2018 Can Go Fuck Itself

I just did my taxes.  The probability of me having done something incorrectly is pretty high.  I will probably get screwed by either the federal government, the state government, or my (almost-ex) husband.

I also spend a half hour online going through a sexual harassment seminar, just so that I know the basic fact that I shouldn't sleep with my students or inappropriately text, touch, or harass them.  (I'm fairly sure our school district outsourced this tutorial and paid for it, so I'm super glad that our district resources are being used properly.  (And I'm also horrified that some people -potentially - don't know this information?!)

I also spent three hours doing my job, at home, and not getting paid for the number of hours I spend doing work outside of my negotiated work day.

And then I paid a stupid amount of money to subsidize my children' lives, because they can't afford to be independently alive.  (Car payments, insurance, clothes, food ...)

And in two months, their father will metaphorically fuck me in court, so he walks off paying less, and I end up with the brunt of the living expenses for my family.

Good stuff.  Life is beautiful.

Sick & Tired of Being Sick & Tired

I complimented someone today and told him he looked preppy, and he told me I looked like I was on the ass-end of a bender.

Right on.

Add that to the list of reasons I engage with people as seldom as possible.

Another person asked me how I deal with the daily traumas of parenting a child with metal health issues.  I couldn't answer her right away, so I gave her a letter.  She thanked me with a teary hug, but she couldn't speak for fear of actual weeping.

I like that response better.

Maybe we're all better off not talking.  Maybe I'm better off with perpetual rocks in my pockets.  Sinking.  Breathing in water.  Reminding myself that since most of me is made of water, I should return to it.  I should go home.

Home is such a complex idea.  Endless cliches fit into that one word, "home".  Home is where the heart is.  Home is wherever your people are.  Home is where people don't judge you.

But, to quickly deconstruct a word, "home" is none of those things; it's simply a syllable people use to imply both comfort and judgement, both unity and division.  The place where there is a bed and a change of clothes and a meal.  (if you're lucky)

For now, my home is here, in a place, with some people, very few of whom I have any solid connection with.  But there are a handful of souls who make me want to stay alive in this tragi-comedy called life.  I am grateful for people who care, and I try to be among those who have not given up on life and love, every single day.  The effort is massive and heavy, but random acts of kindness and genuine connections lighten the weight often enough that I can keep my head above the water for now.