You Are Sleeping You Do Not Want To Believe

Did SeaFed call my sister on Friday as he said he would? No, he did not. There’s been absolute radio silence on this matter from all parties. I hate silence.

He did text me to ask if he could pick Franny up on Thursday, since Friday is a holiday. “Fine, and my sister is waiting for your call btw,” I said. “Ok thanks!” was the reply. In the world of SeaFed, that is the fuck you of “I do what I wont my damn self.” This can mean that he was agreeing with me on the phone when I called him to communicate my distress about my mother’s further slide, and then blew it off and will disregard me, since, as always, I am, you know, me, or he’s sticking his head in the sand about it and maybe will stop returning her calls? I don’t care about her hurt feelings.

I am sad to say he has zero coping skills for actually facing problems. People in his extended family used to disappear for a while during divorces or stints in rehab and then reappear thinner, with a haunted look or a new spouse. When I would get upset about things, or made a decision that would reflect poorly on him in “public”, or tried to create boundaries for people in my life who were not good for me, it was always my problem, I was the one who was the troublemaker and needed to sit down and be quiet. NO! I WON’T! I spent many years being quiet and doing as I was told instead of what was best for me, and boy has that fucking ship sailed.

It sailed as soon as I had children. “Hey, you can’t treat my child like this,” and a little voice in the back of my head, growing louder all the time, kept saying, “And you should not be treated like this either.” Say, that’s true, annoying dawning realization. It’s sad that we are willing to take nothing for ourselves sometimes.

I am over that realization, though. The only remaining struggle is balance. I still err on the side of being unnecessarily loyal and agonize over ending situations and relationships that are making me miserable. Sometimes I go the other way and feel like the top of my head is going to pop off over something related to the girls, until a few minutes later, when I realize that not everything needs to be a federal case.

But I am thinking about it. Ignoring this situation with my mother, or asking her opinion about how under control she thinks her drinking and behavior is would be fruitless, which was SeaFed’s plan, to talk to her. Addicts lie. I don’t care about her feelings being hurt like he does. I think he knows talking to my sister, who he has a cordial, if not close, relationship with may force him into action, because then the “crazy” would not just be coming from me.

I also need a new doctor for the girls. We got stood up for Strudel’s TB test results. That’s right, stood up. It was not a miscommunication. The doctor apologized for it last week. Then she almost ran me down at Greenlake this morning (probably unrelated). About two months ago she told me to bring Strudel back for shots in December, and when we came, the nurse looked at her chart, told us it was too soon and sent us away again. I’m done!

I’ve got a pot roast in my fake Le Crueset and that is my happy thought for today. Well, I’ve got more than one. But today, goddam diary, I feel like fruitlessly shaking my pathetic fist at the universe.