A Life of Nothing Special

I think I've done myself a great disservice.  Through all of my anger about racism and not being treated fairly, I've realized that I've failed to demand great treatment in my personal life.

I'm not sure where it started -- not quite sure when I decided that I wasn't worth the effort or the trouble.  Why didn't I go the traditional route? Could I have been a good wife?  Maybe a good mother?  Okay, so I don't really like children, but why have I never demanded more of my relationships?  Why do I walk around expecting people to give me things that I don't ask for?

I've made a  practice of taking whatever people will give me until I decide it no longer works for me and then I move on. I've put up with bad treatment from substandard people, and I've gotten myself in situations where I'm with people who aren't even really attracted to me.

So, I guess the question is why I always put myself last, and why I allow myself to be put last?  And when will I stop?  If ever. 

I guess the next question would be whether I know how to behave differently. 

Another year . . .

It's August again.  Whoo hoo.  The birthday is this week, and I'm not celebrating per usual. Trying to keep it as low-key as possible without expectation.  Having no expectations is a good thing.  Avoids so much disappointment later.  This year I plan to go to work and stay all day, even though  I don't really have to.  Maybe go to my dad's gig later. Or not.  The only thing I really want to do is have a massage, which I might do in the afternoon. We'll see.

Sometimes I wonder what life would be life if I were traditional.  What would happen if I were the person who enjoyed having big birthday parties, wanted to have a big wedding, two kids and large celebrations around each of those events?  What would life be like if I participated?  Maybe nobody would celebrate with me, but maybe they would.  Maybe I would attract different people -- people who were so happy that I was alive that they would be moved to celebrate the day.  My life experiences would be completely different, along with the people in my life.

But then I guess I would have needed to have had different parents, so I guess I'll choose my life -- however flawed.

Per usual

So, here I am again.  In another place of despair.  I guess it's a good thing that I haven't been moved to write in six months.  I guess that means that everything has been okay since the last time I decided to bang out a post here.

So . . . what's going on with me is that I'm frustrated.  My dad's health isn't as great as it was when last I wrote.  He had a surgery that he hasn't completely recovered from -- a surgery that I never wanted him to have in the first place.  It's scary, because he's really all I have in this world.  I have cousins and other family members, but when it really comes down to it, it's me and him against the world.  I don't like the idea of having noone.  I guess I have the boyfriend, but anything can happen.  Relationships are fragile, and ours seems to be really fragile at times.

Speaking of which, are relationships overrated?  They might be the cruel joke of the Universe. There are moments when I wonder what I would do if I were single, and moments when I think we're all destined to be single in the final analysis.

I guess one day I'll figure out which theory is accurate.

To follow up

So, one year later, almost exactly, since my last post.  I'd almost forgotten about this blog and it took me a while to remember what I'd called it, but it's good to be writing here again . . . even though I no longer have fibroids and the title is a misnomer at this point.  Whatever.

To recap, about a month after my surgery last year, I developed horrible back problems which were finally straightened out in March through the power of physical therapy.  I wouldn't revisit last year for the world.  I'm grateful each day to wake up without extreme neck/back pain.  Each and every day.

So, having re-read my previous posts, there are many similarities to last year.  I'm still not in the greatest financial position, although I am happy that my father is doing well and able to continue doing what he loves.  That counts for a lot.  It gives me hope that I can somewhat follow in his footsteps.  I'm still able to relish in the successes of others, which are many because I tend to be the slacker among my friends.  Having successful friends gives me a lot to aspire to, but it makes me feel kind of inadequate about where I am in life.  I was one of the first of my friends to own an actual house, although all of them now have much nicer houses than I do.  I really need to catch up.  Maybe one day.

The BF and I have celebrated another anniversary. Number 5.  Well . . . that's actually not true.  The amount of years are true, and we did have another anniversary, but we didn't really celebrate it.  At all.  Which was actually okay because the fun of celebration for me was in the exchange of gifts, which we don't really do any longer.  Although I completely get into the planning aspect of getting something that I know he'll love, it makes much more sense that we stopped.  I feel it's a waste when he spends money on me, and I give him enough crap for non-occasions, so no point in creating some reason to spend money on things that we shouldn't.  We typically go out for a nice dinner, although we can't ever seem to go out and have one dinner without it being completely consumed with work.

I'm not sure if this is what life is supposed to be like, but if the definition is all work and zero fun, we've certainly cracked the code.  We talk, with conviction, of vacations that will never be planned, and homes that we'll probably never purchase.  But it's fun to muse about each, as long as we're grounded in reality.  As least one of us is.  People still ask if we're getting married, but fortunately the questions have slowed down and by the time we're together for 7 years, my prediction is that they'll stop altogether and others will come to the conclusion that we're one of "those" couples.  Whatever.

The thing about this blog that I have to remember -- especially when I re-read my entries -- is that it reflects the worst that it can be.  When I'm moved to write this, I'm not coming from a place of hope; I'm reacting to being in a place of extreme pressure and needing to vent before I explode.

So, in case anyone besides me ever reads this -- which I doubt -- keep in mind that this is the outlet for my temper, frustration and sadness.  Happy Queenie is too busy to tap away on the keys as a means of expression.

Now .. . back to venting.  So, New Year's Eve is tomorrow (well, today, actually), and again I feel like I'm entering the year improperly.  I have all kinds of shit around the house that needs fixing or installation.  I hate entering a new year that way.  I feel like I'll be in a constant state of disrepair throughout 2015.

I also made the dubious decision to have a few people over to celebrate.  Mostly friends of the BF with one of my girlfriends and her husband thrown in for good measure.  I'm not a natural entertainer.   I'm always looking at my house through the lenses of others, and it never really seems good enough.   I can set a nice scene and plan an event, but I'm not great at having people in my house and I don't let them lift a finger to do anything (largely because I'm a kitchen nazi), which means that I'm completely exhausted at the end of the night and am never happier until the last guest leaves and I can clean up and pass out.

The BF never helps with these events, either.  Granted, he was sick for Thanksgiving, but even if he weren't, I'm pretty accustomed to having to do everything from planning to purchasing to cleaning to setup.   I finally snapped today, when I spent the entire day running around and dealing with awful customer service at every turn, and then I called the BF who first ignored my call, then answered but talked for 2 seconds before we got cut off, and then didn't answer the phone again.  Apparently he was on a conference call, but when he finally called back I was wrestling with two arms full of 7 bags, so there was no point in answering.  It's always about work for him.  Never mind that mine is the job that carries our social life, and in a pinch, any other aspect of life.  But I must always cater to his, somehow.  Not sure how that happens.

Work is actually the brightest spot, which is a big change from last year.  New job, new boss that I like, interesting projects, potential for pretty good compensation.  I'm still getting into my groove, but I'm pleased with it.  So, that's a coup!

So, all in all, as I really think about it, not such bad things to report.  Dad is good, work is good, trying to keep the relationship on the rails, and I feel much better than I did last year.

Perspectives

I'm pretty realistic about my life.  I know the parts that are good, and the parts that operate with a razor sharp double-edged sword.  I know the areas that might appear to be enviable to people, and the murky regions that would cause someone not to want to walk even a block, let alone a mile in my shoes.

There are many regrets, and I'm not one of those people who said that they wouldn't do anything differently if given the opportunity.  I would do a LOT of things differently if given the chance.  A whole lot. Starting with childhood.  But I don't want to start documenting those things, because in my mood, they would only serve to further depress me.

But the thing is that I know that everything I've received is a direct result of something that I've either done or didn't do.  And when I look at the things that have been disappointing in my life, that's a bitter pill to swallow.  I should have worked harder.  I should have taken advice.  I should have been more discerning.  I should have had more self worth.  I should have admitted the things that I wanted, as opposed to pretending that I didn't want them as a defense mechanism in case I didn't get them.  Because guess what?  I didn't get them. I shouldn't have been afraid to fail.  I shouldn't have been afraid to succeed.  I shouldn't have been afraid to jump in feet first with no safety net.  I should believe, because that might change my path.  I should have made different choices.

And here we are at the end of 2013.  I don't have a lot that I want, and I'm walking into this year in worst financial shape than I've been in probably ever.  And my chances for getting those things diminish as I get older.  But, I do enjoy celebrating the successes of others.  Although I often wonder about the double-edged swords of their lives.  Even the happiness people have haunts, but maybe they have fewer regrets.

The recent news of Gabrielle Union and her fiance with his extracurricular child is interesting.  I'm not in her shoes, nor do I understand her decisions, but I would imagine that this news was extremely disappointing to her.  And it's a major game-changer when finances are considered.  I just wonder about the whole process.  Was the 8 carat ring making up for his indiscretion?  And is it enough to cause her to overlook it?  Will he go for custody of this child too, giving her THREE kids to raise who were birthed by other women?  Makes me wonder.  No judgment.  Just wondering.

Post-Op news

Well, I had the surgery and I'm in recovery -- if that's what we're calling this.

Last Monday, I had the hysterectomy.  My ovaries and cervix were left, and I stayed in the hospital for two nights in both excruciating pain and boredom.

I should have written this post earlier because there's a lot that I no longer feel like writing about, and things that I've likely forgotten, like being awakened every 2 hours for vitals, and once each night at 3:00 am to have blood drawn.

To bring us up to speed, I went home from the hospital two days later on Wednesday.  I was a slave to my pain meds for the first few days, until I realized that I was still in pain, and could do nothing that I wanted to do.  In fact, this is one of the worst experiences of my life.  So, I decided to go off the meds.

Sounds counterintuitive, right?

More on this later.

The Child Stripper

I realize that this blog is supposed to be about fibroids, but it's turning into a release about all things that are
bothering me.

So, in the natural course of looking for something on the BF's computer, I discovered that he was SO fascinated with an ex-slamhound that he had to review 90+ of her pictures on FB.  And I'm not even exaggerating. I counted. Amazing.

Of course I brought it up, and of course he didn't want to talk about it.  Why?  Because there's shit he doesn't want to tell me and he NEVER wants to fucking talk about it.  He doesn't want to tell me what we both know is the truth.  Or he wants to leave me to my own devices to figure it out.  I'm very upset and extremely disappointed.

Here's the origin of this . . . 

I've never felt like the BF was attracted to me.  He told me some things in the beginning of our relationship that indicated that what he liked physically was WAY different than me, and it has stuck with me ever since.  This particular person -- the gangly Child Stripper (nicknamed such because she was 18 when they got together and eventually became a stripper in Vegas -- very classy girl.  Upon recent investigation, it appears that she's on the 10 year college plan.  Very smart girl) has always bothered me largely because he used her as a departure from his ex, and she's the one that I think he would fuck again in a heartbeat if the timing and geography were right.  In fact if she lived in the city, our relationship would likely not have stood a chance.  

And at this point?  He should just go ahead and get with her.  Because, really?  I'm tired of it.  He should go ahead and get back in contact with her, and on one of his trips, maybe they'll get together and maybe they'll hook up.  I'll figure it out, or I'll ask him and he'll have a striking moment of honesty, and it will be the end of our relationship. Either way, he should do what he wants.  Maybe I'll suggest that.

Honestly, I have enough going on in my life that's upsetting without having my relationship be upsetting too. I have a bad job situation, health situation, and I'm watching my father deteriorate before my eyes. This part is supposed to be my refuge, and the area of my life that's a welcomed departure from the other bullshit that I can't escape.  My relationship is supposed to be part of the solution.

I'm supposed to feel -- with surety -- that the person that I call my boyfriend is attracted to me.  I should feel it as strongly as I can smell the air when it's raining.  I should.  And it's not anything that can be coached or suggested -- not should it be.  It should be natural.  Everyone deserves that.  Perhaps I made a mistake in the beginning.  I'm sure there are a lot of mistakes that I've made.  

But what he's doing now . . . by not talking about this-- or knowing that I'm stewing about it, and not proactively bringing it up . . .is leaving me to my own devices to draw my own conclusions and figure it out.  If he's avoiding the topic, surely there's a reason.  If the situation were reversed and I thought HE had one foot in the grave and the other on a banana peel, I would do everything in my power to get him back on solid ground and feeling good about our relationship.  So I guess I'm not worth it.

If we do break up, the question becomes whether it's before or after the surgery.  All I know is that I don't want to be unhappy going into surgery, so however that looks is what I need to do.