Taking It By The Balls

I've only blogged a little about the crap in my life lately, it is hard for me to write the bad stuff down and hit the "publish" button. I write some, discard, save as draft, walk away. Part of it is the pain of writing down my faults or shortcomings or whatever the fuck you want to call them. Part of it is not wanting to bring down someone else's day. Sam's Stories is supposed to be fun and raunchy and full of tits and ass dammit! Double servings on the tits because they're my favorite.

However, this week I made a few decisions and they need to be published for my dear readers (all three of you) to read. I need to clear the air in my brain (is there air there?) and let go of some shit. Do you have a few minutes? If done properly, this is going to be a long post.

First of all, last month marked the one year anniversary of my father's death. Thank you all for the kind comments and support. After he died, I had no idea how long I should mourn. I knew it would be painful for a long time, but somewhere along the way it stuck in my head that after a year I could move on with my life. The year marker was painful but it brought closure. I feel better. It seems more real. I'm almost ready to delete his phone number from my cell phone, and soon Teddy Bear, Chicken and I will make the journey to Colorado to lay his ashes to rest. I miss him, but the pain isn't as gut-wrenching. I'm healing.

I've spent the last year as a Nanny for Baby Z. I took the year off from the professional world to heal from all kinds of insults and injuries, mental, emotional and physical. After 13 months of Baby Z, my tenure is up at the end of the month. Other than having a steady paycheck week after week (something not common in the financial planner's world) the time has not been what I expected. Sure, at times seeing Baby Z's little munchkin face before anyone else in the morning was a joy. There were great moments and moments when I just wanted to run away. I was able (I think) to prove to myself that even with FMS I can parent an infant/toddler and take care of a house full time. I didn't know if I could, since I was healthy when Chicken was a baby.

Other than that reassurance (because I want a Teddy Bear baby or two) the year was hard. I'm not comfortable getting into the whys and hows because, well, fuck I'm just not. The end result is all that matters to me right now. I'm sicker (mentally, emotionally, physically) now than I was a year ago. I am drained to the point that I have more than once contemplated sending Chicken to his father because I am so exhausted. Without Teddy Bear these last six months I probably would have. There have been too many days when I have just enough energy to pick up Chicken, get him started on showering and homework and then I'm fucking done. Teddy Bear gets home (I start work at 6:30am so I am usually home first) and takes over for me. I'm worthless at that point.

Some of you may understand the exhaustion that I am talking about, the type that doesn't go away with a good night or ten of sleep. This isn't the kind of new mommy tired that comes with a baby and no sleep and what the fuck was the person that gave me a child thinking? It comes from being stressed and sick and frustrated and chronically in pain and just fucking sucks my ass in a very bad way.

Then I started to look for a job, (then being a couple of months ago) and things quickly went downhill. The going downhill is a pretty fucking amazing feat when one feels like they are at the bottom of the hill. Under the hill. Buried and half-dead. It seems that I was looking for a job at the wrong time of year. When January got into full swing I grew hopeful again. I was looking for a job, I had experience doing a variety of things in a professional capacity and I had a BS in Business Administration. So I thought I could get a job at a BUSINESS. Doing something professional. It seems that as of today, I can't even get a job answering phones. I'm in that sweet, sweet spot where I'm too qualified to do simple admin work but without specific experience in this or that or the other to get a job that is above poverty level. My resume is well-written, I interview very well (all those years of commercials and print jobs as a child actor actually helped with something I suppose) and I wear a suit to interviews. I would hire me. Shit, I'd fuck me. Twice.

Just getting to the interview stage has been maddening. I've had one series of interviews where I did not get the job. The second series I'm still in the middle of, but that is it. No other interviews. I've gone to temp agencies, monster.com, Craig's List (what a fucking fiasco, sorry Jeremy) and at this point I have not a fucking thing except bills to pay and a few weeks left of my nanny job.

I was staring death in the face, so to speak. Teddy Bear's father offered to let all of us (including the two cats and one snake) live with them until I found a job, but I felt like a failure taking the offer. A failure at parenting, working, living and just about everything. I didn't want to be forced to give up my house (rented) and move 35 minutes away, taking Chicken out of his school and all the trauma of moving. I hate moving with the passion of someone that attended six elementary schools, one junior high and four high schools. I fucking hate it, and I didn't want to be forced into it and a situation where I felt like I was admitting failure. Logically I knew that we would be moving to the same area when I found a job anyway, but I wanted to do it on my terms.

I also didn't (and don't) like many people to spend a great deal of time with me, because to me it becomes obvious that something is wrong with me. "Normal" people don't wake up stiff and sore when they are in their early 30's. (Very very early 30's and I'm not about to hit birthday number 33 this month dammit.) "Normal" people aren't exhausted and in pain and just plain fucked up most of the time. I don't want TB's parents to think "Wow. A winner our dear son has picked in this one. No job, single mother, five years older and she's broken." I like them and I want them to continue to like me. I HATE being a burden to anyone, even if the burden is only in my own, broken head.

But this week it hit me, a great big revelation of biblical proportions. I can sit here and be scared and miserable and wait for shit to hit the fan, or I can stop being a fucking victim of life and DO something. I can choose. So I did. Friday I put a 30-days notice in the mail to my landlord. I've lived here for 4 1/2 years, the longest I've lived anywhere in my life. Instead of working until the end of the month as a nanny, I am only working one more week. The week after Chicken has a full week off of school for President's Day. Yes, I said week off for President's Day. Don't ask. I have no fucking clue. I'm used to it by now, this is the fifth year we've had it.

So... I'm spending the first week with my son that I haven't had to work at all since the summer of 2003. For a stay-at-home mom that didn't work full time until Chicken was well in grade school, I can't believe I get a week with him. Of course, if I'm lucky I'll get to run off to an interview or two, and we have to pack, but it is time with my favorite boy and I'm happy to have it. We're moving in with TB's dad (and step-mom and half-sister and two HUGE dogs and one cat) in three-ish weeks. And I'm excited. Of course, the fact that they have four rooms for us to choose from helps.

I'm taking life by the fucking balls and taking care of myself. If I need help from others I'm going to ask for it. I can't be an effective parent, mate or employee if I'm too tired and stressed to function. And as fun as spending three weekday evenings in a row drunk was, I can't live like that either. I can be fairly rambunctious and annoying when drunk, although I've heard my drunken blow jobs cannot be surpassed by the most expensive and exuberant hooker.

Thus, the longest and most depressing but with a happy ending (not THAT kind) post and also reason #23,294 why I haven't posted as much these past few months. I am hoping that this change, these decisions will bring forth much Sam's Stories goodness. I know Osbasso is hoping for nudie pics.

As for the dot com changeover but still the same old Blogger I just haven't had the energy to give to my blog. I've completed Black Mutt Pet Services (for the moment), I'm working on my father's websites (links to come some day soon) and my life. So Sam's Stories will evolve, just like my life. And dammit, shit's gonna get better. Because I said so.