GoodGloryGahdamn. What asshole came up with the phrase, "When it rains, it poors."? Do me a favor and tell him I hate him, mmmkay?
I went in my bathroom this evening, minding my damn business. Took a pee. Decided the bathroom was gross enough for a cleaning. Pecariously perching my ass on side of the bathtub, I open the cabinet under the sink to scrounge around for the appropriate cleaning products. After I'm finished using what I need, I put the shit back where I got it from. In my peripheral, I notice something moving, a small shadow. I turn my head to get a good look and see a little white face with beady black eyes and a pink nose. I haul ass out the bathroom and do what any rational person would do--I called my mother. Mothers know what to do, don't they. Yes, I'm somebody's mother but that shit need not apply in this situation.
Being that mother is no where near as hysterical as I, she suggests I call Animal Control. Isn't that a grand fuckin idea? So I calls these folks expecting them to come out in their lab suits and stun guns to get this creature. Nuh unh. He tells me it's likely a possum and there aint shit he can do till I have this fellow's entry way patched up. But wait, they hate the smell of amonia so put some of that down and have a nice night. Oh, and don't forget to keep the bathroom door closed. That inbred, tobacco chewin, Harley riding West Virginian bastard. How dare he not lure this creature out of my house like he's supposed to? Isn't that what him and his crew of hillbillies is for?
I'm sitting here about an hour after the discovery of this new house guest, too damn scared to venture into my own bathroom. The standoff continues....
That's exactly what's been going on lately. Everything I thought I wanted, I don't. Everything I don't want, I got. This here is right messy.
Let's start with this Job From Hell and the Black Bitches of Eastwick. I was so excited when I received the call for this job at the Firm. It was everything I wanted: close to home, decent (but not good) pay and offered plenty of opportunity to move into other positions. Damn if I'm staying a secretary for the rest of my life.
Everything was cool the first couple of weeks. About a month into the position, we had a check point meeting to discuss policies, practices and performance; nothing major, typical introductory stuff. Out of three of my bosses, I only managed to connect with one of them. She jumped right in and showed me what she needed, what its function was and left the door open for me to establish processes of my own. The two black (female) bosses....well, we aint gettin along. According to them everything I do is wrong down to what I wear to work. There is no pleasing these women and I'm no longer interested in attempting to accomadate them. They are blatently fake and I can't stomach it. I'm looking forward to my 90 day review and hopefully, they'll tell me to go. Quitting is not an option at this point simply because I don't want to forfeit my unemployment.
From the onset I was hesitant about working with black women. I'd heard terrible things from friends about their behaviors and biases. I went into this position with an open mind because I strongly believe people have the right to be judged as individuals. Um...I revoke all their rights. Like five minutes ago. My gut told me what was up when I felt uneasy about the ambiguous hours they gave me from the begining. Nobody seemed to know what my hours would be, however, when I inquired about certain hours I wanted, it was impossible. Judgement fucks everything up all the time.
I always wondered why I was led to this job. It was so easy to get. It must be part of a growing process where I continue to find out who I am as a woman and where I want to be. What I do regret is letting other people talk me out of doing what I wanted to do after my layoff. Maybe this was what this experience was all about: to be comfortable in my own decisions, knowing what's best for me. Who knows what I want better than I do?
This Mother's Day was quite interesting. It started of with the daughter giving me a card she made in school, which was right cute and wrapped in Christmas paper. My Momma called me bright and early demanding to know what time I planned to arrive.
I show up two hours later thinking my sisters would be gone by then. Alas, they were just arriving themselves. They even bought cards and gifts for me. I was shocked and rupauled at the thought because they'd never thought about me on MD before and I'd be lucky if I'd even receive a phone call. Could be trying to make ammends. *checks calendar* Mayhap Armegeddon is near.
I thought my MD endend nicely: gifts, cards, cake...a ride home. How nice of the sister to not let me haul those bags home on the bus.
I barely crossed the threshold when the other sister called. She informed me that the daughter gave her son $10 and she'd be sending it back to me in a card. I.was.heated. I went and checked my top drawer for the money I'd been saving for the grass cutting guy, cause my yard is off the chain. It was all there. I immediately knew it was the money missing from my bag earlier in the week, when I broke my last $20 at the mall. The next morning I was so distraught at the fact that I'd possibly misplaced my transportation for the week and would have to dip into my damn near deflated savings. I knew that was it. Before I dug in her ass, I tried to make her explain what it is she wants and why does she feel it necessary to steal from me. Of course she tried to deny it and thought better of it since she doesn't want to face the Wrath of Mom. That shit is lethal.
I explained to her that I give her all I can; If I have it, she can have it. She doesn't completely understand the concept of priorities and I don't expect her to. I did explain why things the way they are and what I have to do to keep the basic things that she likes such as lights and cable. I also told her I don't work at the candle store because I like it but because I need to. I didn't have to beat her. She felt bad enough after that.
She's angry with me. She's angry because her father made and abrupt departure (AGAIN) from her life approximately three years ago and has decided he can't be bothered. I'm blamed for the disappearance. This weight, this burden is going to be upon my shoulders for many years to come; she's not going to hold him accountable for anything. Why should she? When anything goes wrong, she looks to Mom to fix it, not him. In her eyes, he's this great mystical creature that appears in her life whenevever the woman of the hour inquires about his child and why he isn't being a father, and blah blah. No woman wants to admit she's involved with a deadbeat. A loser. A man with no honor. To pacify the woman, he'll come around for a little bit, buy gifts, take her out to spend a little time. When the woman is satisfied, his participation stops leaving a jilted confused child with blame on my shoulders.
I'm at a crossroads cause I don't know how to explain this tactfully. All I know how to do is tell her the truth. I don't want to put her through that kind of pain at such a young age. Frankly, I have no idea how to handle this situation. Eventually, she'll have to understand that Ma can't make everything work all the time.« ... now bounce.
Tuesday will be my very first session with a therapist. I barely talk to people I know and I'm not sure how I'm gonna tell all my business to a stranger, a white lady at that. Yeah I'm concerned about it. How some white lady gonna tell me how to fix my mental? Yes we're all people facing the same struggles and blah blah. The Black experience is so much more...complex. I wonder if she's received cultural training as well.
I'm really excited too. I've been feeling so....fragmented. Maybe she can help me put the pieces back together. I knew something was wrong when I couldn't make up my mind about anything. That's so unlike me. Once I decide what I want, I figure out a way to get it and that's it. Now I can't even go in a store and figure out what color shirt I want. That's bad news.
I'm still trying to figure out how I stumbled and fell into this abysmal nothingness. I can't recall. It's quite possible my mind was numb from everyday living and sanity slipped right by me.
What I do know is that I have to shed my caretaker role. It comes so naturally to me, taking care of and providing for others, but, um, these folks really ain't improving my quality of life na'an bit. I can no longer afford to give until I'm devoid of self. What I've noticed is once you start giving, the receipients grow complacent and begin to accept it as the norm and any deviation from that is just unacceptable. I don't have time for that anymore. I think this practice is generally known as seeping, steeping or bleeding. Shelfishness is looking pretty good.
I do know, and must accept, that my emotions have been abused. That's a bitter pill to swallow. Acceptance is the first step, right? This newfound vulerablity is just not comfortable for me, the equivalent of wearing granny pannies with tight jeans: It just don't work.
Will the real ~SunRay~ please stand up?« ... now bounce.