I Want To Be Just Like Her When I Grow Up.Posted: February 10, 2014
My daughter, Jessie, found this on Pinterest and sent it to me today. I had to laugh. This hit home. My girl is a chip off the old Pissy. I needed a good laugh. It’s been sucking around here lately and I’ve the waistline to prove it.
I ate an entire Pepperidge Farm Coconut 3-Layer cake in eighteen hours. I’m being kind to myself when I say eighteen, because to be perfectly honest it would be more accurate to say seven, as I ate half yesterday afternoon and evening, the other half right when I woke up this morning.
I think I’m suffering from depression again. It’s appears I’m eating my way through this shitty winter.
This has been a particularly harsh winter. Not as harsh as I’ve experienced in the past at times, but having thought all that living primitive shit was behind me, it’s been frustrating to go through it again. “Brrrr” cold doesn’t even begin to describe it. But that’s not the worst of it. It’s just been fucking miserable all the way around.
It really started in the fall around the same time I posted my birthday pics of the covered bridges. I guess I didn’t elaborate much that things were going to hell in a hand basket, because I was in denial and hoping they were mere set-backs and things would improve. Umm…not so much. Serves me right for thinking!
Indeed, things seem to have imploded in my life. I finally came to the end of my rope dealing with the emotional spill caused by my daughter being in what I deem a very unhealthy relationship, realized I could no longer in good conscience condone it, and the result has caused a breach in my relationship with my daughter. Other than a few emails we haven’t spoken for months. So it’s good when I get some little “I’m thinking about you” email like this, because it lets me know she still cares. I can’t begin to describe how it feels to make a decision to let someone you love live their life without your interference, while continuing to worry about their health and well-being while doing so. It’s emotionally exhausting and painful, to say the least. Also, my son, Jud, violated his parole, and is back in prison. Yep, my cup just runneth over.
I tried desperately to ignore the holidays. I didn’t put up a tree, decorate, shop, nor made any plans. I did some drastic things like cut off all my hair into a pixie and colored it a terrible shade that doesn’t suit me at all. I made New Year’s Resolutions to start eating healthier, exercising, and blogging at least weekly which I haven’t kept, so add guilt over being weak on top of everything else, and all the while I continued to feed the unhappiness with sugar.
Living life on a daily basis with depression and anxiety when things are going well is hard enough, dealing with it while trying to handle ‘family issues’ can be difficult, trying to juggle all of it when the weather takes a turn and makes your living conditions intolerable, just plains SUCKS!
The cold has been brutal. The old fuse box with its ancient wiring finally gave out. It caught on fire one afternoon and I got an opportunity to use the fire extinguisher and play firefighter. Scared the shit out of me. I made the best of it though, invited my niece and her husband over for cocktails, and we just hunkered down in front of the fireplace to pass the time while the Old Man froze his ass off in the cellar replacing it that night. I was never so happy to have power again when it came back on and felt gratitude for the heat we once again had in our house. That was short lived.
The furnace went out not long after. One day it was rattling and the next day kaput. This was not as easy a fix. It took a week to figure out what parts were bad, get them, and then get them installed. A WEEK! A WEEK WITH NO HEAT! A WEEK WITH NO HEAT IN THE FROZEN TUNDRA!
Needless to say, the house basically shut down. Everything froze up. And though we finally got it going the other day, the pipes in the kitchen are still froze and dishes are piled high on the counter awaiting the next thaw. Oh, I suppose I could lug water, fill the basin, and get them washed up, but it just seemed easier yesterday to shed a few tears, call the Old Man and have him bring me home a coconut cake, and take my misery out on it instead. The dishes could wait, but I determined my sanity would not.
I looked at myself in the mirror this morning and ran my hands through what’s left of my hair. I look old and feel very tired. My friend, sugar, has filled more than just an emotional void, and I stepped warily away from the scale at my feet lest I add more insult to injury. I stood in the kitchen in my robe sipping on coffee, looked at the mess, and walked away. I found myself on my knees cleaning the ash out of the fireplace like Cinderella shortly after, but found no motivation to get a fire started. I sat down on my computer, saw the little diddy my daughter sent me, and decided to write. I finally felt I had something to say.
I wish I was the humorous blogger I used to be. I wish I once again had uplifting, positive things to say. I’ve drug my feet with a heavy heart through my blog the past couple of years giving just enough of myself to keep it going, while wishing all the while she would return so my readers—though few now—would not have to continue treading through my toxic waste. I think I’ve finally resigned myself to the fact though that she—the pissy kitty you all once knew—might just be gone for good and this is what’s left. It’s the little things that ever so subtly over the course of time chip away and alters who we are, and I am no different.
Youth really is wasted on the young. They don’t realize that beauty and health fade, and that opportunity missed won’t necessarily present itself again. They make the mistake that many of us have in believing there’s always more time. More time to fix what’s broken, more time to let go if you can’t, and more time to start over again. I’m here to tell you that time is not kind. That it slips quickly by, stealing your life, your chances, and the magic, like a thief in the night. That mistakes begin to resemble baggage and become heavier to carry the more you make.
I look at that pic and I see me and my daughter. I also see my mother and I. There was a time I stood at her feet too. I wonder if my daughter realizes that someday she’ll be me, and my son, his father, if they don’t begin to value the one thing that is more important than anything else in their lives….themselves.
Thank you for the pic, Jessie. I hope someday you can thank me for the advice. I love you my beautiful girl.