2010-03-01 - 11:54 a.m.

I’ve been having sleeping issues lately. Well, not lately, since November really. I need to do one of two things…I need to get rid of the anxiety causing stuff or I need to get another job and work myself silly until I am just too tired to do anything but sleep. I’m thinking that would be the best option since one of my anxieties is lack of money. What I can’t sustain, however, is another restaurant job since my nearly 40 year old shoulder is about ready to finally give out on me. I have been considering going back to massage (although that too is hard on my shoulder but at least I could receive regular massage for myself, which helps a lot) but just found out that Michigan has passed some pretty heavy licensing laws for massage therapists which I do not qualify for. Booo. And if I have to go back to school to get to the level I need to be to be “legal” well, then I better just go to school for something more worthwhile. Because I hated massage therapy.

So the next thing I was thinking I would like to try doing is selling wine. A wine rep. I would love to be a wine rep. There are two potential problems with this. One, it’s a terribly hard job to get into and two, entry level reps are given the crap routes. Which in the Detroit Metro area could mean some scary places. Which is a deal breaker. But it would be a great job for me. I like driving around and I like wine.

All this thinking about jobs and money makes me mad about my day job. I wish the women who run that restaurant would just calm down. They are inflexible. Which is part of their success. But god, if they would just calm down it would be a great place to work. If they would lay off the micro managing and trust that their wait staff (especially those of us during the day, the “career waitresses” who have been doing this longer than these women have even been alive) can handle the day without being told at every half second what to do. WHY has it been so difficult to find a decent job during the day? ARGH.

So money. I am anxious about money. I had an extraordinarily expensive summer and then Diamond got sick and at the same time Oscar was already scheduled for his hyper thyroid thing and in one week I spent $4,500 on cats. (and I didn’t even save Diamond) That’s four thousand five hundred dollars I am still trying to pay off, not to mention the money I spent and didn’t have in the summer. Which stresses me right the fuck out. So I wake in the middle of the night thinking about money and thinking about the what if’s and well, then I am up for the rest of the night. What if another cat gets sick right now? What the fuck would I do if I couldn’t pay to try to save the life of one of my cats? I would die. I wouldn’t even have the remotest desire to live if that happened. I would get pet insurance on all my cats if I could but their age prevents that. We never had a chance to catch up from Spain. We moved back here just in time for a recession, Eric had a pay cut, restaurants weren’t making any money and….well. We just need to save our money. I just need to save MY money because Eric is possibly the worst keeper of money I’ve ever seen. We should probably go to a financial planner because our system is not working. I wish I could be the type of wife who demands control. I wish he could be the kind of husband who could live with an allowance. But neither of us are those people so we need to figure out to make this work better for us. We need money to make this house comfortable and we need money for travel. We are suffering from our irresponsibility. In huge ways.

Anyway. So yeah. Money issues bring up other issues for me to rage about all night. My father. I get so mad about him. I wonder, how long to have I have to have abandonment issues? I am thirty six. It’s time to get past that. But I still never cease to end up at the point when I was fifteen and I had run away from home (for what I still consider valid reasons) and, for some fucking reason, my parents thought I was on drugs (I was NOT) and everything was hell like, including my grades (up to that point I had been a pretty flawless student with mostly AP classes and perfect scores on standardized tests) and instead of doing anything about anything my father picked me up one afternoon from school and took me to his stupid girlfriend’s (now wife) house and disowned me. Quite literally. He even said those words. Disown. “You are being difficult and I don’t have time for that right now, I am going to have to disown you.” What kind of parent does that? What kind of parent sets their fifteen year old daughter loose at the first sign of trouble? Aren’t you supposed to try to stop things from getting worse? Aren’t you supposed to do something? I’ve saved up a lot of anger about this. I was far from “trouble” at that point in life. I was NORMAL. I was doing NORMAL things. I get so very upset. I need to revisit this. The point was that had my father stuck by me, had he NOT disowned me, had he adopted* me when he said he was going to…money issues would be a little better for me. At least I would have a financial advisor I could call.

*another story for another time.

Money issues also bring up my childlessness. For the most part I am still pretty certain that I do not want children. But I really have to talk myself down from the desire to have them. I have to go through the whole spiel with myself. I don’t want children because…I’ve pretty much hated life why should I bring another being onto the planet to hate life too? Because the world will someday end in a terrifying way and my not having children does not make me responsible for some future generation of myself being vaporized or struck by a comet or killed by some mega, human destroying virus or whatever. Because there are too many people on the planet. Because if I have a child that means there is an orphaned child out there still waiting for a home. Because because because. I can talk myself down quite nicely, thank you. But then I catch myself getting teary eyed when I see fat cheeked babies, I catch myself with a strange gnawing jealousy in my stomach when I look at pictures on Facebook of large, and sometimes still growing families my friends have. There is something about people with four children that makes me green with envy. I don’t know what it is. But I can’t even entertain, for a moment, having a child. Because I can’t miss a day of work right now. Not to mention a year of work or more.

And really, I just want some money so I can paint my fucking house. You know? And buy some new tennis shoes without feeling guilty.

Life needs to be grand at some point, right?


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