Bane

     I’m down again.  Not depressed.  I just feel no inspiration, no need to do anything.  I don’t really feel like I care about anything at this moment.  I don’t want to go to work, which is normal to a point.  These are pretty heavy feelings I have about work.  I’m fighting it the best I can because, I know, if I give in, I will give up.  It’s not a big risk or anything.  I’ve been there for 7 years and we have a union.  I’d have to do something drastic to get fired on the spot.  I want to slack.  I need more sleep, less time to think. 

     I don’t want to, but I kind of do, want to write about this.  Talking about my feelings can help, but it feels redundant.  That’s why I never write in my journal next to the bed.  The whole damn book is filled with the same bs, everyday.  It’s just a book of my little tragedies.  My way of communicating the awful thoughts I have about life and myself sometimes.  I’m too ashamed to offer even a glimpse of it to anyone.  Then, I torture myself with it all day, cutting and pinching at me.  I get sick of that side of me.

I could draw this out, if I had more time before I have to go to this stupid job.

Screw the Previous Post

     Maybe it’s just hard for me to finish things, but I don’t want to spend anymore time on that post.  I’m just so sick of some of these people in my life.  Some, of them I love and they just annoy me at times.  Some, I love and they are so completely selfish and mean, that it rubs off on me.  Then there are the people I really don’t like and I rarely worry about.  Funny that my enemies seem to bother me the least lately.

     My husband, Zach, and I have been arguing for days.  He is so mean at times.  I’ve struggled on and off over the years, trying to understand him.  Maybe then I can help him, but I doubt it.  He’s just mad, but at who?  I screw up like anyone else, but do I seriously deserve to take the blame for everything?  How do you explain that to someone?  Honestly, everyone has the right to get mad.  That doesn’t give anyone the right to be mean.  I don’t know . . . I just get so sad about it.  I am ashamed of myself, and him.

     I left him one time before we were married.  After that, I just gave up and got to be the pissed off wife.   Granted, that was a completely different time.  Now, our relationship is pretty normal, 90% of the time.  We both have our moments, but mine are usually a reaction to him.  I am no angel.  Most of the time, I do get upset and jump into arguing over the BS.  I’m not mean to him and I try my best to stay calm.  Things get really bad, at least in my head, if I allow myself to get angry.  Though, I have every freaking right to. 

     He usually isn’t mad about anything I particularly do.  It starts with work, or kids, or family, or wtf-ever, then I screw up and inadvertently say something that can be twisted into evidence of my sadistic plot to take over the household and make him my slave.  He talks as if he can’t trust me, I might be after his nuts as a trophy.

But whatever, I’m off to work.

The Mad Turkey Part 1

     I was right.  I knew I couldn’t stick to this like I planned.  But that’s how I am, always late.  If there are no consequences for being slow, well, there just is no incentive for me to hurry.  Then, in the end, I feel guilty for being rude.  Isn’t that what it comes down to, bad manners?  Granted, not being consistent with writing isn’t necessarily inconsiderate.  Nobody is depending on me to write this, there’s nothing extraordinary here.  I just need to practice making an effort to write because at least it gives me something more constructive for my time.  Hey, maybe, it will actually have a benefit.

     Today, it is all about venting.  Thanksgiving is not my favorite holiday.  Actually, there aren’t many holidays I do like right now.  My mom passed away a little over a year ago.  I’m still struck at odd moments with an emotion so heavy,  I fall apart again.  I thought I would be fine.  Like I said, it’s been over a year, I didn’t skip Thanksgiving last year.  Maybe it was the lack of sleep, been forced to work all day on a holiday . . .  I’m getting there, but it’s still a story.

     I work the majority of the holidays, depending on the rotation of my schedule.  This year, I’ve worked all of them, but I was lucky to have my birthday off.  This is just another thing on my list of reasons why I hate this job.  This Christmas morning, I again get to miss my daughters opening presents because I’ll be at work.  Great huh?  So much for having a job where I can still feel like a good mom, rather than just being a crabby, tired wreck.  Of course, I’ve worked all week, including yesterday’s Thanksgiving.  The night before, I was up making pies for my dad’s house.  By the time I went to bed it was midnight and I was up at 2 am to put the last pie in the refrigerator.  I did sleep in to “late”  5 am for work.  That’s where most of my day was spent.

     My husband, Zach, was at his dad’s house. Initially, we weren’t sure what we were going to do for the holiday.  Christmas has a pretty routine schedule, but Thanksgiving and Easter are usually toss ups.  I suggested to Zach that we eat with his dad and step-mom this year.  When we talked to them we were told they were eating at 1.  Zach told them that I had to work and wouldn’t be home until close to 4.  Nope, they were eating at 4.  Now, I’m not completely sure if they would’ve waited if he had asked them to, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen him say anything in disagreement with his dad.  Now, I know I’m always welcome at my dad’s.  I wanted a meal with my family, which includes his side. You know, everyone talking, laughing, eating together.  Instead, if I met up with him and the kids over there, I would be eating heated up leftovers and be the only one eating.  I’ve lived with this intermittent weirdness (weird in this sense that they are oblivious to emotion) for going on 10 years.  I was prepared before we even talked to them.

I have to again go to work and, I know, if I don’t post it now then I never will.  So I’ll conclude this in the next post.

Stay tuned . . .

Meet “the fool”

I’m not very good at writing about myself.  There will be posts that drag.  At times, I may be vague and the subject may be unclear and/or strange.

Enough disclaimers.  They’re everywhere!

I’m bad.  I’ve tried very hard to shake this from my record.  Most people aren’t even aware of it.  I look pleasant enough.  I even smile at people.  But I am angry and selfish 90% of the day.  I hate it.  That’s why I’m writing this.  Maybe it will help me scream it out.  Before I can do that, I’ll have to tell you about myself.

My name is Zhen.  I’m in my late 20s.  I’m married with 2 daughters.  I have 3 sisters, all older.  I work full time as a caregiver.  I don’t want to work there anymore, but I am the “breadwinner” until life changes.  Some days are better that others, right?  I love animals, cats being my true favorite.  As of now, I am at the limit of 4.  My husband says I can’t have anymore.

 I have a huge, uncontrollable imagination.  There are times when my daydreaming takes over and I forget where I’m at.  This can happen whenever, in the middle of saying or hearing something.  I love all things creative, any art.  Reading was always a big hobby of mine.  With all the responsibilities adulthood has brought, I don’t have much time to read, though I am constantly buying new books.  Poetry is my favorite example of literature.  The way the words flow like they were melted together.  I crave more of Poe style of poem, but I haven’t found a modern poet who fills that.  In fact, most of the writers, artists, musicians that I prefer are those with the same kind of afflictions I’ve had in this life.

There are two sides to me.  I am a strong, loving, empathetic, giving, hopeful, spiritual person, who is always scolding and nagging the mean, careless, lazy, crabby, irresponsible part of me that likes to show off. I made a choice when I was about 13 to be cool.  The definition of cool to me then was being rebellious and foul, selfish.  Who am I really?  Am I willing to admit it?

I have been through hard times in my life.  The sorrow is what I have created, but the inability to deal with life is a disease.  They say they think I am bipolar.  If you look at all the evidence, it looks like a pretty accurate possibility.  I read, but I am no expert.  What I do know is that I don’t want to be on medication.  I’ll probably write more about this in the future.  I have very strong feelings about the pschiatric care ”business.”  Overall, being depressed is awful.  It gets me all the time.  Everyone in my life hates it, even if they don’t see what they are hating.  Depression makes me say no to everything.  It builds on itself, always growing heavier.  I am strong now.  Okay, maybe just stronger, it still can pull me under sometimes.  I have high standards for myself.  Some of the goals I set are unattainable or require small step to reach.  I drop and renew these dreams over and over.

There isn’t much consistency in my life now.  I’m full of fear, pain, and stupidity.  I yearn for structure.  I cry for redemption, but hide from the response.