That's sad. I know. Terrible. And I feel terrible about it, too. A thousand apologies to all who read this (Xeno), but life has really not afforded me the time to do much more than sleep occasionally when I'm not working.
Xeno, I am truly, truly very sorry to have heard of the things that have gone on in your life. I'm saddened that I've been absent when you needed me. I had no idea. I feel a tremendous amount of guilt for not knowing, and then I ask myself how could I have known? It doesn't make me feel better because I know I could have found the time to email. Endless apologies my friend, and I am always thinking about you.
What have I been up to? Well, thinking a lot about why I bother to continue to live in this country. I mean, England is a perfectly good country - why not live there, right? I think that I must live in an area right now that should be on maps as having big red arrows pointing to it that say "This is Where All the Fucked-up'edness Starts!" People here are awful and it just spreads westward and overtakes the country. Are there no good places left here? Have we finally fucked every last square mile of this country? I'm sure we have. Bush politics make me ill. The Locals are assholes - and by Locals I mean everyone in this country. Myself included. The nicest people I know are those that run the Indian restaurant that I like (not love) going to. This is the only place I can think of where the people take pride in their work, welcome you through their doors, and honest-to-God like children (and not just pretend to like them to get a better tip.)
Am I bothered that there are no female wait staff? You know, I've thought about that. Not a whole lot, but yeah - I've thought about it. You know what? No, I'm not bothered by it at all. I wish I was a part of it sometimes. It seems like there are clearcut guides for what is, and what isn't, and there is so little of that in my own life. Without any boundaries, you either go apeshit and derail, or you don't move an inch. I'm not moving an inch AND I'm derailing. How does that happen?
So, the plan is to move back to the Seattle area in January. Nothing could excite me more.
At this point on the out of control derailing that my life is - who fucking cares where I live? Uhm - nobody actually cares. Not even me. Let's compare: Northern Virginia...no friends, assholes everywhere, shitty weather. Seattle...no friends, assholes everywhere, shitty weather. I'd make a great Real Estate agent, wouldn't I? My only reason for saying "Oh Gosh, yes, let's just hurry and move to Seattle!!!" is so that my children will be as far as possible from this uptight, black & tan, nose in the air, cultureless, .... shit. I'm describing Seattle, too. Maybe there's a more culture and diversity among people there, though. I'm doubting it. What was once Generica in each town - now covers both coasts. New neighborhoods - each one with a Target, Starbucks, Bath, Bed & Beyond, and Old Navy, token pizza joint, Blockbuster, approximately 3 ethnic restaurants (one a Chinese Food Buffet), and the ever present Home Depot. I could take a few horse tranquilizers and be hauled off to Seattle, and when my eyes opened the only thing that would tell me I'm there is that there would be mountains instead of hills.
And my 2 year old would still scream his head off all the time. Boy oh boy is the drive across country gonna be a hoot.
So. I earn a lot of money now. I drive (in) a Mercedes. I live in a 1/3 million dollar home. My shoes are from Nordstrom. My purse is Coach. Hell, I even have boutique panties. You know you have pulled your ass out of poverty when it's covered in expensive underwear.
And yet I am not happy. Why, you may (not) ask? Who the fuck knows. My life is missing something, and I wonder if it always will be. I am still completely phobic of driving. I can barely drive 2 blocks without thinking I'm going to die. I might want to work on that, but what psychologist stays open until 7 PM - which is when I can get to one? Uhm...none. Their asses are covered in expensive underwear, too. They don't have to keep longer hours.
I'm such a fraud. My life is a fraud. Maybe my panic attacks would go away if I could figure out how to untangle myself from this mess and be who I really am. Maybe a tangled up mess IS what I really am, though.
I have been extremely sick to my stomach since last Tuesday when my boss yelled in front of me, it's Saturday now and I finally feel better. Tonight I am going to go out to an Indian restaurant and I will enjoy the whole goddamn experience, no matter how many xanax I have to take. (And fuck you for judging me, especially those of you who have a few drinks with your dinner.) No, I will not be taking the 2 year old, because I need a break from being humiliated in restaurants from his endless screaming. Venti and I have somewhat different parenting styles so my terseness is bottled up at all times, while he tries to reason with this 26 month old person. My head could explode. I wouldn't be surprised. Relieved, maybe. Surprised, not at all.
Although I have 3 children, I really don't think I'm cut out to be a mother. I don't think it comes naturally to me, and I am utterly ashamed of that. Or maybe it's a bit less than utterly ashamed. I don't know. Is it so wrong to not have motherhood come naturally to you?
Anyway, it's Saturday, as I've said, and I should be doing something menial (almost wrote mental) such as laundry - so I guess I'll go do that now.
Again, I am sorry Xeno.
