Thursday, February 19, 2015

Truth and Consequences

I've been stuck at home for the last five days, due to a threatened blizzard of 12 inches of snow that turned into a couple of inches of ice.

I'm disappointed that we didn't much snow, just a dusting at my house, but it has given me a whole week off work.  I couldn't take the chance on wrecking my car because I don't need to get out that much.

I don't have a lot of great food choices here, because I didn't expect to see such a dire situation at the grocery store Sunday night.  Yes, bread was wiped out, but so was a lot of the produce section.  Wow.  I was gonna buy pineapple, big carrots, oranges.... And there weren't any at all.  So I got basic juicing stuff : apples, lemon, ginger, and freaking baby carrots that suck at being juiced.  My fault. I wanted to get some Tropicana Farmstand juices, but the veggie ones were gone.  Even the green ick one.  Weird.

It isn't like I'm going to starve.  I've got Ramen noodles and eggs, and other things to eat if I need to.  I could also just eat the apples to make them last longer.  It's just that I didn't get to buy what I wanted.  Bummer.

This many days of ice mean I'm spending a crazy long time alone, and I start thinking, and I become depressed.  You could even chalk it up to my sudden reduction of sugar and caffeine intake.  People swear it's not detoxing, but when you are trying to remove a toxic influence from your life, what else could you call it? Withdrawal, maybe?  

Thank God I've never played around with drugs or alcohol addiction, because just kicking sugar and caffeine is bad enough.  Although I do have enough alcohol here to become a drunk very rapidly, if I choose.  And I'll admit, I've a couple of bottles (gin and Triple Sec) I've had here for 19 years, last used for Long Island Iced Teas on a camping trip.  I'm glad that guy dumped me.  It would have been horrible to be stuck with a cruel person, lying cheater as he was.  Those are separate -- being cruel, being a cheater, and being a liar all defined him each on their own.  Good riddance.

It hurts to be lied to and used.  He lied about the other woman he was dating behind my back, and married quickly after he dumped me.  But it showed me a whole host of betrayers -- they all knew and blithely smiled to my face while covering up for him: his friends / formerly my friends, my "family", his family

I don't know when alcohol expires... Does it?  I know rubbing alcohol has an expiration date, but I think that's a marketing ploy.  Who knows these answers?

Thoughts on being a teacher... I'm one of those who will fall between the cracks, forgotten, unpopular, and resented, if I'm remembered at all.  I teach the wrong age group to be remembered, and I don't let my students run the classroom and slack off constantly, so they don't like me.  I don't get specialized training for my class, even when I ask for it, and then I'm demerited for not getting extra training.  I'm not the "cool one".  I don't give them cash just because they ask me to -- that's been happening a lot lately.  Just "Give me money."  And they hate me for not doing it.  

They hate me for requiring them to do the work required by all the standards.  (basically, doing my job pleasantly and caringly.) They hate me for trying to teach them touch typing.  A lot of enmity from that one.  And that's the basis of my job. Still, I smile, encourage them, give them all I can, and turn the other cheek when they punch the first one for all my caring.  I still love my job, and where I work, but it's not my one reason to stay alive.  It doesn't want me to.  

That's just the way it is, baby.  Some of us have to be hated, I suppose, so that others can be worshipped.  But I have to admit that I'm really starting to hate myself, too, for all the wrong reasons.  They'll have to pay mourners to come to my funeral, I'm sure.  

As much as it hurts to be realistic, it still hurts crushingly to realize you've been the subject of so many lies over the years.  The lies told about me to former "family" shone at a recent funeral.  The teller had been outed to me years before, at work.  Everyone who met me at work was so shocked to find that I was polite and friendly, and a very hardworking person.  Their introduction to me by word of mouth, over the years, was far different.  I was supposedly lazy, dishonest, slutty (a slutty virgin? really? I got dumped by that year's boyfriend because I WASN'T a slut), an alcoholic (that one was a shock - I'm still not into the stuff), rude, disrespectful, and constantly hateful and ungrateful.  Even when my hands were torn up, bleeding and abraded from packaging fan clutches at a high speed, they caught me singing along with my permanently employed coworkers. Happily.  Like freaking Snow White.  

I wonder, did The Saint tell the family and coworkers that she had threatened me with genital mutilation when I was seven, very explicitly described, because I was an occasional bed wetter? (The cure for bed wetting, is it?) Did she also tell them that at the same time I was having all those nightmares that led to the bed wetting, that I was also being abused by someone outside the family, and though she suspected, she never did anything to protect me? Never even asked if I was okay.

But that didn't stop me from being polite at the funeral.  I even helped send a wreath, though the florist failed to follow through on the order.  

It hurts to be lied about. One of those permanent workers told me all about the lies the supposed saint had told about me, before I ever was there.  Just so I could be aware.  Then I stopped holding back my sunshine, because it was the only thing keeping me going that summer.  And I got dumped, by yet another boyfriend, but I faked being okay about that.

It hurts to hear lies adults and kids tell about me surrounding my work, but I know that's how some people are.  The kids may grow out of it.  Some of them create the tales with their very active imaginations.  The adults are stuck with the rottenness in their souls.  

Still, it eats at me to know that while I go in with a smile, someone is always wanting to hurt me for it.  It's tough, not being the Chosen One.  But you've gotta ingratiate yourself into their "society" to be eligible for their awards.  I'd have to pull a Margaret Mitchell, and then I'm sure the Junior 
League would be after me.  I'm okay without the Junior League, just like she was.  I'm going to have a very diminished perception of self for the rest of my life anyway.  No WASPy social club is going to help repair that.  

So I'm a little damaged.  Though I don't hurt other people, it does seem to make me an irresistible target for those who do.  Sucks to be me, I guess. The jury is still out on whether this life is punishment for things I did in another life, or if it's the payment for a good one that I'm due.  Spare me the judgment, though.  You don't have the right to judge me for my failures.  I know I'm not a cute little plastic personality who has had every advantage in life.  I'm a bit emotionally ragged, and for most of my life, I'm the only one who truly cared about my well-being.  But I do still care, a tiny bit.  The little bit I didn't manage to give away.

That's the truth.

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