Why is this my life?

Sorry, my blurking darlings, that I've neglected you this week. It has been a very rough one that has gone from unpleasant to awful to, just when it seemed all had turned a corner for the best, disastrous.

I left here last night around 3:00 a.m. after putting a bunch of stuff on ebay--the trip to PA that was cancelled is now happening. Huzzah! I get to see the fabulous KJ and my equally awesome godson, Hayden (and earn a gazillion points for being the coolest fairy godwitch on the planet--I know this because every guy I know to whom I have mentioned what I'm getting him has gotten this look on his face of complete, total envy and immediately transformed into a 5-year-old boy in front of me with lust for it--yes, the piccie above is Hayden's Xmas gift. Shhhhhh! Don't tell him!). So I need to raise a little dosh to pay for gas down and back, especially with Xmas pressies to buy next week.

I left here in a damn good mood--felt like I'd really accomplished something. Ten minutes later when I walked in the house, that mood evaporated. KABLAM! Why? Well, the cleaners were at the house yesterday. I had had a long chat with Bob, the guy who runs the service. We were clear--working in the kitchen. Getting the kitchen cleared.

Well, one guy worked in the kitchen. The other guy, however, worked in the dining room. An Amazon box with a very important present is missing. A SEALED Amazon box. I found things thrown, unorganized and without regard for damage, into crates--my webcam, for instance, was at the bottom of a crate with books and CDs piled on top of it. Fuck knows where the USB camera cable that was on the table has gone to.

The worst of it, and by far the most serious of this, is the fact that all of the research--all of the papers--that were on the table and in files at the end of the table--is gone. Research for my paper on Hamlet--the paper on Ophelia I've been toying with for two decades, what I was hoping was going to be my first ever conference presentation. Research for Richardson's War. ORIGINAL MANUSCRIPT PAGES for at least three novels. Edits for the one-woman show. Research on the supernatural, paranormal, writing, ritual magic... research touching EVERY FUCKING GODSDAMNED THING I'M WORKING ON was thrown out. Without discretion. Thrown out.

Why? Because my mother told them that I am not taking this cleaning thing seriously, so they could work in the dining room. She denies saying this. Knowing what her memory is like, I'll take Bob's word.

I'm in shock right now. A bit numb. Been crying quite a bit today. I feel like I've been shot through with a cannon ball. I'm at the end of my tether. I blew up this morning--she threatened to hit me. I made it clear that if she hits me, she's going in the grave and I am going to jail. No one will EVER FUCKING HIT ME ever again. Especially as her utter daftness has driven me to the brink of a nervous fucking breakdown. (And for anyone who doesn't know me personally, I can put a fist through a wall easily. As a result, I do not use violence, and only strike others if struck first. It's an ethics thing.)

On Monday, I will have to stand guard over the mountain of trash bags in my driveway to make sure that Asshole doesn't put them to the curb. Because he will--to be spiteful. Asking him not to will not work--he's evil that way. And blames me for everything. She's pissed about the drum kit sitting in the living room; well, I can't carry a full-size set of drums over a 3' thick wall of laundry that has been piled chest high at the bottom of the stairs to the third floor. I can't move ANY of my things off of the first floor with those stairs being regularly, routinely blocked by Herself. She did this when I was living up there--would block the bottom of the stairs. I can't tell you how many times I almost broke an ankle climbing over her shit piled at the bottom.

My mother says she's never "run me down" to anyone; she says she's done a lot for me. What she doesn't see is all the horrible things she does TO me. And she thinks she's going back to a "normal" life soon. That once the house is cleared out and she moves into Elder Housing, she's going to be driving and doing everything she used to do.

*slams head on the desk*

She doesn't see how she's behaving; she doesn't accept that she has been thoroughly irrational, and that the reason I end up yelling is because she ignores me when I talk to her. She has admitted as much--"Oh, I always listen. I just choose to ignore you sometimes."

This is not a rational person's statement. Especially when what she chooses to ignore are things that directly impact her personal safety and health and well-being.

But I'M THE BAD GUY.

A little advice to anyone else out there dealing with an elderly parent (or a parent approaching being elderly): Cut off all communication, especially if they're not married or partnered. Move out of town, change your name, email address, phone numbers, and don't let them know where you are.

You'll thank me for this advice. I wish to fuck I'd taken it when I had the chance.

So, my goal for the next six months is to get Hell's Vestibule cleaned out; sell as much of my shit, give away, recycle and donate as much of my shit as possible. Get my finances in order. Finish the rewrite, find an agent, and polish up both my theatre and mundane resume. Anyone knows of awesome opportunities, let me know. I'm ready to do whatever--maybe get into event planning and management (because as my theatre resume and experience here proves, I am sooooooooooo fucking good), maybe look at getting into marketing and promotions, maybe get another library job, who the fuck knows? I'm done. I'm worn out, I'm spread too thin, and I am burnt out.

And I'm done. I am not playing politics in this office any longer; I am not dealing with manipulative middle schoolers masquerading as adults who need a good swift kick in the arse. I am not dealing with unnecessary bullshit from our "roommates" here who act like we're the evil landlord in a pantomime western, trying to swindle them and cheat them at every turn, when in reality they're stiffing us left and right and getting a sweet, nearly free ride whilst abusing the good nature and professional services of some very dedicated and lovely people (and yes, myself included). I am done with all of the passive-aggressive cowardice, the "Lesley way," that is SUCH BULLSHIT! I am done with the double-standard of treatment. I am done with the inadequate wages. I am done, done, done, done, done, so utterly fucking DONE.

And I am sick of whining at all of you about how miserable my life is.

So let's state a few POSITIVE things:

1. The lovely antiques dealer in North Cambridge still had the sewing machine I bought back in July that he graciously stored for the past five months. If you are looking for a good deal on lovely furniture, odd knickknacks, clothing, bits and bobs, go into All and Everything in North Cambridge on Mass Ave. LOVELY people, fair prices, good quality.

2. I am going to Pennsylvania in a week and a half. HUZZAH!

3. I will be returning to Nova Scotia in April. HUZZAH!

4. I am surrounded by incredibly lovely, lovely, kind, generous, gentle, caring and good people who when they see me in such distress, reach out with kind words, support, gentleness, and reassurance that I am a good person and worthwhile. And that my family are fucked in the head. Some days, you need to be told that you don't belong in the asylum because the inmates can make you crazy by association. Thank the merciful Gods for friends.

5. Despite feeling awful, I am NOT suicidal. THIS is incredible considering how down I was earlier in the week.

6. Did I mention I have awesome friends?

7. I was able to download all four of Jim & Eddie's podcasts to my lappie. This means I can listen to them while I'm baking tonight. It's the little things, as the bishop said to the actress.

8. Sbux. Dearest baristas, I love you for the jokes, the good cheer, and the coffee.

9. The Solstice is Tuesday. The sun will be coming back. Finally.

10. There are some great bids on my ebay stuff. I will have at least an extra $100 crucial dollars for my trip.

That's all I can think of right now. Not bad for someone who's been weeping all day.

I hope everyone else is having a better day. Really. I wouldn't wish this shit on anyone.