angry and sad and confused and tired

Most days are the same now. Even more so than before, when I had a job. Because now, I stay home most days… and stay in bed an extra half hour after I’m really awake… wondering what I must do first.

Usually, I think of something that I want to look up online, but then I think that I should eat first. And then I get stuck wondering what I should eat… and then I drift off and think about something else, until something reminds me that I shouldn’t be in bed but be working but no wait I have to eat first. What should I eat?

Then I finally say to heck with it and get out of bed and open the fridge and open cabinets and drawers in my search for a suitable breakfast. I usually settle on something that needs a little preparation and something to tide me over while I prepare. Usually, the preparation requires another trip through the cabinets and drawers to find something else to add.

Once breakfast is finally ready and I’m at the table, (beginning this week) I watch some TV while I eat. If I’m early enough, it begins with the last bits of Good Morning America. If not, it’s Regis and Kelly then The View.

I go through breakfast slowly… partly because I’m distracted by the tube and partly because I don’t have as big an appetite as I thought I did when I made so much breakfast. So breakfast turns into brunch which turns into lunch and pretty soon I’m wondering why I’m watching Jerry Springer, soaps and court TV.

(Answer: because there’s nothing else on while they’re on commercial break from the live coverage of the police chase in East LA)

My computer is usually having breakfast/brunch/lunch with me. I work a little bit on my website, surf a bit, etc while I eat.

Soon it’s time to scramble to do a few household chores before everyone comes home. Usually it’s just dishes and making rice but a few nights a week, I actually have to make dinner.

The meat is likely to be undercooked because I’m impatient. But the vegetables are likely to be overcooked and mushy because I forget about them. It’s very depressing. Lately, I’ve felt the need to make sweet things too… like I *need* to… like my life and sanity depends on the fudge.

I made oatmeal chocolate chip cookies on Friday. Except I didn’t have enough oatmeal… only 1/3 of what I needed… and I didn’t have any chocolate chips. So I used only 1/3 the amount of the oatmeal that I was supposed to and melted some Hershey’s dark chocolate in the microwave oven. They came out cake-y.

Anyway so… when dinner’s done, I eat it. Then I get back on my computer…

—

And here I am. Today I am angry because the pork wasn’t done and the sauce didn’t come out like it was supposed to and I suck. But I know that’s really not why I’m angry because I know that I’m angry for no reason.

Initially.

Only initially because now I’m angry that I’m letting myself be angry for no reason.

And then I’m sad because I can’t help being angry and I want to know why. But I’m confused… because I don’t know if I should even wonder why or if I should just stop and how I could just stop. And then I’m just tired.

And I wish I could just stop. Stop thinking about everything that needs to be dealt with because I don’t want to deal with anything. I only like responsibility when I know exactly what to do.

Sometimes when I’m afraid to do something or when there’s something holding me back, I say heck with it and just do it.

—

My dad just came in and said good night. I kissed him and said good night and ‘love you and he sort of grunted… made a “noncommittal sound” as he walked out and pulled the door closed behind him.

And I thought to myself this is so not the time for him to do that. So I cried a little. But then I had to look up “noncommittal” to be sure I had the right term and the tears faded.

I could think about it some more but I don’t want to deal with it.

—

I don’t remember what I was going to say about just doing it.

This wasn’t it but… it seems to be becoming harder to just do it.

Oh I just remembered something that I’d wanted to write about earlier today.

—

Sometimes, when my relationship with God is going well, I think that it would be a nice time to die because I knew that I was on good terms with Him. Doesn’t happen very often but still.

Sometimes I say to myself that I want to die because life seems unbearable but I know I don’t mean it because just as afraid to die as I am of facing my problems.

But this morning, I remembered that my sister was gone and that the only way I’ll ever get to see her again is when I die too. And I thought …

—

the end of the week

If I had a day job, I would be itching to get off work. I might even consider clocking out early because I can’t wait for the weekend to start.

However, as it is, I don’t have a day job. I have been, for the past month, working intermittently on my website which is nearly the only thing keeping me from sending out my resumé.

I was almost there, on Monday. Only, I had forgotten to do any cross-browser testing. So I did and confirmed my prior suspicions that Windows, Internet Explorer and Safari are in league against me. That is not to mention that fact that I am doubting my overall design, because that is the least of my worries now.

So I decided to approach the CSS in a very different way and change the layout very slightly, hoping to accommodate the errant browsers, and now I am utterly lost. This does not bode well for my career.

CSS doesn’t seem to make sense to me anymore. I used to think that it did, that it was easy; I think it has joined the Axis.

I have a crush on CSS… no, I am in love with it. I pine for us to be together in sweet harmony and create wonderful beautiful website babies together. Because I know that CSS is what I need to make superior babies.

But our future seems bleak because I cannot understand it… or maybe my infatuation is making it difficult to think straight. Or maybe I’m panicking because my weekend is full and I need to get this done now because I still have to do that mock-up for a freelance client and I still have to make dinner and I am forgetting that I need to slow down.

—

I am going uphill, with a backpack full of rocks that I have to get over the hill. If it were easy, these rocks would be things that I could simply say to, “I’m sorry, I don’t think you’re important enough to warrant a seat on my back,” and I would be able to do my now-almost-familiar habit of slowing down.

Not so, this time. All of these are things I need to deal with… and there are things coming up that sneak their way into my brain and make things worse.

I don’t know what to do first so I procrastinate, which makes things worse-er.

—

I need to breathe. I think I may need to cry. I need to make dinner. I need to wash the dishes. I don’t even have kids yet. And the things I need to accomplish aren’t really difficult things. And I know this. I know I can do this… but I am in doubt that I will have enough time and that I’ll have the mental resources to do these things.

I feel so drained and tired and I know that it’s because I’m sleeping too much and moving too little. I am upset with myself for procrastinating all week and getting very little done. Then I am frustrated for being upset because it only makes me feel bad and makes it hard to be productive.

—

I think about the things I have to do and I feel so overwhelmed. And it feels so stupid that I keep going in circles, writing about the same thing only using slightly different words… when I could be working, when I could be doing something… but I don’t feel capable. I feel paralyzed. Helpless. Frustrated.

Did I say frustrated?

And even more frustrated (same circle) that I don’t have to be frustrated because this is something I can do. But then I wonder why didn’t I do it all this week?

Then I wonder maybe I should cancel on everything I was supposed to be at this weekend? But I know that’s not an option.

I feel like there are so many things that have piled up but there really aren’t. It’s not a big deal, what I’m going through.

Or maybe I shouldn’t tell myself that.

Sh~t.

I’m dry of words.

because it needs to be written

He was born out of wedlock, but his parents were in love with so much conviction that everything that was “wrong” about their relationship: that they were too young, that his father was younger than his mother, that they didn’t know each other all that well… none of that kept them from getting married.

It wasn’t with quite as much conviction a few years later when his mom emerged as the dominant half of the couple. His dad would be the childish one, who didn’t take many things seriously, and it frustrated and angered his mom. And so she would scream and yell and because he was his father’s son, he got screamed and yelled at too.

It was probably not either one’s fault. They just didn’t fit together as well as they thought, and maybe they didn’t think it was an option to admit it.

Ten or eleven years old, his dad leaves. He’d found someone new. His mom is shattered, but she struggles to keep him fed and clothed and clean. Still, she’s impatient and frustrated and still she screams and yells.

She may have found some peace as a single parent. Maybe she realized that she didn’t need to scream and yell.

It was almost four years that it had been just the two of them, when she died suddenly.

It was a matter of great deliberation for his maternal relatives as to where he would be brought up… with them or with his dad. He agreed that his mom would not want him to live with his dad because his paternal relatives had a tendency to spoil him, but he said that it couldn’t happen because she’d taught him well.

So now he lives with his paternal grandparents. His dad visits every so often. He hardly ever goes to see his mother’s family. When he does, he is distant and seems to be itching to go home. He seems to have changed in the short span of time he’s lived away from them.

On the day they were to bury his mother’s ashes, he asked to reschedule on account of a rehearsal for some school presentation. It was discovered the following week, that there was no such rehearsal.

At a casual dinner out, in honor of a close family friend, when all but two were done eating, he announced that he’d asked to be picked up by his grandfather. His grandfather was to drive about an hour from the area where he lives, pick him up at the restaurant and drive the hour back to the same area, where he was to play video games with an uncle.

—

They’re afraid he’s too old to learn.

You’re never too old to learn and you’re never too old to find a willingness to learn.

If only he knew to look. If only I knew how to tell him.

Help.

now

Words: never enough; sometimes too much.
Can’t express what swirls inside,
Can’t make sense of these thoughts.
Open lips wish/try to speak…
But being screams to be heard.
Palms up, walls down, let go.

sigh

Why must it always be this?
Always, that is what I ask.
In time with our turning world,
My life simply turns in circles.
Though I thought troubles were over,
The confusion continues, seemingly without end.