Alive, yes. Sane, uh…Not really. Brain’s still trying to do wonderful things. This morning I lost a chunk of time and forgot where the hell I was and thank Christ I wasn’t on a train when it happened. Then, to boot, I almost passed out in stats class. The almost passin’ out was sorta kinda my fault though as I wasn’t being very nice to my body, I admit. I hadn’t eaten anything between the hours of 3 PM yesterday and…we’ll call it… 5:15 pm tonight. Part of that was because I was still unamused/unhappy/panicky, part of it was a genuine lack of time and lack of wanting my shit to disappear off the university campus if I left it hiding somewhere and walked away. Just my luck, my shit would pull a shane’s shit in late January and pull a disappearing act if I left it somewhere. And it wouldn’t just be my tech, it would’ve been my clothes and shower thingies and the rest. So yes I forfeited lunch to watch my stuff.
Yeah that would’ve been a great call to make, “Uh, yeah, I’m on campus, my shit’s missing.”
Hey, at least I came home and my mother didn’t threaten to institutionalize me or something. I was waitin’ for that when I made the call to my cousin who works across the street from the college, “Yo, come get me.”
Totaly expected her to walk in the door and clock out on the nearest flip-a-shit-ometer. I expected to be stuffed in the local psych unit strapped down and hooked to an IV by now, no lie. Everyone remained calm, no flip-a-shit-ometers were overclocked or broken in the process, my cousin had an escape plan for me if it got to the point where I needed out right the fuck now. He told me straight. “if you need to get out of there, you text me. I’ve seen what your mother can do to your brain, it’s not good. You look like you’ve already had several brain meltdowns today.”
My dad didn’t flip out, but it was my mother’s reaction that ok, shocked the shit outa me. My mother hugged me and actually cried. Standard-issue wiseass me probably would’ve said something along the lines of, “Who are you and what’d you do with MotherZilla?”
Nobody flipped a shit, probably because they were warned that I’d flipped several recently and probably would’ve volluntarily committed myself if anyone else, including me, flipped their shit again. Shit’s still up in the air, I’m trying not to panic anymore because then I really will have to be hospitalized, and I’d really, really rather not, thank you. I mean, I get it that Murphy hates me, but this shit’s gotta stop somewhere, seriously. I shouldn’t wake up in the morning and immediately start thinking I don’t deserve to breathe. On that note, I know it’s before 9 PM, but methinks it’s time to punk out and go curl up with my kid. Unless she’s still mad at me for hanging out with my friend’s dog, well, then, don’t know what to tell her. 😛
motherzilla
This day can go fornicate its metaphorical matriarchal unit.
A quicky because I’m trying to figure out what to do about the last item on the list, because apparently somebody thought I needed yet more crap to add to the disaster that my existence is currently behaving like. And no, we’re not actually making an html list out of it this evening because I’d have to look up how to do it and my goal is not to make it look pretty, it’s to write.
1. Commuting? If you have a 9:30 class? Isn’t how it rocks. Unless you’re lucky and you live, oh, down the street. I realize where I’m going’s the middle of nowhere, but MBTA, do you really need to make it that hard to get to?
2. Also related Trying to get back here was less than amusing. If we tell you we’re stopping at Porter Square, that doesn’t mean we wanna go to North Station. Also, if your automated announcements are broken, use your big mouth.
3. All I’m gonna say about item 3 which technically should’ve been item 2 if we’re doing the chronological thing which we’re not, and only I’ll know what I’m referring to… Is WTF.
4. Oy. You. Yeah. You. Out there. 4.0. You know who I’m talking to. I’m living. I’m breathing. I wasn’t actually mugged Friday night like I thought I was gonna be. Now, you either think I belong in a group home, or you think I’m an adult. If you think I’m an adult, then act like one yourself.
5. Editing ftw kids. Oh, wait, someone already took care of that for me. Thanks. Yeah. that’s just what’s needed. Because I trusted you not to put me in a position wherein I could become perma homeless and you broke that trust. Well, you know something? fuck you.
Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m gonna go try and figure out how the hell to stop the universe so I can get off. No, not like that, you pervs. I know at least one of you was thinkin’ it. Drinking sounds like a good idea, now let’s go see how much I can handle before I’m hospitalized or dead. I’d prefer the later.
my First post. Also Holy shit, the childishness, It hurts my brain.
I am not happy, hence why shane has given me the floor, so to speak, as I believe he fears my head may actually explode. Normally, my Twitter account is my happy bitch, but 140 characters was not going to do this justice. I already almost squished some poor guy on my way to get the caffeine Wes told me to go get. Normally, I don’t do the blog thing. I’ve said before in my twitter feed that “It’s too damn time consuming, I’d forget about it and walk the hell off without even thinking. I’ve got way too much going on to worry about a damn blog.” Shane’s solution to the problem, instead of me blowing money on a domain I won’t use, is to give me author priveliges. That’s cool, that’s nifty, I can totally live with it. If something breaks, it won’t be mine to worry about. I just squeak, and it gets fixed. Kinda like I just had to do with my keyboard, actually. Whoops?
My keyboard just tried to do that cool thing wherein it tries to fall apart and Shane tells it, “No, sorry, you’re not dying yet.” oh yeah that was fun. Mostly blind me searching for a tiny plastic thinggy on the floor, wondering just how in the hell it was attached to the damn keyboard in the first place… Ah, yes, but that was just the perfect way to top this evening off, as if what I saw 10 minutes before wasn’t enough. You’re probably thinking “Oh for Christ’s sakes, what blew up now?”
Hell, I’ve got chocolate, I’ve got caffeine, I’ve got Pandora, and I got all night, let’s go. We’ll start from the top, as that’s as good a place as any. Shane, you’ll regret this, or kill me, one of the two…
First it has to be understood that my mother has never liked Shane. She took us both out to dinner, once, and was fine with him. Absolutely fine, didn’t even flip out too badly about him staying here with me. And Christ, my dad? My dad was cool with it! You’d think he’d be the one flipping a shit because some strange dude he didn’t know was living with his daughter for 2.5 weeks, but no. That, however, was in November. Shane left here, mid November, inadvertently leaving behind a prescription medication he was taking for his knee, and a bottle, which he was told was unlabeled, but was actually *inappropriately* labeled with someone else’s name, and looked like a prescription. Said bottle actually contained tylenol, but of course MotherZilla immediately labeled him a drug dealer in her head. Now, come on. anyone can make a mistake, and considering who Shane was living with at the time, it’s little wonder that they gave him a weird-looking bottle and lied to him about how it was labeled. I, for one, wasn’t surprised. A touch peeved at Shane at the time for sticking me in that situation, but I got over it. Anyone can screw up like that, it could’ve just as easily been me, leaving my prescription meds at his place if I went up there. This, however, is the princess. And…well… if you know me at all, you’ll know why I call her the princess. She hit a 20 on the flip-a-shit-ometer, lost her shit, and has never thought the same of him since.
We hit fast forward real quick to last week. I didn’t want a birthday party this year, unless shane could come. I wanted him to meet the family, and that, in my mind, was the primary purpose of a birthday party. Last year’s birthday festivities kinda broke my brain, tossed me on the ground, and ran over me with a truck, as they were sort of mandated by a death in the family. So I was kinda done with the whole OMG looky it’s a birthday, thing, and I told the family as much. Their listening skills are apparently that of a 3 year old child, with severe ADHD, after several sugar cubes and some Mountain Dew thrown in for good measure. So MotherZilla’s about to come pick me up last Friday. I ask her, politely, if shane could come, as I wanted him to meet everyone else. She hits a 50 on the flip-a-shit-ometer. During her tantrum, she also accused shane of playing a “game.” Said game, in her head, may or may not include him intercepting my voicemails and emails. We know he’s good, but he ain’t that good.
And then… tonight, the following happens.
I get back from my night class, grab Shane caffeine because he’s in the middle of a test, and sit down to do the last fly-through of student, (and unfortunately personal), email accounts. I know for a fact shane has posted about my mother’s 39 going on 3 attitude of late, because I commented on one of said posts, explaining it further. My mother’s always been somewhat of… well to borrow some words from one of my twitter followers… “a psychotic, neurotic, and unkind individual.” Some people may call her overprotective, but lately I just call it, “Holy fuck, the crazy, it burns.” and oh, does it ever burn. I’m flipping through mail, and I find… this.
wrote:
> If you need me to complete the FAFSA for next year financial aid, you need to let me know. Usually it is due 2-14 but you didn’t say anything to me and I just remembered, I haven’t even filed my taxes yet. I guess it doesn’t really matter anyhow since you can’t return any emails, texts, or calls from either Nana
My response to the princess’s latest bitchfest was a simple,
Yes Please.
I do not make any income. I do not, as of yet, pay taxes, as I, well, don’t make any income. She needs to fill out the FAFSA whether she feels like being a bitch princess or not, as the government needs to determine that neither she, nor I, can pull money out of our ass to pay for my education.
My grandmother also has it in her head that he’s taking advantage of me. I think not. He took me out to lunch the other day, (and made me late for statistics, thanks, dear). He also bought me dinner Friday night after my mother pitched her childish fit, and has either paid for himself, or we’ve used my university meal plan to pay for his food, the entire time he’s been here, even when his wallet up and fucked off. We went to WalMart the other day and it was, ” What do you want to eat? Speak up, because you need to eat, too, not just Rick and myself. And what do you need? And no, nothing is not the answer, because I’m sure you need *something*.” I mean, hell, even after I ran to get him a drink, and 15 minutes later grabbed myself one before I shot someone, he ran to get chocolate, and brought some back for me on his own dime. Does that sound like he’s taking advantage of me? Absolutely not. Shit, even when his wallet fucked off, the two of us actively pursued the means for him to stay here without anally raping my minimal resources with a spork, and we thank those of you who helped.
anyone have any ideas of what to do about defective family members? Unfortunately, they didn’t come with instruction manuals.
