Bottom of the Barrel...

...or bottle, whichever I hit first. Actually, I told Bryan last night, after Mark destroyed my bed, that I feel like I'm laying at the bottom of a disgusting trash can with my mouth open, and life is just showering me with garbage.

I always feel a little self-conscious, talking about this crap, but I have to.

I've reached a NEW low. It happened last night, in the rush to get everything moved, and as Bryan and Mark were moving my bed frame down the mountain, Bryan said Mark was shifting too hard, and part of the bed frame jumped out of the back of the truck (yeah, I just anthropomorphized my bed - deal) and skidded down the hill.

I don't know if you've actually ever seen someone lose her shit over a bed - and I did not - but I did have to leave the house. Disregarding my fears of living in this part of town, I stopped caring, and I walked outside and down the sidewalk, for about two blocks, and planted myself on someone's front steps. I sat there and seriously considered my place in this world. I considered and reconsidered and then decided that this move, into this house, with Mark, was a TERRIBLE idea.

Let me clarify - it's not just about the bed. I mean, don't get me wrong - the scarring of a $3000 bed, that's been in near-pristine condition for almost a decade, does WORLD'S of fucking with a miserly middle-aged lady's mind. Considering it's the only NICE piece of furniture I own (which was my mistake, I assure you, but, again, it was a decade ago, so give me a little leeway), I kinda wanted to keep it that way. Had I the moolah to run out and buy a new, giant, good-for-your-back bed, I'd totally do it. I'd throw caution to the wind and buy that bed!

But - and this is where the "where the hell is she going with all this" comes into play - I have no idea what to do with the rest of my life. None. I'm completely out of ideas. I have a degree in x-ray...but I can't stay here (in Birmingham) and be a grunt for the rest of my life. I don't want to.

My original plan was to move to San Francisco and start working on getting a degree in computers. What kind? I don't know. Whatever. Then, "some guy" was telling me that that's the worst decision I could make, going into computers, that by the time I get done, it's going to be like x-ray, the field is going to be saturated, etc, etc. Not that "some guy" is going to tell me what to do with my life. But, it just made me nervous. Plus, my grandmother isn't doing well, and while I'm not actually helping my family out by sitting here blogging, I know Amy and Diane are running themselves ragged, taking care of Grammy, and I can do nothing from where I am. Amy's exhausted, working AND taking care of Grammy, and I know Diane's exhausted, but she's also seriously getting on my grandmother's nerves, which irks me. I'm not even going to go why, because *I* know why, and that's all that matters.

When the attack (by Jerry) first happened, I sent out an email to my loved ones, explaining what had happened and expressing my concern for a.) nearly throwing my life away on a fraudulent company and the indecision of what to do next, and b.) the concern that I was taking him to court as merely an act of revenge, something to which I'm not accustomed. I received all of this positive feedback (most of it only inspirational, yet not very directional) from everyone, except Diane. She sent me something back that simply said, "You don't want to know what I think." Putting all of my misgivings about our arguments over religion and her short-sightedness of the world in general in the past, I wrote her back and said (to paraphrase), "No, I sent this to you for a reason. You're family, I love you, and I want to know what you think." So, she wrote me back once again and said, "If you want to change the world, you need to come home and take care of your grandmother."

I actually can't remember if I've blogged about this already, so if I have, forgive me and just skip this part.

Haha, repeating that even NOW makes my blood boil. In fact, it makes me laugh, it's so...I don't know. When MY MOTHER was sick, I took care of her. I held down a full-time job (until they forbade me from leaving one time, when she had been taken to the ER - that's when I put my foot down and quit), I went to school full-time, and I moved with her, back and forth, from the hospital to the house, whenever it became necessary. I know I was a youngin' back then, and I had a LOT more energy. I also had Aaron at the time, to help me do a lot of the running back and forth from Pell City to the hospital. The only time I would ever ask anyone to look in on my mother was when I was at work or school. 99% of the time, I did everything myself, which includes changing her diaper, helping her on and off the bedpan or potty chair, going to and from the bathroom, scouring the city for the only foods she could stomach, while she was on chemo, driving to and from home, to pick up bills, take care of the cat and run whatever errands were necessary. Simply put, I just did whatever I had to do.

So, here I am, only recently 33, newly dating someone, new job making very little money, working like a dog, still desperately seeking employment that will allow me to support myself, looking STILL to find my place in the world and develop a life of my own. Now, I know 33 is getting up there, but for the love of all that's holy, my life isn't OVER. So, according to Diane, I should just give up my semblance of a life and come home, to the town I loathe, and settle down and take care of my grandmother, HER mother.

And, I'll tell you why that is. It's because she ONLY wants to function as a grandmother. She doesn't want to do anything but do stuff with Katy and the kids. Diane's always going on about how Katy constantly needs help with the boys. And, I'm not faulting Kate AT ALL. Kate's an adult. She had three kids on her own. I'm pretty sure she can take care of them. Amy had four of 'em, no job (like Kate), and Mark worked full-time (and then some), and they did just fine. She'd ask for help from us, whenever she really needed it. I understand people need help. I'm one person, and I need help sometimes. But, the fact that she would pin this solely to MY chest, to wear like a badge of shame REALLY PISSES ME OFF. Well, I say solely - she talks plenty of shit about Amy, too, so I shouldn't say it's just me. In fact, she's the biggest shit-talking "righteous and upright" Christian I know. She preaches all this crap to everyone's faces, but she sure as hell can't follow through on her game. I know she's old and tired - fuck, *I'M* old and tired. The government and church family aren't taking care of me. The fact that I've had to be on unemployment DISGRACES me. The fact that I have a degree and NOTHING to show for it, makes it hard for me to look people in the eye. I have a lot of pride for someone who deserves nothing. I mean, what makes me special? Not one fucking thing. But, I know I'd rather be able to take care of myself with full-time work and pay for my own health insurance than have to worry others with the task. This move has been humiliating, to say the least. While Mark (my roomie) destroyed my bed and has broken several of my things, including my will to live, he's been the one supporting us with his student loan money. I mean, I supported him, back when he first moved in with me, and as I always say, if I had unlimited resources, I'd totally take care of everyone; not a complaint would escape my lips. The fact that I have NOTHING, at this point in my life, is very difficult for me to deal with.

Uhhhhhh, all my stories are starting to cross. But, see, this is what's happening in my mind! This is why I'm turning crazy again! I'm finding less and less reason to pull out of this funk.

So, this is where I'm at....
My absolute first priority is to find a job that will allow me to stand on my own two feet. That's not happening fast enough, so I'm FORCED to keep what I have (waiting tables at a Nazi dinner camp). I'm making $2.50/hr there, and SOMETIMES I bring home $30 in tips. You do the math.

After that, I've got to figure out where I'm going to live: Pell City? Stay here in Birmingham? Pick up and move to San Francisco? For the record, I'm still leaning towards Frisco, but I'm also having the debacle of "will my family resent me for leaving?" I don't know, but I DO know that I have to be able to take care of myself, and me moving home to HELP take care of Grammy (I'm not doing it on my own, when there are others who are able to assist), and still not having work, whether it's in Bham or Pell, is going to do NO ONE any good.

After that, I've got to figure out what I'm going to do with my life. I have very little that's keeping me alive right now. I'm still hoping for a fiery car crash or something quick and semi-painless. I have a LOT for which I'm thankful...but that doesn't mean it's necessarily keeping me here. I know that's a horribly selfish thing to say, but I'm not exactly in a keen frame of mind at the moment, so you'll have to not judge me on this.

I told Bryan last night, that he's one of the few bright spots in my life right now. So much is changing, and a lot of it isn't incredibly positive. He's really been helping me deal, and I don't know if he knows how much he's been keeping me sane. While my pets are typing me down somewhat, I still wouldn't give them up. For that, you can judge me, but I assure you, I won't care. I don't have kids, so I'm that sicko who cares for her pets like kids.

Shit. Roomie Mark is in Clay, so I'm going to have to cut this blog short (not that it was making any sense at this point). He took my debit card, and I've got to have it, to go rent that fucking carpet cleaner, to clean the carpet at the apartment. Thank God the new place doesn't have any carpet...but then again, I don't know how long I'm going to last here...

More later.