When I’m feeling overwhelmed with tasks, I tend to shut down and do nothing. It’s a bit odd, as emotionally and mentally overwhelmed as I get (pretty damn often), I am usually able to plug on through. It’s the To-Do list that gets to me.
Right now I’m thinking of Christmas gifts. I just ordered one for Eric. Originally we were kinda thinking, OK, no gifts, because of our upcoming trip to Seattle. And we’ve tried doing this before, where we try to keep things lean. And it never works out. So I just ordered something for Eric that he hasn’t asked for, but I think that he’ll like. Plus I’m sure there will also be lots of impulse buying in Seattle that will count as gifts as well!
Just trying to think of what to get him was tough. So I’m kinda going out on a limb here that he’ll like it. I’m so terrible at getting gifts. I ordered the gifts for my nephews back east last week. They’ve been shipped out. The rest of us are not really exchanging gifts because money’s just too tight this year. Plus none of us can really think of what we want.
So I guess that’s off the list.
Now I just have to think of the rest of the week and time leading up to the trip. I have to get all my beautification rituals taken care of before the weekend. Mani, pedi and eyebrow wax. This weekend is my company’s holiday party (Saturday), and then we also have Eric’s company party (Sunday). Oh…crap. I have to get a couple of White Elephant exchange gifts for my company’s party. Usually we have a limit of $20 or $25, but then management throws in a couple rad gifts. That’s how I got my iPhone, actually.
So I guess “get presents” is sorta back on the list.
Then I need to make a list and figure out what I’m bringing on this trip to Seattle. Double check the weather (cold and rainy, I’m guessing). My mom sent out a package with one of my old winter coats in it. I hope that makes it here before I leave. Or else I guess I have to add “buy a winter coat” to the list. I have to plan outfits – mostly casual, but at least one nice outfit for going out to a nice dinner. I may need an extra suitcase for my shoes. GEEZ.
See, just as I’m sort of talking to myself about this in my blog, I’m getting all overwhelmed. Lists! Packing! Errands! I think our old roommate is going to be in town while were gone, and she may be staying here. But I’m not 100% certain. I should probably check with Eric on that.
Then I have to make sure that everything that I take care of at work is, um, taken care of. I need to let the other branch office know that I’ll be out. I have to make sure that I have envelopes stuffed and ready for payroll while I’m gone. I have to mail out the company holiday cards and get the client gifts ready to go out. I’ll have to find out what’s going to happen with job postings and what-not. I’ll check my voicemail once a day, and I always can check my emails via my phone, and I’ll have my laptop with me. Being that it’s the end of the year, there shouldn’t be too much going on. But still, I’d feel unbelievably guilty if something went down while I was gone that I didn’t know about.
I’m also trying to go out and be social. I went out Thursday, Friday, and Saturday this week. I’ve actually been trying to cut back, but right now, I’m feeling like I should just give myself a free pass. I should be festive and merry with my friends. So I’m trying to do that, even on the days when I want to hide.
I’m so looking forward to this trip. Just an opportunity to kick back with Eric. No rules, no agendas, just…whatever we want. Sightseeing! Relaxing! Being karaoke rock stars in a new city! Drinking coffee and writing in a little cafe! It’s going to be so awesome!
I just have to make it through until then…
Pardon me, but I have been watching mini-documentaries on TLC about Christmas traditions and lights and whatnot. I also may or may not have a Pink Squirrel or 2 in my system.
Did you know that 2 Barbie dolls are sold in the world EVERY SECOND? I was never a fan of Barbie. Never had any desire to play with them. We had boxes of them, hand-me-downs from my sister, who is 10 years older than me. I just couldn’t be bothered. I was always more of a fan of stuffed animals, or plushies, whatever you call them.
I had a parrot puppet and a little parrot plush, named Poco and Poquito, respectively. I had about 3 or 4 Garfields. Strawberry Shortcake. You get the deal.
One year, I got not ONE, but TWO Q-Bert plushies. The nose squeaked if you squeezed it. I danced around the house listening to the “Mirage” cassette by Fleetwood Mac that I also got for Christmas that year, squeezing Q-Bert’s nose.
I never claimed to be a normal kid.
The search for the Q-Bert picture brought me these results: Does anyone remember these? Holy crap, I was SO jealous of anyone who had those games.
Some girls wanted Barbie and a head to put make up on with hair to butcher style. I just wanted to play Frogger and pretend that my Garfield toy was real. I wanted to be Mighty Mouse and save the day. I wanted to live in a world filled where Smurfs and My Little Ponies hung out and listened to Duran Duran and Men At Work.
It’s kinda nice to just sink back into that mindset for a while. Just reminisce about childhood and simpler times and whatnot.
People, I am up to 926 holiday songs on my computer AND COUNTING. I bring the festive like no one else. Everything from the old-school classics, punk covers, half-hearted sugar-coated pop fluff, amazing a cappella tunes – I love it all. Mostly. Except maybe for Katy Perry’s atrocious rendition of White Christmas. OUCH.
The other night, Eric and I put up some lights around the living room, sat and watched Rudolph while drinking Pink Squirrels. Pink Squirrels take me back to my childhood – yeah, whatever, I was 4 and drinking booze, STFU. I AM HARDCORE, YO. No, seriously, back in the day when I was a little girl, my family used to host these Christmas dinners, where 20-40 members of our extended family would come for dinner. I remember the year I got the 2XL and my cousins and I played the games on it for a while. And since the damn game took 8-track tapes (OMG), we eventually popped in The Salsoul Orchestra’s Christmas Jollies. Apparently, during the holiday season, they used to play Salsoul Christmas tracks at Giants Stadium during the games. My dad LOVED these tracks, somehow found out who it was, and hence a family tradition was born.
During the Christmas dinners, my dad would make Pink Squirrels. Same as the recipe that I linked above, except with ICE CREAM. So we had a sweet, froofy drink with ice cream in it? You know my little, chubby 4 year old self was not about to be denied that goodness. It might be possible that the first time I was drunk/buzzed was when I was before kindergarten.
A few years ago I had googled around to see if I could find the recipe for the drinks. At this point, the huge Christmas dinners are long gone. We haven’t done that in years – as my aunts, uncles, great-grandparents, etc. all passed on, the tradition seemed to die as well. Other relatives moved far away. Everyone got older, the cousins had families of their own. It happens, it’s life.
But Pink Squirrels bring me right back to feeling super festive. And NO, it’s not just the booze. It’s just a happy feeling, clinging on to a little piece of my childhood memories, while creating new traditions as I get older.
In mere weeks, Eric and I will be flying to Seattle. We’re spending Christmas there, doing our own thing. Neither of us have ever been there before, neither of us know anyone there. This will be the first major trip that we take that doesn’t involve seeing either of our families. It’s going to be interesting, and exciting, and fun. No pressure, just us. I’ve already done some research on places to go to, and Eric even talked to a couple from Seattle who came into the restaurant he works at. We’ve gotten a ton of ideas and suggestions. Hopefully we’ll be able to fit it all (or most of it) into one week.
Of course, any additional suggestions are always welcome.
I have to say, as much as I get all nervous and twitchy about posting my more introspective, check-out-how-fucked-up-I-am posts, I feel SO MUCH BETTER the next day. As if it’s releasing a weight off of me and my mind.
I should do it more often.
It was different in the early days in my writings online. I was more comfortable being completely open, because I wasn’t connecting my online diaries to myspace and facebook and twitter and all the different social media networks out there. Nowadays, it seems like it’s become more about promoting yourself and your product. Artists, entrepreneurs, musicians…they all use the web as a means to an end. It’s all about a person as a brand. Buy my t-shirts, check out my band, blee-blah.
I’ve got no product to promote. Come see me guzzle Coors Lights and pretend to be a pop star at Gilly’s? OK, well maybe a little (teehee).
But for me, writing has always been about releasing my inner demons and connecting with other people. Comfort and strength in numbers. And back in the day, I had that. In bushels. Now, it’s a little scarier. I take great pains to try to make sure my work life and “real” life don’t mix. And yes, it’s a little nerve-wracking to know that people from the days of yore and today are possibly reading my ramblings. But then again, if you knew me then, and you know me now, you know I’m a little bit “off” anyway. This is not a freakin’ surprise, I don’t think. I’d like to think that maybe some people from my life, both past and present, care. Not that I’m expecting a bunch of comments and responses saying, “Gee, Mer, sorry you’re kinda cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs.” But you never know. Maybe someone is like, “Wow, I totally understand,” because they live it too. Maybe it’ll help explain my little quirks. Like, why when I say, “I have to leave NOW” – I ain’t kiddin’.
So the online diary/blogging game has changed. And it has made me change in some ways. But at the end of the day, if I’m feeling something, you can bet that I’ll get around to writing about it. Eventually. Whether the rest of the world gives a crap or not…eh. Of course I enjoy gettin’ the love. But first and foremost, I’m just trying to get shit off my mind.
Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to go get ready. It’s Thursday night – karaoke night. Plus it’s the first Thursday of the month, which means it’s Helioke. That’s karaoke on helium for those of you not in the know.
Who me? Promoting? Surely you jest. *wink*
I have been falling into more of a depressive stage lately. It’s harder to get motivated to do much of anything, to be social, etc. I just want to hide more and more. Unfortunately, right now I’m not in a position to do anything about it. I don’t have the time or the funds to invest in seeing a shrink again, being put on a cocktail of meds, etc.
Sign o’ the times, ya know? $50 co-pay for a specialist? $35-50 per month per prescription? Hell to the no. Holla if ya hear me!
I’ve been in and out of therapy since I was about 16. From about 2000-2007, I was on and off up to 5 meds at one time. A variety of pharmaceuticals for a variety of mental ailments.
There’s a stigma that’s attached to “mental illness,” if you will. I think that’s part of the reason that there’s been such a reaction to that story about the woman who lost her benefits because pictures were seen of her on Facebook at a party, on vacation, etc. (There’s 3 articles linked there, btw) It really burns me up, because those of us with mental illness – well, that’s what we strive for. To have some semblance of a normal life. But just because I go to Gilly’s and sing karaoke a couple nights a week doesn’t mean that I’m miraculously cured of all my ills. It just means that I’m dealing decently with everything for the moment. Sometimes, it’s a real fucking struggle to get up and do fun stuff (Work is a different story. Seriously, who DOESN’T struggle to get up and go to work?). I get anxiety so badly over certain social situations that I have to really psyche myself up to get out there. So when I do, yes, it’s progress. Yes, it’s a good thing. But NO, it doesn’t mean that I’m free of panic or sadness.
It also angers me that it seems that the insurance company made the judgement call that she was “un-depressed” due to the pictures posted. Um, shouldn’t that call be made by a mental health professional? Maybe the shrink or therapist that has been working with the woman in question? GEEZ.
That aside…it’s interesting to read the comments on these stories. I can sort of see the different sides of the story. I will say that it pisses me off that people are so ignorant about depression and other forms of mental illness. It comes in many forms and varying degrees.
Yet…
I’m so conflicted about the story because…well, I don’t get disability for my depression, mania, anxiety, etc. I never have. Maybe if I could be completely open about it, I would. There’s no way to tell. I don’t have great insurance at the moment. I pay every month myself (as opposed to by my employer). I got the semi-sorta decent rate that I pay because I haven’t seen a therapist or been on any medication in 2 years. Previously, I was paying an insane amount for COBRA. So yeah, I’m teetering on a fine insurance-line. Granted, I also don’t understand the insurance system all that well.
I can’t TELL you how many times over the years I have just wished so hard that I could completely BREAK DOWN, so that I could take some time and build myself back up again. But I CAN’T. Growing up, I was always told that I was just “overly sensitive” and that I should just deal with it and I’d be okay. I have family members who have had anxiety so debilitating that they were barely able to leave the house AT ALL…for YEARS. It’s only been in the past several years that other family members have become more accepting and a bit more understanding of it. It’s an interesting family dynamic, trust me. So there was no way in hell, years ago, that I could have ever been 100% forthcoming about how bad it was for me. I still can’t be. I’ve opened up a little bit more, but not completely.
We just don’t talk like that in my family. Confrontations are avoided and issues are shelved with a smile. My freshman year of college, I performed a half-hearted suicide attempt – and I even cringe to call it that. Long story short, my transition to college life was not a smooth one. The solution was a few sessions at the University Counseling Office, maybe 3 or 4 in total, while still taking my classes. No break, no leave of absence, no nothing. In retrospect, as much as I begged and pleaded to be allowed to drop out, it was probably best for me that I didn’t. But the fact that my swallowing of a handful of pills was dealt with so lightly…
Which is why my family doesn’t know the cause of the light scars on my arms and legs – if they’ve even noticed. I’ve mentioned my fasting, bingeing and purging in a joking manner to my mother. Just casually in conversation. In a way that says, “Hey, this happened, but I’ve dealt with it and I’m okay now.” Also, I’ve mentioned how it’s funny (and lucky, I suppose) that I check things over and over again before I leave the house, because at least I can pretty much guarantee that our home won’t burn down because I left my flatiron on.
Because that’s what I had learned that I was supposed to do. It’s not that bad, I can deal with it okay. As far as the world knows. So I break down a bit, and build myself back up a little. I never crash 100%, because I can’t. I have things to do. Carry on, live a “normal” life and keep up appearances. Go to work, build a life for myself. But as a result, who knows if I’ll ever get entirely better.
Does it make me fucking OKAY because I deal with my life without meds and therapy (mostly because I cannot afford it)? Trust me, I might be “dealing well” and functioning, but a lot of the time it SUCKS hardcore. And just because I CAN, doesn’t mean that others can. It doesn’t work that way. I wish more people understood that.
Play off all the pain with a joke and a smile. Never let on that anything’s REALLY wrong. It’s nothing insurmountable. Appearances are everything. There’s so much shame in this game – I’ve got so much to lose. So I suck it up and deal.
Never mind. I’m just having a bad couple of days.
A few years ago, I convinced my Mom to come Black Friday shopping with me – it became a little tradition of ours. We used to have such a blast – looking over the circulars while drinking the coffee Dad made for us. Heading out the door between 3 and 4, and getting home almost 100% done with Christmas shopping by 9am.
Yesterday I went Black Friday shopping (with Eric, of course) for the first time in San Diego. Can I just tell you – it sucked balls.
Back in Jersey, the stores staggered their opening hours (plus were all nearby to each other) and Mom and I could just zip up and down Routes 23 and 46. Best Buy at 3am, Kohl’s at 4, Wal-Mart and/or Target at 5, and then off to the mall to hit up all the stores there as they opened (usually 6 or 7 for the major department stores, 8am for a lot of the smaller stores).
But here? Meh. Old Navy opened at 3, Target and Best Buy BOTH didn’t open until 5. The nearest Wal-Mart is 15 minutes away, and the nearest Kohl’s is another 15+ minutes beyond that up by where I work. Borders didn’t even HAVE holiday hours. WTF? Yesterday was one of those days where I really miss things being all crammed together like they are in New Jersey.
PLUS – and I could not believe this – the line to get into Target must have been at least 1000 people. My mom and I used to get to Target a little before it opened, and there were maybe 50 or 100 people. I mean, I know that San Diego is a major city (as opposed to Wayne, NJ), but with as crammed and congested as Northern NJ is, I figured the crowds would be comparable. Not so much. It was overwhelming. People were grabbing multiple $3 coffee makers and $10 crock pots.
Eric and I managed to do pretty well in Old Navy (where there was a line and a bouncer/doorman – REALLY???) – Eric moreso than I, but still. Unfortunately I grabbed a pair of $15 jeans…in the wrong size. A few sizes too small – but a size I once was. So after some debating and advice-asking…I think I’m going to keep them. I mean, I’m already working out more and trying to get on some sort of health-kick. So if I keep the jeans, it could work as inspiration. I should hang them on the wall – like a little “You Can Do It!” shrine. Or…maybe not. That’s kinda weird.
I wasn’t able to get any of the things I wanted to get for my nephews – so I just ordered them online tonight and am having them delivered to my mom’s house. It just seems easier that way. Rather than me trying to wrap and ship and all that crap.
Also per my usual Thanksgiving tradition – I got sick. I started feeling it on Wednesday – congestion and coughing. By Thanksgiving day that progressed to aches and chills. Of course, I don’t know if the aches are from being sick, or all the working out I’ve done lately. Regardless, I’ve barely left my bed since getting back from Black Friday shopping. I may go out tonight, just for lack of anything to do – too much lying around makes me twitchy. Even though Eric thinks lazy days are a good thing every once in a while…I’ve been feeling nothing but guilty. Haven’t done nearly all the chores and errands that I’ve needed to.
I did manage to leave the house today to get my nails done and eyebrows waxed. HELLO. I might be a sick, lazy, depressed mess, but I can’t look like a COMPLETE disaster while being that mess.
Oh jeez, and that’s another blog topic that I’ve been pondering lately. For another time, though.
Or however those lyrics go.
I have a few other blog posts that I’ve been letting marinate for a while. Kinda deep stuff. Still debating on whether they’re worth posting or not. I just find myself getting all mad and fired up. And I think that I should get it out, because Lord knows I can’t afford therapy or medication anymore. Keeping everything bottled in isn’t healthy. I’m angry, hurt, conflicted…and I have no release, no way to make it GO.
But since it’s almost the Thanksgiving holiday (woooooo!), I feel like I should keep this kinda lighthearted. Since I got a new laptop, I was finally able to upload the video of my performance in the Karaoke Contest of Awesomeness. So I am posting it for your viewing pleasure. It’s very blurry – that’s not your eyes going bad. It never gets any clearer, so I’m just this giant multi-colored swirly blob running around on a stage, basically.
My favorite part is the guy in the crowd yelling “You go girl!”
So you decide to pack up and leave. Out of the state, out of the timezone. Partially, you are chasing the hope of love. Partially, you are chasing the hope of life. You’ve spent too much time hiding in bed and crying and living a routine. You are stifled, and you’ve never done anything this risky in your life. Whereas most people do that whole uproot-your-life-and-try-something-new thing right after high school or right after college, you do it once you are in your 30s. You always were a late bloomer.
So you sort through your belongings, and cram what you can fit into your car. You drive and you drive, switching driving shifts with your hope of love. 42 hours later, you arrive. Sun and palm trees and the unknown.
So you get settled in. You look for a job; you find a job. You go to shows in hip-trendy bars that you never thought you’d see yourself in. You watch plays written by people you now call your friends. You MAKE friends. You work, you play. All the while realizing that it is NEVER a good time to give a quick call to those you left on the other coast. You can’t afford the cost of a plane ticket for as many times as you’d like to go back to visit. Friends get married, have children, and more children. Everyone works roughly 9-to-5. But 9-to-5 on the West Coast equals 12-to-8 on the East Coast. Dinners need to be made, kids need help with homework, or need to be given a bath, and put to bed. We’re long past the days of post-10pm phone calls being acceptable.
So, weeks pass, months pass, YEARS pass. You try and ignore the disconnect, but it lurks in the back of your mind. Always. Pictures are posted online of parties, dinners, brunches, baby showers…and you realize how much you’ve missed. Are missing.
So your heart breaks all over again. As it has many times since you fled for the opposite side of the country.
So, you carry on. You don’t regret the decision you’ve made. You have survived, and in some ways, thrived. You still have love, you still have friends. You still have a job. You did what no one ever expected you to do. You’re happy.
So much time…maybe too much time…has passed. You may never be able to reconnect with the people you love so much. The ones you thought would be in your life forever. The ones you want in your life forever. But you just don’t know how.
It’s your fault, though. No one held a gun to your head and said, “You must go.”
So you try to make peace with it.
To everyone I’ve lost touch with along the way – I love you. I miss you. More than you’ll ever know, more than I can ever express. I’m sorry.
So Eric got Mii (LOL) a Wii. And I’m digging it so far. The first game I played was the bowling game, in which I bowled a 122. Which is pretty much on par with my scores in real-life bowling, so I’m thinking that this Wii is pretty darn true-to-life.
I set up my Mii, which, if you don’t know, is your little avatar-person for the Wii system. Mine is so cute. It looks sorta like me, but not completely. Of course, I’m kinda funny looking to begin with, so I didn’t expect an exact replica. Eric’s Mii, however, is AMAZING. It is totally what Eric would look like if he was a cartoon or in a comic or what-have-you.
The other night, I decided to give the Wii Fit a go. Part of the reason I was really into getting a Wii is because of this. I have such a hard time sticking to any sort of workout/fitness program, that I figured adding some variety and cute fun stuff would definitely help.
Of course, first you have to go through all this rigamarole of basic fitness tests. This is to determine your starting point. Checking things like balance and whatnot. Apparently I stand more on my right leg than my left. So I had to do all these balance exercises to practice straightening myself out. And my center of gravity (whatever THAT means) is so off. I had to lean forward what seemed to me like quite a bit to balance that out. Which baffled me. I mean, is my ass SO massive that I have to lean so far forward that I nearly topple over? Damn, I thought my awesome rack would have provided some equilibrium in that respect.
Then came the not-so-nice part.
When I first tried some of the activities on the basic Wii (not Wii Fit), it talked about something called my Wii Age. It told me that I was 46. Um, wow. I’m only 34, asshole. I’m not sure if Wii Years are some weird calculations like Dog Years, but SERIOUSLY. I was not pleased with that. Especially since most people I meet can’t believe that I’m 34. They usually think I’m mid-twenties.
On the Wii Fit continuum, however, I came out to 44. So, not quite as harsh, but still…TEN YEARS. I wasn’t sure if I should sign up for that show 10 Years Younger on TLC or what. Hook a sista up with the Glam Squad, seriously. I would pretty much be down for any show that’s going to make me over for free, you know?
Anyway, this all gets WORSE. Wii tells me it’s going to weigh me and check my Body Mass Index. OY VEY. So I stand on the balance board, and wait…
And the damn thing proceeds to tell me that I’m OBESE. I swear my little Mii got all sad-faced and slumped over in defeat.
Granted, it’s not like the damn thing is telling me something that I don’t already know. I’m overweight. I KNOW, TRUST ME. It’s not like I don’t obsess on this every day of my life and haven’t obsessed on it since I was 8 years old, OKAY?
But seriously, this is like the Wii and I are on our first date, and he’s already called me OLD and FAT. To my face. Totally not the way to win friends and influence people, you know what I’m sayin’?
Regardless, I carried on with my little into to Wii Fit and did some of the workouts. And for all the “Nice Spare!” comments I got while playing Bowling, I got just as many “You didn’t even break a sweat, did ya?” comments during Boxing. I’m resilient, though, and managed to rack up 41 minutes of quality workout time, without wanting to punch anyone in the face or throw the Wii against the wall.
My favorite part is that Eric’s Mii shows up in some of the games. He threw hula hoops at me! He did a weird hybrid of step-aerobics and Dance Dance Revolution on a stage with me! He did some cool choreographed kung-fu moves with me! Even though he wasn’t home, I still got to see his little smiling face while I was working out. Even if it was in Wii format.
So, despite the Wii’s attitude problem, I really enjoy it a lot. This will be a nice addition to my workout routine. Which granted, isn’t the most elaborate, fancy routine. But if I can stick with it, then all the better, right?
Post-Workout Edit:
OK, so apparently TONIGHT my Wii Fit age is 53. This is because I have no balance/coordination, apparently. I always did say that I was less clumsy with a few drinks in me. Apparently the Wii has proven me right. Although I think drunken-Wii workouts are probably not a good idea.
Tonight my weight and BMI are down. There are people who will say that those numbers are a whole bunch of hogwash, but I do not care, because lower numbers make me happy. However, tonight the Boxing trainer told me I did a “Nice job!” and I unlocked a few Advanced levels of some of the games.
Also, I am apparently quite good at leading parades. But not so good at snowball fights. Do with that information what you will, folks.
When I was a little girl, maybe 6 or 7 years of age, Cabbage Patch Kids were all the rage. I had friends who had 3, 4, 6, 7 of them, and would bring them into school.
Of COURSE I wanted one. Just one. I didn’t want to be Octomom or anything.
My mom called radio stations. She was on waiting lists at toy stores and places like Consumers Catalog Showroom. Come Christmas morning, I was the proud mommy to a CPK by the name of Tanya Hyacinth.
I cried. Not out of happiness, but out of GUILT. It was hard for me to play with the doll for the longest time. I wanted something so bad and I got it and I felt terrible and unworthy. I didn’t do anything to deserve such an expensive present that my parents went through a lot of trouble to get for me.
Such is the story of my life. I grew up in an upper-middle class neighborhood. I never had to want for anything. We were one of the first on our block to have cable, when I was 5 years old. I had a pool. We weren’t the richest family in town, by far, but my father did well for his family. Yes, I grew up pretty damn spoiled. I’d like to think I wasn’t a brat. My dad was sure to teach the value of a dollar and the importance of hard work. To a fault, sometimes. There’s a whole other slew of issues going on there. But, in essence, presents make me feel very, very guilty. Don’t get me wrong, I love presents, but deep down, I always feel bad about receiving them.
This feeling has increased as I’ve gotten older. Because I’m not quite 100% self-sufficient yet, and yes, my parents have bailed me out from time to time. I don’t like to talk about it, because I know that many people aren’t quite as lucky as I am in that respect.
I’m now feeling this way again, because due to some circumstances, I’ve been in the position to receive some gifts. WOW, that sounds shady, doesn’t it? Sounds like some sorta Pretty Woman scenario. No, I haven’t taken to hookin’ on the Boulevard or anything like that. Eric has just been able to spoil me a little bit.
I have to laugh a little – some girls get spoiled with jewels and shit. But that ain’t me, y’all. I get spoiled with gadgetry! And, let’s not get it twisted, because you know the boy bought himself some fun gifts too.
But I just keep hearing You Don’t Deserve Any Of It echoing in my head. As if this is some omen. And part of me knows that it’s ridiculous, me thinking this way. But part of me just can’t let go of the dread and the guilt. I don’t deserve any of the good things that I have. I should have done something. My mere existence doesn’t merit a present, does it?
It’s harder for me to accept gifts right now because I’m pretty much living paycheck to paycheck and trying get my shit together. It’s hard to reconcile a constant diet of PB&J sandwiches and 10/$10 microwave meals (for example, my actual lunch today) with a shiny new laptop. Granted, the laptop has been on my wishlist forever, because my previous one is almost 5 years old and is about to die. But STILL. Want does not equal Need does not equal Deserve.
I think a psychotherapist would have a field day with me, with all the weird-ass issues I have. One minute I’m all Ooooh, Ahhhhh over my present; then the next, my stomach is in knots because I feel so bad about actually getting it.
You have to wonder about how they came up with all the different names for the CPKs. I mean, Tanya Hyacinth? Kinda sounds like a weird stripper or porn name.
