It's My LJ and I'll Vent If I Want To
Aug. 20th, 2009 03:07 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
mallorys_cameraJump: Darlington, WI → New Glaurus, WI – Glarner Park: 40 miles
LEFT out of the parking lot where we came in… RIGHT onto MAIN STREET
RIGHT onto HWY 81 EAST to Argyle… LEFT onto HWY 78 NORTH
RIGHT onto CO HWY A then LEFT onto CO HWY J
RIGHT onto HWY 39 EAST to New Glarus… arrows to what might be a very soft lot
Shows at 5pm/7:30pm
There are worse mothers than me.
Take Nancy Botwin for instance. She’s shallow, materialistic; she makes really bad decisions. She set fire to her kids’ house. She smothered their grandmother with a Tempurpedic pillow. As a result of her professional choices, her children have been dragged around from place to place to place like busted suitcases that no one ever unpacks. Her kids are exposed to violence. They’re victims of violence. Not to mention sexually transmitted diseases.
Thing is… Nancy Botwin isn’t real. She’s a television character on a show called Weeds. And I am real, or at least… I think I’m real. (Bishop Berkeley, white courtesy telephone puleeze.) So maybe I’m not the worst mother in the world but I’m really the worst mother in the world.
Ben’s brother certainly thinks so. Yesterday’s email brought a severely worded missive from him: While your own dreams may never have come true, Robin still has dreams, and deserves the opportunity to try to realize these. It is your responsibility to put aside your own disappointments, and work things out for the balance of his high school career.
Huh?
What dreams is he talking about here? My dream to feel like I’m treading water in a maelstrom? My dream to feel like the biggest fucking failure in the world? My dream to live in a small, ancient, dilapidated RV with 2 dogs, an agoraphobic cat and a husband, all of who fart?
Or maybe he’s talking about the store.
L__, I hope you never stumble upon these words but if you do – I never had any dreams of opening a store. Here’s what happened: I was a midlevel executive in a huge entertainment company. I enjoyed the job but it was stressful. I would have preferred to spend more time at home, cooking, decorating, overseeing my children. But you see, my husband – your brother – didn’t work.
“You should thank God he’s at home! Otherwise you wouldn’t have your precious career,” your sainted mother snarled at me once.
I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.
When the division I worked in was reorganized out of existence I couldn’t find another job. Was it because I was too old? Was it because I’d never understood the critical role that networking plays in securing employment and so actually focused on doing my job rather than building my Rolodex? Some combination of both those things? I don’t know. Because honestly – I looked for work for a whole fucking year. I looked and looked and looked. I’d never had any problem finding jobs before but now I was over fifty. I would go back for second interviews often (particularly if my initial interviewer had been a woman.) But I never snagged the gold ring.
So finally I decided to do the plucky thing, invent work. Hence the Little Store.
Which occupied every minute of every day for five whole years. I never thought of anything else, it was always in the back of my mind. It laid me out on an altar like a little lamb offering its shaved throat, naked and exposed to all – landlords, credit card processors, banks, business improvement districts, licensing agencies, the State of California. They all took turns bleeding me. I loved the store. But it was never a dream. I wasn’t putting my own needs first, L__. I was attempting to support my family the only way I thought I could –
Only then it turned out I couldn’t –
Enough.
I agree with L__’s basic point – Ben and I have to figure out a way to provide a stable home for Robin for the next three years so he doesn’t fall through the cracks. It’s all I’ve been thinking about for the past two weeks. I’ve told Ben repeatedly that it would be in Robin’s best interests to stay with his cousins for the next two months so he can start school when it commences for the fall. I think that’s a better option for Robin than coming back to the circus. But they’re Ben’s cousins, not mine, Ben doesn’t want to make the phone call. Do I make the phone call? Disregarding Ben's feelings in the matter?
L__ has Robin’s best interests at heart, I know. He sees Robin as a victim of two dreadfully irresponsible parents. He’s speaking out as an advocate. And I understand it’s not relevant that my feelings have been hurt by L__’s assumption that somehow I’ve chosen to be irresponsible. Only thing that’s relevant right now is Robin.
But God… I am so sick of getting dumped on by Ben’s family. I’m doing the best I can. It’s just not good enough.
LEFT out of the parking lot where we came in… RIGHT onto MAIN STREET
RIGHT onto HWY 81 EAST to Argyle… LEFT onto HWY 78 NORTH
RIGHT onto CO HWY A then LEFT onto CO HWY J
RIGHT onto HWY 39 EAST to New Glarus… arrows to what might be a very soft lot
Shows at 5pm/7:30pm
There are worse mothers than me.
Take Nancy Botwin for instance. She’s shallow, materialistic; she makes really bad decisions. She set fire to her kids’ house. She smothered their grandmother with a Tempurpedic pillow. As a result of her professional choices, her children have been dragged around from place to place to place like busted suitcases that no one ever unpacks. Her kids are exposed to violence. They’re victims of violence. Not to mention sexually transmitted diseases.
Thing is… Nancy Botwin isn’t real. She’s a television character on a show called Weeds. And I am real, or at least… I think I’m real. (Bishop Berkeley, white courtesy telephone puleeze.) So maybe I’m not the worst mother in the world but I’m really the worst mother in the world.
Ben’s brother certainly thinks so. Yesterday’s email brought a severely worded missive from him: While your own dreams may never have come true, Robin still has dreams, and deserves the opportunity to try to realize these. It is your responsibility to put aside your own disappointments, and work things out for the balance of his high school career.
Huh?
What dreams is he talking about here? My dream to feel like I’m treading water in a maelstrom? My dream to feel like the biggest fucking failure in the world? My dream to live in a small, ancient, dilapidated RV with 2 dogs, an agoraphobic cat and a husband, all of who fart?
Or maybe he’s talking about the store.
L__, I hope you never stumble upon these words but if you do – I never had any dreams of opening a store. Here’s what happened: I was a midlevel executive in a huge entertainment company. I enjoyed the job but it was stressful. I would have preferred to spend more time at home, cooking, decorating, overseeing my children. But you see, my husband – your brother – didn’t work.
“You should thank God he’s at home! Otherwise you wouldn’t have your precious career,” your sainted mother snarled at me once.
I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.
When the division I worked in was reorganized out of existence I couldn’t find another job. Was it because I was too old? Was it because I’d never understood the critical role that networking plays in securing employment and so actually focused on doing my job rather than building my Rolodex? Some combination of both those things? I don’t know. Because honestly – I looked for work for a whole fucking year. I looked and looked and looked. I’d never had any problem finding jobs before but now I was over fifty. I would go back for second interviews often (particularly if my initial interviewer had been a woman.) But I never snagged the gold ring.
So finally I decided to do the plucky thing, invent work. Hence the Little Store.
Which occupied every minute of every day for five whole years. I never thought of anything else, it was always in the back of my mind. It laid me out on an altar like a little lamb offering its shaved throat, naked and exposed to all – landlords, credit card processors, banks, business improvement districts, licensing agencies, the State of California. They all took turns bleeding me. I loved the store. But it was never a dream. I wasn’t putting my own needs first, L__. I was attempting to support my family the only way I thought I could –
Only then it turned out I couldn’t –
Enough.
I agree with L__’s basic point – Ben and I have to figure out a way to provide a stable home for Robin for the next three years so he doesn’t fall through the cracks. It’s all I’ve been thinking about for the past two weeks. I’ve told Ben repeatedly that it would be in Robin’s best interests to stay with his cousins for the next two months so he can start school when it commences for the fall. I think that’s a better option for Robin than coming back to the circus. But they’re Ben’s cousins, not mine, Ben doesn’t want to make the phone call. Do I make the phone call? Disregarding Ben's feelings in the matter?
L__ has Robin’s best interests at heart, I know. He sees Robin as a victim of two dreadfully irresponsible parents. He’s speaking out as an advocate. And I understand it’s not relevant that my feelings have been hurt by L__’s assumption that somehow I’ve chosen to be irresponsible. Only thing that’s relevant right now is Robin.
But God… I am so sick of getting dumped on by Ben’s family. I’m doing the best I can. It’s just not good enough.
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Date: 2009-08-20 08:27 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-08-21 01:44 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-08-21 05:07 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-08-21 06:05 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-08-21 01:46 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-08-22 07:18 pm (UTC)De-fense! De-fense!
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Date: 2009-08-21 12:44 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-08-21 01:50 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-08-21 10:57 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-08-24 12:55 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-08-23 07:44 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-08-24 12:50 pm (UTC)Robin's uncle WOULD take him, I'm sure. And I think that's part of it -- as a parent you want what's best for your child, it's a psychological imperative. It's very, very painful to think that what's best may be something that you -- or more to the point I -- may not be able to provide.