Various Worries, Some Resolved and Some Not Yet
[Subtitle: Why I Haven’t Been Talking Much About My Personal Life Lately (Hint: It’s Because I Fear Being Seen as a Whiner, and I Don’t Like People to Worry, but Don’t Worry, Because, as You Can See From Reading This, All Disasters Were Averted Silently, While You Slept.)]
1. I was quietly, completely freaking out a week ago because several people owed me monies totalling several thousand dollars, and my credit card as well as my checking account had magically, Christmas-ly become maxed out. But then I got some checks in the mail, right now, right before Christmas, right before anyone came to take me to jail. Which is good. But now, of course, I’m wondering how much I’m going to get taxed on all these glorious, nick-of-time checks when I do my Turbo Tax next month.
2. A month ago, I was worrying about my need to complete two sets of applications – one set to get my oldest son into a good high school, and one set to get my middle son into a good middle school. Then, a couple of weeks ago, I finally gathered all the necessary materials and sent the applications to their final resting spots. Now, I only have to worry that my kids won’t get into the schools we applied for, leaving me to choose between 1) putting them in ghetto, effed-up schools where kids regularly get beat up and shot, or 2) quitting my job and homeschooling them, or 3) prostituting myself in matrimony to some ugly, old, rich man and putting my kids in private school. But you know what? I’m not going to worry about it. Instead, I am going to get my kids into the schools of my choice by the sheer force of my will. Omm… Say it with me: Omm-m-m…
3. A week ago, the neighbors downstairs and diagonal from us woke me up at 3 AM with their very loud, inane patio chatter. I said out the window, “Could y’all please keep it down?” and they answered me with mock courtesy, like I was a dumb-ass substitute teacher, and kept up a steady rhythm of quieting down just enough for me to fall asleep, then laughing like hyenas and waking me up again. Other neighbors turned on their lights, and opened and slammed their own windows, but no one else said anything to the rude noisemakers, so they kept it up til 4:30. After fantasizing about dousing them with the kind of waterhose you can connect to your apartment’s kitchen sink (and then further fantasizing about using said hose to water my patio garden), I of course began to worry that I’d made the wrong choice. I was, it seemed, a stupid, poor excuse for a mother who had moved her children to a crappy apartment complex full of rude people. This fantasy was embroidered by the fact that not one but two people had rudely ignored my friendly greetings the day before. (I only greeted them friendlily because it seemed to be the custom at this place.) But then, thank Godfully, two nice people greeted me without provocation the very next morning, and I felt a little better. The noisy people haven’t made noise again, either because the apt staff admonished them, or because they sense that I’m calling the cops next time. I am working on remembering that just because some people are rude sometimes, that doesn’t mean that my children are destined to live in dysfunction, no matter how much the traumatized nerve cells in brain scream otherwise. I control what happens inside my apartment, and I am deciding to make it good.
4. I feel like a shitty friend because one of my best friends recently had a baby, and I haven’t yet been to visit. But I’m trying not to feel guilty about that. Circumstances outside our control are making things inconvenient. I will trust that my friend understands that.
5. My children’s father, in his constant, continued attempts to avoid paying child support, is now telling our children that he’s going to take them to court and “let” them tell the judge that they want to live with their father and not with me. And that they’re only living with me because I force them to pretend they like me, and because my mission in life is to spend his child support on myself, and etc., etc., whatever, whatever… and more and more lately, he and his insane relatives are trying to pressure the kids into agreeing that they’d like to go live with him and not with me, and they apparently don’t care that this is emotional abuse, and that the kids don’t enjoy going through it. And I wish to God that they would stop. And, legally, there’s nothing I can do about it, because the judges don’t care, just like they don’t really care that he doesn’t pay child support (but if I kept him from picking up the kids for his visitation, the cops would be on me like white on rice). And I’m running out of ways to explain to the kids why their father is doing this without making it sound like I’m telling them “Your father totally sucks.” So… that’s a little stressful, as I’m sure you can imagine.
6. Friendly, caring people keep telling me, “Congrats on your two books coming out in 07! Are you working on your next book yet? Or are you gonna take a break? What’s the next book about? Wanna get drunk this weekend?” And, the thing is… I haven’t told most people that I’m not actually done with my second book, the novel, because I have to do some rewrites. And those rewrites are due on Jan 9. And I hope people don’t think that I’m trying to cover up this fact because I’m embarrassed about it. I’m not. It’s just that, the more time I spend explaining it, the less time I’m spending just getting it done. Also, I haven’t been getting as much done as I want yet. Also, talking about it to people during the day gives me a scared, scary feeling in my chest, and I prefer to save that feeling for when I’m alone in bed at night, every night until Jan 9, when I will magically have it done. I’m afraid that if I talk about it a lot, even just to say, “Hey, you guys – my kids are gonna be gone next week, but I can’t hang out much, oh and I’m gonna have my phones turned off for that week and the week after that,” then I will start screaming and panicking out loud, really loud.
So… all I want to say is… PLEASE SEND ME GOOD VIBES, OKAY? Even if you don’t like me, please send the good vibes, because I really need them. I mean, I’m gonna take care of everything I have to take care of, and it’s going to turn out right whether anyone sends me vibes or not, because that’s how I roll and I refuse to let myself eff everything up. But send me good vibes, anyway, okay? I like to imagine that they make it all easier.
Love,
Gwen
