It's me, Donna.
Again.
As usual, I have a request. And I do think it is one that I have asked for before, a number of times, and you just keep on ignoring me. I see you there screwing with my pocket book and my marriage. You and that devil Murphy's.
I'm looking for work again as I do every few months, but this time, this time, it's r
eally very important. Not that it wasn't important for me to work any of these other times that I have searched, but this time it means more than just money. This time it means more for my sanity you stole, Universe.You know. No, you do! Don't act coy. You know which one. The ballsy tough as nails, kick your fucking ass and slam your face into the pavement sanity? You know, the confident, in your face, I am the greatest and no once can bring me down sanity? Yeh. That one. I'd like it back. Fuck that you know! The sanity you took from me when you let me graduate and give birth with days of each other? Hmm? And then took my job from my whilst my little man was in the hospital going through hard times? Yeh, you fucking jerk. You remember. So, now that your memory is refreshed, let's get back to the matter at hand.
A job.
You see, if I don't get a job soon not only are we going to financially crash and burn, and how, but our marriage is going to crash and burn (especially if he takes on another job)...and not by his fault. It would be by mine because I have just absolutely, totally, completely and utterly lost my mind outside of this metaphoric kitchen that I have created to ease my soul. I can hardly function outside of my house and I am beginning to feel way too comfortable at Walmart (I'm just that freakin' poor, and that badly dressed). Seriously. That alone should tell you how bad it is becoming for me. Universe, I started this blog a year ago and I am seeing not much has changed except maybe for the vortex like vacuum in my soul.
I know, Universe. I only have about two more years before I can really begin to focus on going back to school. This thought alone is what keeps me moving forward and leaves that little glimmer of hop
e in my eyes. Graduate school. Ahh. The words fill my heart with such peace, calmness and tranquility. Much like those little orange pills I like so much. But this tiny glimmer of hope is not enought to keep me going apparently as I am about to fully crack. At any moment. I should have some kind of PSI warning attached to my forehead at all times. This shit could be dangerous.I have nothing to do, but criticize him, complain about him, annoy him, argue with him, and not talk to him. And pretty soon I just may have to kill him. You know, like put a dog out of it's misery, but it would be putting me out of my misery. I shouldn't say that. Murder isn't funny as I was told by a reader who backed the out of the kitchen at full speed. No. Mayb
e it was suicide that she said wasn't funny, but made no mention of murder. Yeh. I think that was it. because I thought, wtf, what about the murder part of the murder/suicide?Universe. Seriously. I don't want to kill my husband. I love him. No. Really I do. But I may be drawing a chalk line down the middle of the house pretty soon if I can't get the fucking hell out of this gawd damn house and make some money and regain my own sense of self. This killing talk has got to stop. For one because no one can take a damned joke anymore in this uber overprotective and sheltered society that we now live. And for two, because well, the Thought Police can't get me in my head, but they can read my blog now can't they.
The Redneck recently asked me what if something happened to him like an accident or something and he died, what would happen if the police read my blog or my Facebook. I simply relplied, "Well, I guess I'd have some explaining to do."
So, Universe, once again, back to the task at hand. The job. A Job. Any jobby job job. Well, no. Not really any jobby job, job. A job that I can enjoy while also adding sorely, sorely needed funds to our dying budget. As usual all I can do is tighten more, which makes us fight more, until you show me the glowing classified ad that will save our souls. Really. I don't usually get so sappy, but I really need do something besides feel lost with just a sliver of light to hold onto.
Can I ask you something, Universe? How many other American souls right now are lost like mine? How many other people are struggling to survive? How many others are smart good honest souls, educated, and willing to work wherever hired? Wait. Don't answer that. I'm sure the answer will make me cry. I've seen just a touch from working in the homeless shelter, but I must admit, even that was too much for my sensitive soul.
Speaking of sensitive soul, Universe. Want to fix mine? Let me have a job this round. A fair, enjoyable, meaningful job that will help my spirit grow once again. Preferably something where I can utilize skills I possess and enjoy and not just punch buttons or something lame.
Really. Am I asking for too much? Because, well, I don't really think so. This h
ousewife shit is a total drag and you've made me your bitch long enough thanks to the car accident, the tiny angry foreign exchange student that rules my life, the tough time we had with his hydrocephalus after he was born, the job loss, the cheap Walmart yoga pants and me constantly controlling my urge to kill. For that shit I deserve an Oscar! I think I've done well. Time to hand over the fucking prize. Even if it is a Kewpie doll. It's my damn Kewpie doll!C'mon. Now. Chop Chop, mother fucker. A job. A job that makes me feel even the slightest important, and maybe respected. It's just got to be my turn. Please?
Thanks, you're a peach.
Donna
xoxo
wow...we are too much alike. i remember having this discussion with god oh about 6 years ago. i prayed that the next job i was offered i would take no matter what it was. guess what? i havent been offered another job since. so that was my sign that i wasnt getting out of the housewife bit until i learned what i needed to learn...and did what i needed to do. that was a real kick in the dick right there. (not saying thats whats gonna happen to you....but it is what happened to me).
ReplyDeleteand what ive learned through this....is that your kids may not be old enough to tell you how important you are....and your husband may be to much of an emotional cripple to realize putting his arms around you and telling you he appreciates what you do would make your hell worth living through...BUT...we got each other. as someone who hates this as much (well almost as much..lol) as you do.....i can tell you....what you are doing is important (not challenging) but important. you are contributing to society by raising your child well and loving him. and i want you to know you arent alone.
a lot of women feel this way...they just dont talk about it. if they didnt you wouldnt have so many readers. truth is donna...youre one of the few that has the balls to admit that we get the shit end of the stick.
i cant help you find work....i cant fix your finances, or your love life...or your wardrobe (which i sport those same WM yoga pants) cause we're broke as a joke too. but i can tell you....youve been put here for a reason. now is the time to figure out who donna is. if donna's career was gone tomorrow *which it is* who would she be? she's more than this.
enjoy your time with your baby....enjoy being able to have time to do the things you really like...cause once the job comes....thats all there is. youre either working for the "house" or working for the "man". freedom always comes at a price....so it just depends on who you wanna pay it to girl! just remember we're here with ya in the trenches. i hope you find what youre looking for...for the sake of your finances. but for the sake of sanity....pull yourself up...stop letting those walls close in on you...and take control of that house. it is there to be your sanctuary...not your prison. you are in control :) lotsa love to you!
Supahstar!