Once again I’m out in Los Angeles and I’m trying to keep things together, but it’s a little harder than it was last time. One, my back has been hurting me a lot more than it did last time around. The more pain I’m in the less patience I have for things in general. Two, I think hormonally I’m compromised by the evil that is PMS. Third, I just don’t know how much more I can put up with the things I was raised to tolerate.
Put simply, I was raised by a martyr to be a martyr. I’m supposed to do everything for everyone and not ask for anything in return. Which wouldn’t be so bad if I got a smidgen of respect for the things I do or the things I know, but to have someone have to carry the weight and then consistently be questioned on every freaking choice I make whenever I make it is just a little too much for me to handle right now.
And I realize that is all part of being a parent. But it appears my tolerance of such behavior is at an all time low. I’m tired of explaining myself or justifying whatever I say. If I know that little, if I’m that insignificant, then I don’t need to be doing any extra favors for people.
I’m not feeling appreciated or trusted – when everything I’m doing should inspire both. Here’s where I would probably interject that I’m not asking for either, but why shouldn’t I expect it? Is it really crazy to expect appreciation when you go out of your way to utilize your time or talent for someone?
Don’t throw expectations on me then act like I’m an idiot because I can’t or won’t do what you want me to do. And especially don’t crap over the small things I do for myself to wrangle some enjoyment out of a stress filled, unpleasant extra week of living with this kind of crap that drives me crazy to begin with.
Like I tweeted, I don’t feel like my life is my own right now. All my thoughts, action and time belong to other people to make them feel better or save them trouble and grief.
It’s driving me CRAZY.
Hard to believe I used to live like this all the time. That I never put a bullet in my brain is a testament to how strong I really was (only like everyone else, never gave myself credit for being).
Advice I give goes unheeded. Gut instincts that are almost always right 98% of the time go ignored. All I’m good for, apparently, is to do the grunt work without even the liberty to grunt while I do it.
I’m so over it.
I’m sorely tempted to cut the whole festivities by a day so I can return to my life back in Texas. If I could drive the 18 hours straight I’d so do it.
Then it’s back to my life. My control. And anyone who doesn’t like it can kindly leave me the hell alone.