. He ate into the exposed insulation in the basement and died. My dad and younger sister buried him in the backyard with the rest of the pets that had passed on.
It was over 6 months before I found out what really happened. It crushed me. I dug up the body and cried some more. I guess I'm trying to say that my family has always felt the need to protect me from things that they think will upset me.
I've always been really sensitive. I still cry regularly over the death of my dog 4 years ago. I get upset incredibly easily, and I can stay upset for a long time. Even my boyfriend keeps things from me if he thinks they will bother me, and everyone who knows me well agrees that this is the right thing to do, even though sometimes it comes back and bites them in the ass.
I know everyone has my best interests at heart, but when I really think about it, it bothers me. It stinks that even though I am 27 years old, the people closest to me hide things from me on a pretty regular basis. I wish I had a thicker skin, and could take things in stride like everyone else. Instead, I take everything to heart, and it can eat me up for days, weeks, or longer.
When I get really upset about things, I just go through the motions of taking care of my kids, and I can be lax about it. I've used TV and junk food as a babysitter so I can sit and cry and dwell in bed. It's not like this happens all the time, or for no reason. I'm not depressed or anything. I'm just really sensitive, and things affect me a lot more deeply than they do to others.
It can be isolating. But do I really want people to just shove the truth at me if I can't handle it? I don't know. I guess it's good in a way that the people who care about me try to protect me. I've been through so much crap that sometimes, I think it's good to live in my own little world where people try to keep me happy. On the other hand, I'm never going to be really independent if everyone does this for me forever. I'm super happy being a mom and not having to work, but at the moment, I'm financially dependent on my family. The boyfriend has no job at the moment, so his mom and my mom cover our part of the rent. My parents pay my credit card and gas bills. They buy diapers for my kids. They're the ones paying for my groceries, since I can't afford it.
When I think about it, I have never been financially independent. Throughout college, my parents paid for everything, from my shopping sprees to my luxury apartments. After that, my ex and his family paid for everything, from my dinners out to vacations, to expensive clothes. When I was working, I could afford groceries, as long as I only bought the store brands, and that was it. Now, they pay for everything again.
On a good note, the boyfriend is supposed to start working for his dad again soon, which means he will have his old job back. The one I asked him to quit after T was born because he was at work so much. At least it will pay for the groceries and maybe give me enough money to start paying back my parents for everything they've paid for over the years.
I'm not sure where I really intended to go with this post, or how it ended up here, but it feels better to have gotten it all out.
One morning, Brownie was gone. Vanished. I enlisted my family to search for him, but we had no luck. I cried for hours. I held out hope that he would show up again. My family encouraged me that we would find him.
They were all lying. Brownie got out because my dad accidentally forgot to close the attic part of his cage when he fed him that night. He found him less than a week later, after smelling him. He ate into the exposed insulation in the basement and died. My dad and younger sister buried him in the backyard with the rest of the pets that had passed on.
It was over 6 months before I found out what really happened. It crushed me. I dug up the body and cried some more. I guess I'm trying to say that my family has always felt the need to protect me from things that they think will upset me.
I've always been really sensitive. I still cry regularly over the death of my dog 4 years ago. I get upset incredibly easily, and I can stay upset for a long time. Even my boyfriend keeps things from me if he thinks they will bother me, and everyone who knows me well agrees that this is the right thing to do, even though sometimes it comes back and bites them in the ass.
I know everyone has my best interests at heart, but when I really think about it, it bothers me. It stinks that even though I am 27 years old, the people closest to me hide things from me on a pretty regular basis. I wish I had a thicker skin, and could take things in stride like everyone else. Instead, I take everything to heart, and it can eat me up for days, weeks, or longer.
When I get really upset about things, I just go through the motions of taking care of my kids, and I can be lax about it. I've used TV and junk food as a babysitter so I can sit and cry and dwell in bed. It's not like this happens all the time, or for no reason. I'm not depressed or anything. I'm just really sensitive, and things affect me a lot more deeply than they do to others.
It can be isolating. But do I really want people to just shove the truth at me if I can't handle it? I don't know. I guess it's good in a way that the people who care about me try to protect me. I've been through so much crap that sometimes, I think it's good to live in my own little world where people try to keep me happy. On the other hand, I'm never going to be really independent if everyone does this for me forever. I'm super happy being a mom and not having to work, but at the moment, I'm financially dependent on my family. The boyfriend has no job at the moment, so his mom and my mom cover our part of the rent. My parents pay my credit card and gas bills. They buy diapers for my kids. They're the ones paying for my groceries, since I can't afford it.
When I think about it, I have never been financially independent. Throughout college, my parents paid for everything, from my shopping sprees to my luxury apartments. After that, my ex and his family paid for everything, from my dinners out to vacations, to expensive clothes. When I was working, I could afford groceries, as long as I only bought the store brands, and that was it. Now, they pay for everything again.
On a good note, the boyfriend is supposed to start working for his dad again soon, which means he will have his old job back. The one I asked him to quit after T was born because he was at work so much. At least it will pay for the groceries and maybe give me enough money to start paying back my parents for everything they've paid for over the years.
I'm not sure where I really intended to go with this post, or how it ended up here, but it feels better to have gotten it all out.
Friday, December 9, 2011
The Doorbell
The doorbell rang; I'm hiding in the kitchen. I hear the false voices of family greeting each other. I hate big family get togethers. Especially at my mom's house, when she drives my dad an me crazy for days, tells us she needs more help, then decides neither one of us can do anything right.
I hug my aunt, uncle, and cousins, listen to them gush about my kids for a few minutes, and retreat back to the kitchen and food that I've been preparing very slowly for a reason.
It's such a farce. My oldest cousin, who's my age, thinks he's hot shit because he's a CPA and acts like he knows everything and is smarter than everyone. There's no discussions with him; just lectures.
The next cousin is a year younger than me. We got along well as kids, but she's typical ditzy blonde ex-sorority girl who works all day, parties all night, and lives with her head in the clouds.
There's my semi-relatable cousin, who's 5 years younger than me. He has some issues, but he's good for conversation for a half hour or so, when I get creeped out by him staring at my boobs.
My youngest cousin is 16 and an angry teenager. She talks to no one, sitting silently with her ipod.
My aunt is fake nice, as long as everything is going her way. I can't stand it. She wears the pants in the family, and her husband and kids seem to defer to her.
My uncle thinks he's more important than he is. A big shot CFO at a fortune 500 company with the wife, kids, houses, rental properties, and golf skills. Oh, and a standing in the community because of his work with his church and as a basketball coach.
The 5 years we didn't speak to each other because of my uncle's affair sits like a gorilla in the room as the snow begins to fall.
This post was written in response to this week's Red Writing Hood prompt from Write on Edge.
We’d like you to craft a piece of fiction or creative non-fiction around the holiday season, keeping in mind that for some people “the holiday season” begins around Halloween and doesn’t end until well after the New Year is underway. The piece should begin with “The doorbell rang” and end with “snow began to fall.”
I hug my aunt, uncle, and cousins, listen to them gush about my kids for a few minutes, and retreat back to the kitchen and food that I've been preparing very slowly for a reason.
It's such a farce. My oldest cousin, who's my age, thinks he's hot shit because he's a CPA and acts like he knows everything and is smarter than everyone. There's no discussions with him; just lectures.
The next cousin is a year younger than me. We got along well as kids, but she's typical ditzy blonde ex-sorority girl who works all day, parties all night, and lives with her head in the clouds.
There's my semi-relatable cousin, who's 5 years younger than me. He has some issues, but he's good for conversation for a half hour or so, when I get creeped out by him staring at my boobs.
My youngest cousin is 16 and an angry teenager. She talks to no one, sitting silently with her ipod.
My aunt is fake nice, as long as everything is going her way. I can't stand it. She wears the pants in the family, and her husband and kids seem to defer to her.
My uncle thinks he's more important than he is. A big shot CFO at a fortune 500 company with the wife, kids, houses, rental properties, and golf skills. Oh, and a standing in the community because of his work with his church and as a basketball coach.
The 5 years we didn't speak to each other because of my uncle's affair sits like a gorilla in the room as the snow begins to fall.
This post was written in response to this week's Red Writing Hood prompt from Write on Edge.
We’d like you to craft a piece of fiction or creative non-fiction around the holiday season, keeping in mind that for some people “the holiday season” begins around Halloween and doesn’t end until well after the New Year is underway. The piece should begin with “The doorbell rang” and end with “snow began to fall.”
Tuesday, December 6, 2011
The Car Accident
The three of us giggled as we walked out of the firehouse and into my car. I was with my little sister and her best friend. We went to the firehouse to see my sister's boyfriend and his friends. It was always so much fun there. You would probably be surprised to find out what we all did in that firehouse-teenagers can be wild and crazy.
We drove out of the parking lot to head to the mall, which is where we told my dad we would be. I had just gotten my driver's license two weeks ago, so my parents wanted to know where I would be with the car at all times.
There was an intersection that had a blinky red light, but it should have had a traffic light. The people with the right of way were either going up or coming down a hill that peaked maybe 20 yards from the cross street. I stopped at the red light on the cross street, looked both ways, and put my foot on the gas.
That's when the red Camaro came shooting over the top of the hill and into the back of my car. I was horrified. We were all okay, but the car wasn't. I didn't even have the car for a month and it was messed up. Then the guy in the Camaro got out with a baseball bat in hand, screaming at us. My horror turned to terror as I floored it and drove away.
Thankfully, the guy didn't follow us, I knew you weren't supposed to drive away from an accident, but
at the time, it seemed like the right thing to do. We pulled into a nearby school parking lot to check out the damage. My entire rear bumper was dangling off the car. It was only held on by 1 bolt. There was also damage to the rear wheel well and the side of the car.
I felt even worse after I saw the damage. The three of us decided that my dad would be really mad if he found out what happened. So we drove to the mall we were supposed to have been at the entire time. Then we called my dad and told him someone must have hit my car when it was parked in the parking lot. After he came, we made a report with mall security.
To this day, my dad has no idea that the car wasn't really hit in the parking lot. Looking back, I can't believe I was more afraid of my dad being mad than I was of the bat-wielding Camaro driver. I just hope that asshole totaled his car that afternoon.
This week's RemembeRED prompt from Write on Edge is a flash prompt using the word crash. Take the next ten minutes to write about the first single memory that word calls up. Focus on the emotions and the experience, spend ten minutes really exploring that memory. Then wrap it up, publish, and come back to link up.
We drove out of the parking lot to head to the mall, which is where we told my dad we would be. I had just gotten my driver's license two weeks ago, so my parents wanted to know where I would be with the car at all times.
There was an intersection that had a blinky red light, but it should have had a traffic light. The people with the right of way were either going up or coming down a hill that peaked maybe 20 yards from the cross street. I stopped at the red light on the cross street, looked both ways, and put my foot on the gas.
That's when the red Camaro came shooting over the top of the hill and into the back of my car. I was horrified. We were all okay, but the car wasn't. I didn't even have the car for a month and it was messed up. Then the guy in the Camaro got out with a baseball bat in hand, screaming at us. My horror turned to terror as I floored it and drove away.
Thankfully, the guy didn't follow us, I knew you weren't supposed to drive away from an accident, but
at the time, it seemed like the right thing to do. We pulled into a nearby school parking lot to check out the damage. My entire rear bumper was dangling off the car. It was only held on by 1 bolt. There was also damage to the rear wheel well and the side of the car.
I felt even worse after I saw the damage. The three of us decided that my dad would be really mad if he found out what happened. So we drove to the mall we were supposed to have been at the entire time. Then we called my dad and told him someone must have hit my car when it was parked in the parking lot. After he came, we made a report with mall security.
To this day, my dad has no idea that the car wasn't really hit in the parking lot. Looking back, I can't believe I was more afraid of my dad being mad than I was of the bat-wielding Camaro driver. I just hope that asshole totaled his car that afternoon.
This week's RemembeRED prompt from Write on Edge is a flash prompt using the word crash. Take the next ten minutes to write about the first single memory that word calls up. Focus on the emotions and the experience, spend ten minutes really exploring that memory. Then wrap it up, publish, and come back to link up.
Thursday, December 1, 2011
What I've Gotten Through
This week, the prompt from Mama Kat's that struck me the most was 1.) What did you go through in order to get out? “The best way out is always through” (Inspired by Shatterboxx and some dude named Robert Frost).
I have struggled with demons since I was a teenager. For a long time, I never thought I would get out. Addiction and other self-destructive behaviors made it seem like there was no light at the end of the trouble. But eventually, I did, and I really do credit it to my kids. Becoming a mom totally changed my life. I'm pretty sure I would be in prison, dead, or in a very bad way if I hadn't gotten pregnant when I did.
But I'm getting ahead of myself. I was always a little self-destructive. I've written a lot about how I was bullied in school, and to deal with it, I started drinking when I was 12 and cutting myself once I was in high school. But things didn't get really out of control until I met my first boyfriend in community college. He was disabled and we met when he asked me to help him smoke pot before class. I should have cut and run, but I didn't. I liked that he noticed me, and that ego boost was all I needed to get totally sucked in for the next 5 years.
I should have broken it off when he told me he needed me to drive his friends to rob someone for weed. I didn't. I should have never looked back after I ended up shut in a closet with garbage bags full of pot while police searched the house I was in. I stayed.
He promised me a lot. His parents were very wealthy, and I got all new clothes, constant dinners at fancy restaurants, vacations, and the promise of a house. I was caught up in the idea that I could get everything I wanted and not have to work for it. I didn't know how much it would cost me-I was 18 and incredibly naive.
When he told me I only had friends because of him, I believed him. He convinced me that I was damaged goods and that no one would ever love me but him. He was controlling, even when I was in college in Philadelphia and he was in New York. I drove home every weekend to be with him. When I wasn't with him, he was constantly calling me to make sure I was too busy to do anything else but talk to him.
It was my first relationship, and I believed it was how love really worked. Looking back, it makes me sick (and really sad) that I couldn't see how damaging and wrong I was. I stopped talking to my family because he convinced me they were trying to break us up so I would never be happy.
Things got really bad when the hard drugs got involved. Have I mentioned he became disabled in the first place because of a car accident due to being high on heroin and whippets? You'd think one would learn from that. Anyway, it started with a few pills, then led to coke and heroin, and finally led to crack.
I had a dark few years there, and I don't remember a lot (which I think may be a good thing, although now I have a terrible memory and sometimes people get annoyed that I repeat things a lot, or don't remember something important they told me).
I do remember the crazy drug runs and week-long binges, the lying, the stealing, the selling of prostitutes, the paranoia, the cheap motel rooms, and finally, when things got really bad, the bartering of me for drugs. It really sucked.
We finally broke up when he threw me under the bus once and for all to save his own ass. He had asked me to take a bunch of money out of one of his accounts (since he was disabled, he couldn't use the ATM). His father was furious when he found out, and when confronted, my ex told him I stole the card and took the money out and he had no idea. Of course, I was the one on the bank's surveillance videos. I consider myself incredibly lucky I didn't go to prison.
Once the relationship was over, I was so incredibly relieved. I managed to stay away from the drugs for a while, but my ex kept calling me. He still needed someone to help him do drugs, and apparently, he didn't care that he almost ruined my entire life (drugs will do that to a person-all you care about is getting more drugs-nothing and no one else matters). I fell for it and continued to do drugs.
When I met the boyfriend, I finally stopped seeing my ex. I still couldn't kick the drugs, though, and for a while, the boyfriend and I were spiraling out of control. Then I realized I was pregnant, and it changed my life. It did what no rehab could do-make me see that there was something to really live for, something much more important than the pull of any drug.
I went through a whole lot of hell before I came out on top. I've seen things and done things most other moms who see me walking around with my kids would never guess. I consider myself lucky for coming out unscathed for the most part. Yeah, I rotted my teeth with the drugs, compromised myself and my morals, permanently damaged the inside of my nose, and ruined my memory, but I'm alive, sober, and happy.
It doesn't take much for me to look back and think of how bad things could have been. I could very well have been that homeless crackhead prostitute you see when you go into a bad neighborhood. I could have been that dead body in the gutter, forgotten by all until some off-leash dog finally discovered me. I could have been locked behind bars for 20 years.
Instead, I learned what love really is, both the relationship kind of love and the unconditional love you can never imagine until you have a child. I learned that life is worth living. I learned that anyone who tries to tear me down or convince me I am not worth it is the one who isn't worth it. I learned having money can't buy happiness or love. I learned that real friends are the ones who stick around through good and bad, not just when you do drugs with them or give them shit. I learned that there are a lot of people who will just hang around you because of drugs and money, and those are people I want to stay far away from.
But the most important thing I got out of it all is that I can get through anything. No matter what life throws at me, no matter how bad things may seem, they will get better, and I will fight to come out on top of whatever life may throw at me.
I have struggled with demons since I was a teenager. For a long time, I never thought I would get out. Addiction and other self-destructive behaviors made it seem like there was no light at the end of the trouble. But eventually, I did, and I really do credit it to my kids. Becoming a mom totally changed my life. I'm pretty sure I would be in prison, dead, or in a very bad way if I hadn't gotten pregnant when I did.
But I'm getting ahead of myself. I was always a little self-destructive. I've written a lot about how I was bullied in school, and to deal with it, I started drinking when I was 12 and cutting myself once I was in high school. But things didn't get really out of control until I met my first boyfriend in community college. He was disabled and we met when he asked me to help him smoke pot before class. I should have cut and run, but I didn't. I liked that he noticed me, and that ego boost was all I needed to get totally sucked in for the next 5 years.
I should have broken it off when he told me he needed me to drive his friends to rob someone for weed. I didn't. I should have never looked back after I ended up shut in a closet with garbage bags full of pot while police searched the house I was in. I stayed.
He promised me a lot. His parents were very wealthy, and I got all new clothes, constant dinners at fancy restaurants, vacations, and the promise of a house. I was caught up in the idea that I could get everything I wanted and not have to work for it. I didn't know how much it would cost me-I was 18 and incredibly naive.
When he told me I only had friends because of him, I believed him. He convinced me that I was damaged goods and that no one would ever love me but him. He was controlling, even when I was in college in Philadelphia and he was in New York. I drove home every weekend to be with him. When I wasn't with him, he was constantly calling me to make sure I was too busy to do anything else but talk to him.
It was my first relationship, and I believed it was how love really worked. Looking back, it makes me sick (and really sad) that I couldn't see how damaging and wrong I was. I stopped talking to my family because he convinced me they were trying to break us up so I would never be happy.
Things got really bad when the hard drugs got involved. Have I mentioned he became disabled in the first place because of a car accident due to being high on heroin and whippets? You'd think one would learn from that. Anyway, it started with a few pills, then led to coke and heroin, and finally led to crack.
I had a dark few years there, and I don't remember a lot (which I think may be a good thing, although now I have a terrible memory and sometimes people get annoyed that I repeat things a lot, or don't remember something important they told me).
I do remember the crazy drug runs and week-long binges, the lying, the stealing, the selling of prostitutes, the paranoia, the cheap motel rooms, and finally, when things got really bad, the bartering of me for drugs. It really sucked.
We finally broke up when he threw me under the bus once and for all to save his own ass. He had asked me to take a bunch of money out of one of his accounts (since he was disabled, he couldn't use the ATM). His father was furious when he found out, and when confronted, my ex told him I stole the card and took the money out and he had no idea. Of course, I was the one on the bank's surveillance videos. I consider myself incredibly lucky I didn't go to prison.
Once the relationship was over, I was so incredibly relieved. I managed to stay away from the drugs for a while, but my ex kept calling me. He still needed someone to help him do drugs, and apparently, he didn't care that he almost ruined my entire life (drugs will do that to a person-all you care about is getting more drugs-nothing and no one else matters). I fell for it and continued to do drugs.
When I met the boyfriend, I finally stopped seeing my ex. I still couldn't kick the drugs, though, and for a while, the boyfriend and I were spiraling out of control. Then I realized I was pregnant, and it changed my life. It did what no rehab could do-make me see that there was something to really live for, something much more important than the pull of any drug.
I went through a whole lot of hell before I came out on top. I've seen things and done things most other moms who see me walking around with my kids would never guess. I consider myself lucky for coming out unscathed for the most part. Yeah, I rotted my teeth with the drugs, compromised myself and my morals, permanently damaged the inside of my nose, and ruined my memory, but I'm alive, sober, and happy.
It doesn't take much for me to look back and think of how bad things could have been. I could very well have been that homeless crackhead prostitute you see when you go into a bad neighborhood. I could have been that dead body in the gutter, forgotten by all until some off-leash dog finally discovered me. I could have been locked behind bars for 20 years.
Instead, I learned what love really is, both the relationship kind of love and the unconditional love you can never imagine until you have a child. I learned that life is worth living. I learned that anyone who tries to tear me down or convince me I am not worth it is the one who isn't worth it. I learned having money can't buy happiness or love. I learned that real friends are the ones who stick around through good and bad, not just when you do drugs with them or give them shit. I learned that there are a lot of people who will just hang around you because of drugs and money, and those are people I want to stay far away from.
But the most important thing I got out of it all is that I can get through anything. No matter what life throws at me, no matter how bad things may seem, they will get better, and I will fight to come out on top of whatever life may throw at me.
Saturday, November 19, 2011
The Thanksgiving Table
The children giggle, throwing silverware and bits of napkin at each other while little feet kick furiously under the cover of the tablecloth.
The dog pitifully yaps, begging to be let out of its crate to enjoy the meal he's smelled cooking all day long.
Aunts and uncles chatter loudly about the insignificant, refilling their wine glasses one too many times.
Grandma slumps forward in the high-backed chair, snoring gently while false teeth click together.
"Ahem!" knife clinking loudly against glass, "We gather together to ask the Lord's blessing..."
The meal has begun.
This post was written in response to this week's prompt from Jenny Matlock's Saturday Centus. The prompt this week: "We gather together to ask the Lord's blessing". Word count not to exceed 100 words plus the prompt.
The dog pitifully yaps, begging to be let out of its crate to enjoy the meal he's smelled cooking all day long.
Aunts and uncles chatter loudly about the insignificant, refilling their wine glasses one too many times.
Grandma slumps forward in the high-backed chair, snoring gently while false teeth click together.
"Ahem!" knife clinking loudly against glass, "We gather together to ask the Lord's blessing..."
The meal has begun.
This post was written in response to this week's prompt from Jenny Matlock's Saturday Centus. The prompt this week: "We gather together to ask the Lord's blessing". Word count not to exceed 100 words plus the prompt.
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