…can bite me.
I thought since the holidays were over things might pick up in the areas of my life that have been lacking. Job-wise it has improved but not in the way I’d hoped. I have a one day a week assignment from now until March and they asked for me by name. I’m up for 10-15 hours a week as an editorial assistant for 6 months.
That former just brought a temp on permanently so it’s not out of the question. The once a week place worked with my before the holidays and said they’d recommend me to anyone. I had a phone interview for a temp-to-perm last week but they haven’t heard anything back yet.
The temporary positions are good but not great. I really wanted something full-time so that I could move to a dwelling that isn’t rampant with emotional land mines.
The Boy and I were around the families this weekend because he had a family thing and I was invited. I knew this would set my mother off but I wasn’t sure by how much. Sunday morning was the first time she ever admitted that she disliked how much time I was spending with The Boy’s family and how little was spent with her.
It was the closest we’ve come to progress since this misery started. I’ll admit to avoiding one invitation to do something. Since I ruined Christmas and am the reason we’re having these problems, my lack of enthusiasm is merited. Rather than a opportunity for improvement, I said one wrong thing and things escalated quickly.
Sunday we had dinner with The Boy’s family and I let that slip. My mom thought we went back to his place. I told her we didn’t have plans for dinner because when she asked, we didn’t. That information had things go from pleasant to Christmas all over again.
My mother is deeply hurt by my insensitivity. She is incredibly ashamed and disappointed to have me as her daughter. “I hate who you have become” because of The Boy. “You have made this house so miserable I look for excuses not to be home.”
That last one made me jump in with “Well, now you know how I feel.” I told her I never know what I’ll be coming home to and I don’t know what I’ll say that will set her off. I regret not lying about what we did for dinner. Even if I left The Boy, it wouldn’t fix anything because she’d hate whoever else came next just as much. She never asks for what she wants; I’m just supposed to know.
My mother corrected me that she asks but I don’t listen. Sunday you want to spend more time with me and The Boy. Monday I’m the most despicable person alive and you want me out of your life.
At some point I threw in that psychologists exist to deal with this crap. “Do you honestly thing that will make a difference?” It beats the hell out of what we’re doing right now. More hurtful and destructive words were exchanged and I was informed of something I already knew: I shouldn’t live here anymore.
I want to run screaming from this house. I hate living with her like this but I have no job, no income, no way out. I can spend some time with The Boy but it’s a stop-gap measure. I need a job if I’m ever going to afford to get out of here.
No comments:
Post a Comment