“You ever think nothing good is going to happen to you?”
“Yeah, and nothing did. And I made it, I survived.”
That’s a quote from a good show, between two of whom I consider to be their best characters.
Work made me go talk to HR again, so I could, for a second time, tell them to go fuck off. I think they were hoping I changed my mind. Goes to show they don’t know me at all.
A lot of days I wonder how worthwhile therapy is. Does it help? Would I notice? Sometimes it’s not easy to part with $30 a week and two hours of evening time. Other days I’m like…really Cassie…because you’d make such wise decisions with that time and money otherwise….
I’m still working on my book of course, essentially every day. But lately I’ve been hyper discouraged about the whole situation. There are scenes I like. The beginning is solid. But there are parts that are years and years old, and parts that are so new I haven’t even edited them once yet. So at this point I’m trying to smash together finely honed properly aged greatness with unedited and raw information that is probably necessary. And I mean. Also still pretty irritated with my husband. My therapist was like, I don’t understand how he could have let the copy hit the table, much less let it sit for so long. Honestly I don’t even know how to bring it up. The last time I tried talking to him about it he just got pissy. And that was like two weeks ago.
What I’ve truly learned from therapy since I started is the notion that I’m ambivalent about everything and there’s never been a man in my life to do anything besides disappoint me.
Great. I’ll just get to fixing all that.
Seriously confused who’s connecting to this blog via Facebook, but whatever. I don’t plaster this shit all over the place for someone to not come by and see it. It’s a graffiti sort of thing, I think. But at the same time, it’s a bit more private than graffiti. I can’t believe I grew up into someone who pays for a blog.
Ambivalence, like sarcasm, is the language of the weak.
It’s funny, because I’m not bad at
making decisions. And I know what I like. For example, I have
eyeliner tattooed on my upper eyelids. I knew for certain I wanted
black. Even though the woman who did it seemed to question this,
since I’m not very dark, and she had so many shades to choose from.
Yeah no. I already have like nonexistant eyelashes, I’m not doing a
soft brown eyeliner on a permanent basis. I’d worn nothing but solid
black eyeliner for so many years, it wasn’t a question. Stuff like
that isn’t hard for me. But feelings? Ha!
Like my Grandma. On the one hand, she was the only reason I had even a remotely normal childhood. She paid my tuition so I didn’t have to go to the shitty public school by my house. She bought me school clothes. When I was 19 she bought me a car. Now that I’m older and can appreciate these things, I see my Grandma probably helped protect my mom in many ways over the years, since my Grandma was the one with the money. Not a ton, but SIGNIFICANTLY more than my parents. BUT, my Grandma was also pretty hateful and demanding and frigid and sure to criticize and talk shit and judge, not to mention she was the kind of racist one might assume someone born in 1918 Wisconsin. She also held everything she bought for us over our heads, and used them as examples of why we weren’t allowed to ever do anything she didn’t like or “talk back” (i.e. defend myself) in any way. THIS was the source of genuine love and compassion in my life. This was the normal part of my family. The “good” part, I guess. My father’s side is a MUCH closer brush against your genuine northern trash. Not to mention, if you look at just how terrible and fucked my father and his sisters are….it’s really shocking to consider what their parents must have been like. Just a special sort of fucked. Not that I care. Or that makes anything he did okay. I just understand the cycle of abuse probably didn’t start with him.
It’s a nice day out, I’m as broke as ever. But the days you don’t eat a lot you’re just like…eh, I wanted to lose weight anyway. Then you pay for a $22 pole dancing class because it’s the one fucking fun thing you do all week and you wear clothing from higher end retail to work because of your mother in law or your credit cards. The only two reasons you have any nice things. Which they say won’t make you happy, and you’re like…okay…but they keep saying exercise makes you happy too…and I’m still waiting for that shit to kick in.
What do people who don’t smoke weed every day even do?