Saturday, October 06, 2007
Let me try to explain this in terms that my friends will understand... Yes, I'm really down, really upset that my dad has been fucking around for 2 weeks after my last deadline, and the chances of my getting a loan and getting the store open in time for a post-Thanksgiving weekend holiday are pretty much nil. His own paperwork shows that January and February are the hardest months to get through, and show cash losses, and the only way to make it through those months is to have a great November and December. Which can't happen if I'm not OPEN.
I was stuffing my feelings about this development last night with a 3rd glass of heavily brandy-spiked sangria and a plateful of cheese, sausage and crackers when Rusty had to point out that my culinary therapy wasn't helpful. I tried to brush it off. I'm really good at denial. Really, really good. It's how I survive. My friends know this. Rusty knows this. Why he chose this moment to shatter my faux-reality, I'll never know, but he did. He poked and prodded and begged me to stand up and pick a fight with my dad. I realize that in his reality, this seems like a reasonable thing to do. If my dad was anything like any of the men in his family, this might be a reasonable thing to do. But after 38 years, I think I know my dad well enough to know that bitching and picking a fight with him would not accomplish the intended goal. He insisted I'd feel better, at least. Perhaps in his reality venting this emotional vomit tends to help him. And aparently it helps other friends as well, as Jessica was doling out the same advice. But it's just not My Way. And while I understand that sometimes it's good to step outside your comfort zone and break a habit now and then, this is not one of those times. I am far too fragile at this point. I am barely holding it together as it is. I see every plan I've made for my successful future crumbling before me, and I'm dealing with it as best I can. Now is not the time to change tactics, there's not time, no room to learn how to deal with the fallout. All I know is I can't handle it.
So ever since he awoke me from my comfortable denial, I've just sort of been in a daze. All I can do right now is wait... wait for the lease to be broken because I can't get the loan, wait for my dad to deliver what he promised more than a year ago, wait for the bank to tell me no. And until then, if I can't just walk around in denial: going to work, getting the kids to school, paying the bills, cooking dinner, enjoying some junk food... then what am I supposed to do? So now I'm just sitting on the couch, or at the computer, staring into space. Waiting. I have a Tivo full of new season shows I might like to watch, but I don't give a crap about them. We could go for a ride on the motorcycle, but I don't give a crap about that either. I don't even want to eat anymore. I know, that's just silly. And normally, I'd worry about that thought/urge, but honestly: I know myself enough to know that I'll be halfway through a peanut butter sandwich before I realize that I had "decided" I didn't feel like eating anymore. So I doubt that feeling will last long, and since my last meal was about 3 hours ago, I don't think it's abnormal to not feel like snacking right now. I guess it's a good sign, right, because prior to last night, I would have had at least 3 snacks by now. "I'm eating my feelings!" So hey, it's good I'm not stuffing myself with garbage, right.
For now, don't worry about me. Of course things could be better, but considering reality, I'm doing OK. I'll figure out something eventually.
I was stuffing my feelings about this development last night with a 3rd glass of heavily brandy-spiked sangria and a plateful of cheese, sausage and crackers when Rusty had to point out that my culinary therapy wasn't helpful. I tried to brush it off. I'm really good at denial. Really, really good. It's how I survive. My friends know this. Rusty knows this. Why he chose this moment to shatter my faux-reality, I'll never know, but he did. He poked and prodded and begged me to stand up and pick a fight with my dad. I realize that in his reality, this seems like a reasonable thing to do. If my dad was anything like any of the men in his family, this might be a reasonable thing to do. But after 38 years, I think I know my dad well enough to know that bitching and picking a fight with him would not accomplish the intended goal. He insisted I'd feel better, at least. Perhaps in his reality venting this emotional vomit tends to help him. And aparently it helps other friends as well, as Jessica was doling out the same advice. But it's just not My Way. And while I understand that sometimes it's good to step outside your comfort zone and break a habit now and then, this is not one of those times. I am far too fragile at this point. I am barely holding it together as it is. I see every plan I've made for my successful future crumbling before me, and I'm dealing with it as best I can. Now is not the time to change tactics, there's not time, no room to learn how to deal with the fallout. All I know is I can't handle it.
So ever since he awoke me from my comfortable denial, I've just sort of been in a daze. All I can do right now is wait... wait for the lease to be broken because I can't get the loan, wait for my dad to deliver what he promised more than a year ago, wait for the bank to tell me no. And until then, if I can't just walk around in denial: going to work, getting the kids to school, paying the bills, cooking dinner, enjoying some junk food... then what am I supposed to do? So now I'm just sitting on the couch, or at the computer, staring into space. Waiting. I have a Tivo full of new season shows I might like to watch, but I don't give a crap about them. We could go for a ride on the motorcycle, but I don't give a crap about that either. I don't even want to eat anymore. I know, that's just silly. And normally, I'd worry about that thought/urge, but honestly: I know myself enough to know that I'll be halfway through a peanut butter sandwich before I realize that I had "decided" I didn't feel like eating anymore. So I doubt that feeling will last long, and since my last meal was about 3 hours ago, I don't think it's abnormal to not feel like snacking right now. I guess it's a good sign, right, because prior to last night, I would have had at least 3 snacks by now. "I'm eating my feelings!" So hey, it's good I'm not stuffing myself with garbage, right.
For now, don't worry about me. Of course things could be better, but considering reality, I'm doing OK. I'll figure out something eventually.
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