Thursday, January 28, 2010
Take Your Happy Pills and Shove'Em Where the Sun Don't Shine
You know what sucks?
Optimists. You wide-eyed, look on the bright side, silver lining finding MoFo's that wake up on that side of the bed I can never seem to find.
You greet the day like it's a cherished friend, with a smile...and that's before you've even been caffeinated.
Granted, my bed abuts a wall, and I wake up in a haze from the gaggle of pills from the ailments that make my body mimic internally a 65 year old man, but really, who wakes up happy?
Even my 5 year old hates morning. Most kids bound out of bed in the wee hours before daylight cracks through the windows, full of piss and vinegar. Not my cherub. Nope, I have to rouse him daily, and he is a miserable little bastard until he's had his breakfast. Thank goodness for the Dunkin Donuts drive-thru or we'd both probably kill people en route to work and school.
You hear these people chatter every day, "oh things could be worse", "things will get better, have faith". BLAH BLAH BLAH.
Yes I get it, things could be worse, I know that. But that doesn't mean they're still not ridiculously shitty either, and getting deeper by the day.
One would have thought a week that had 3 wakes a funeral and an ER visit with my son would have hit the quota for shit for the time being, but that would have just made sense. I mean, even I the ever cynical thought the worst was over.
But then you remember you're getting laid off. It was supposed to be by tomorrow, but as luck (if you can call it that) would have it, you get a reprieve a couple more weeks. Sending out resume after resume with only 1 interview maybe on the horizon, and then it gets postponed. Of course it does.
Then your grandfather, the only one you have ever known so no matter if your same blood courses through your veins or not, is now in a hospital. Granted he will be 91 in March, but you know he's giving up. He's been taken away BY the biologicals to be put in some assisted living facility. He doesn't want to be a burden. He won't speak up. Taken from his home of over 60 years. Where his kids were born, his wife died, where his LIFE and friends are, to a stale and foreign place. Away from his things, his familiarity because he doesn't want to be a burden.
It sickens me that no one seems to care but me. That I am the only one bothered by this. That I am the only one who has anything to say that a man who owns his own home, flat out, should be able to die peacefully in a place he has called home for the majority of it. Not in some stale facility surrounded by strangers, but white walls and doctors. That it wouldn't be easier to get someone to the house to help him daily in HIS home, but why would anyone do what they think he would want. He just doesn't want to be a burden.
And of course, in what could be seen as a "good" thing, DSS is willing to close the case against Dylan's dad. Since I have a restraining order and he has no contact with Dylan and the case is against him and not me, they have no need to keep it open any longer. Good in the fact that there will be no more home visits by them interrupting my life, terrible in the fact that they pay for Dylan's school because of it and it comes on the heels of me losing my job.
I scour the internet daily, sending out resume's and cover letters. Ironically getting an email saying my resume was found and I would be an ideal and perfect candidate for....MY job here for a different department. Another contract job that I cannot take though I know the ins and outs of this company due to some ridiculous corporate red tape nonsense. Which had it not been for in the first place, I would be gainfully employed for life.
I dread the mail. I dread the phone calls. Past due notices and bills I have to put off because I can barely cover the ones that are more imminent with the hours they scaled back on me in the first place. Just adding fuel to the fire.
I get to go back to court next month because of my douche bag old landlord who I owe money too apparently, even though they destroyed my belongings in a flood and treated us like crap and their mold-filled house gave us asthma, but I owe her per court document nonetheless. Can't get blood from a stone lady and you're low man on my priority list.
So alas its tax time and I still have no W-2, I will be playing catch-up with my taxes and I highly doubt my son's father will file taxes to catch up on the ridiculous amount of back child support I'm owed.
I could attempt to get a roommate I suppose, but I highly doubt people will line the street begging to live in my furnished home with my loud 5 year old son and his stomping down the hallway and roaring like a dinosaur tendencies, or his knack for not wanting to wear much for clothing and lounge on the couch in his Snuggie.
So all you bright eyed optimists with your idealistic fantasies about a brighter tomorrow, take your happy pills and shove'em where the sun don't shine.