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crapfest
November 06, 2014, 8:37 P.M.
Between the weather, and my stupid screwed-up knee, and my stupid screwed-up brain, and a few other miscellaneous circumstances, I feel like crap. I feel like I'm trapped--I want to move! To go for a walk, exercise--something! But I feel like all the aforementioned stuff is walling me in like a prison and I just can't break out. I can't seem to get any change going. I think I hate me, and want to be different than I am, but then I think about the people who ARE different than me, and how much I hate them, and it all seems so pointless. So I sit on my butt, and eat too much leftover Halloween chocolate, and feel like I'm about 15 seconds away from crying all the time.
I even have a hard time writing about it. Not writing in general. I can go on for days spewing out meaningless babble about what I did last weekend. Even though I don't really do anything on the weekend. But it is taking me some very serious effort to even type these paragraphs out right now. I can't seem to get my thoughts focussed around what's wrong and what needs to be different. I just drift along, feeling vaguely dissatisfied and tired of everything, and lacking the wherewithal to change it. And when DO I try to boil it down to one thing, it comes out "I miss my mother".
I really do. As a sounding board, as an object lesson, as the critical voice in my head.
Great. Now I'm crying.
Okay. I'm back.
Yes, I know: My mom and I were never close, and usually at daggers-drawn. She several varieties of mentally unstable, and several varieties of abusive to her children. But she was my mom, I loved her, and once I realized what was wrong with her, I tried to forgive her. And we managed to forge a relationship over the years. I miss the person I could call with news of my fantastic haul when I went clothes shopping, or complain about my husband to, or share a squee of delight with over the news that my nephew and his wife are expecting. (Which they are, incidently.) The one I used to talk to on the phone for five hours at a time. That Mom.
I think losing my (older, motherly) boss to retirement and my mom to cancer in the space of 8 weeks this summer left an awfully big hole, actually.
Of course, all the brain-wrangling I have to do just to get through life is complicated by the effed up world I live in. I feel overwhelmed by the amount of blatant, un-apologetic evil that passes for business and politics in this world. And by the sheer stupidity & willful ignorance of huge numbers of the citizenry. So sitting here, the day after another disastrous election day, makes me want to crawl in a hole and die. When you live where I do, and come from where I do, it is particularly devastating. Scott Walker. Paul Ryan. Joni Ernst. And Walker cronies in as AG and State Treasurer.
And the Wisconsin elections were so damned close! Walker and Ryan are not just a danger to Wisconsin, either--they are both aiming straight for Pennsylvania Ave, and with their ruthlessness, moral bankruptcy and shady connections, one of them is going to make it there soon.
And in other depressing news, my cousin D's not doing well at all; the brain tumor is growing again and I don't know if there is anything anyone can do. When wonderful, sweet, kind, loving, giving people like D can suffer so much, and shitbags of crime, corruption and greed can flourish, (see politics above) it is hard evidence that this world is pointless and cruel and existence is futile.
You know what else is hard? Realizing that your niece is rather a stupid person. I've not wanted to believe it, but it is getting harder and harder not to see it. (She must take after SSIL even more than I thought.) The latest thing is a combination of multilevel marketing and dangerous diet supplements that looks downright scary. Sort of a double-whammy of preying on the dim and gullible, that. And given what I'm reading at the moment, I have to say that some things never change!
Well that is more than enough disgruntled spew for now, I guess.
Reading: "The Clarion" (1914), by Samuel Hopkins Adams. I tried this one once a few years ago and gave up on it, but I figure I'll give it another try. I can't remember why I didn't finish it; it is pretty good. (I seem to recall having some trouble with my old e-reader locking up on it?)
Random line that jumped out at me: "...he's a sort of melancholic. Ill-health, nerves, and a fixed belief in the general wrongness of creation." How well I know that feeling!
"Gaudy Night" (1935), by Dorothy L. Sayers. Not steadily, just dipping now and then I know it so well, it isn't pressing on me.
Listening: Pseudo Echo, The Smithereens, Cowboy Junkies, Toad the Wet Sprocket, Screaming Trees
At Random:
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