Ventus Extraordinarius

Once again stupidity rules the roost. . . Lol. Not that surprise is
warranted about that. . .
I'm listening to Music Choice 90's-early 2000's rock music earlier
this evening. "CLOSER" from NIN comes on. . . for those of you living
under a rock, let's explore a few lines.
"I wanna fuck you like an animal!
I wanna feel you from the inside. . .
I wanna fuck you like an animal!!!
My whole existence is flawed. . .
You get me closer to God!"
Yes, TRENT REZNOR is da shit! Anyway, my mother says to me, much
later, as in probably an hour after the song plays and I'm listening
to "SUGAR" from SOAD, "Well, when the Baby gets older I'll be shutting
that off. What's appropriate for you isn't appropriate for her."
Talking about my niece. No, really??? Ya coulda fooled me!! I thought
EVERY person listened to my music, young/old, infirm/able-bodied,
hell, they play it in hospitals in the NICU, that's what I thought!
Seriously? Fuck you!
My sister and I talked and I already know how she wants her Daughter
taken care of, even SOME of how she wants her raised later on. We
discussed it! I would never allow my niece to listen to stuff she's
not supposed to if I could help it. I mean, if we're in the car and
the person next to us is blaring rap music there's nothing I can do. .
. but I'm not going to intentionally expose her to songs with swear
words and so forth. I'm just as at home listening to I'm a Little
Teapot or Sweet Molly Malone as I am listening to "Fuck Me Like You
Hate Me" or "Closer". Jesus Christ!
And, that's not the first time or the first thing she's tried to
advise me on or "put her foot down" about (this I felt she was putting
her foot down about).
With earlier instances, taking care of my Dog for example, she bitched
that I wasn't feeding Sadie enough. She doesn't get enough food or
water. Sadie's an adult Dog! She's a CockerSpaniel and I feed her 3
times a day, a handful of food each time. I also fill up her water in
the morning and afternoon. In the evening I give her a much smaller
quantity because we're going to bed soon and she doesn't wake me up to
go potty, she just goes on the floor. So I limit her water intake and
put her out right before we go to bed.
Well I'm going to be the death of her and I'm doing the wrong thing
and I ought to leave her food and water down all day!
And about my bills, I need a budget. I do grant her that, everybody
would have a budget in a perfect world. This one however, is
FAAAAAAAAAAAAR from it! Apparently she hasn't noticed. Anyway, well I
better not expect her to pay for my stuff. Seriously? I talked to Dad
about it. I've never asked him to pay shit! So where does she get off?
Truth be told, I have a hard time receiving from people, anything
unless it's absolutely necessary because I feel like I'm supposed to
care for myself and fuck me if I can't because I'm a failure! Yes, I'm
starting to deal with that. Or rather, have been for a while. . .
Then she gives me a laundry basket today to loan. Well, she can't fit
my clothes in there once they've been laundered. Now, I didn't ask her
to fold or even do the laundering. I asked if I could go over there to
"do my laundry". That would imply that I'd be the one doing it. Well,
she did it all and folded everything. I like my method, putting
everything in my bag, but she wants to loan me a laundry basket, one I
won't use anyway, in this case, it's not the receiving, it's the whole
thing of me doing things my OWN way! But she thinks her way is better.
So next time I'll haul over one of my suitcases on wheels, because I'd
rather do things, MY WAY! In fact, if I had a washer and drier here,
they'd be labeled and I wouldn't go over there for that!
To me it's everything I do is wrong and I'm her child so I should let
her do everything for me and do it her way. Fuck that!! I'm a big girl
whose been taking care of herself for a loooong time. I've been doing
laundry at Dad's, my way, since I was like 20-years old. I even
mastered the laundry room in Boulder at Naropa U, so get the fuck off
me!!
It tears me up because I appreciate the thought. . . I don't
appreciate the advice or the way she just takes over and does things
"her way", when I have my own way of doing them.
And then there's talk of trouble in paradise and I may need to leave
this home and live with her? Fuuuuuuuuuuuck noooooooooo! I'd rather
live in a shark tank! At least then I don't have to concern myself
with doing anything, my way or anyone else's. Lol.

The Baby Vent

I'm feeling enraged right now!
I'm feeling like punching you, as hard as I can, for as long as I can,
until there's nothing left of you or my knuckles!!
I'm feeling unquantifiable sadness. . . where is my Baby!!???
The one that you can't take away from me? The one I swear I'll never
share with anybody else (even though I KNOW I will)! The one I dream
about and feel kicking about and fantasize about! The one I hear
crying sometimes when there's noone there. . . The one I've named
Olivia!
I know she's not feeling well. . . but your taking her made me feel
like I'm not good enough for her.
I can't take care of her just as well as you do, and you've been
fuckin' drinking!! How the fuck does that work?
I know I'm good enough. . . My ego says I'm "better than!!" in fact. .
. letting my ego run the show isn't something I intend to indulge, I'm
allowing all of me to speak up in this post though and that's what my
ego says. She says I'm better than you because you drink and I won't
ever drink while caring for an infant! Not that you were caring for
her, since the family just dropped in while we were sitting there
talking. . .
I'm getting off track though. . .
I feel battered and bruised and bloody!
I feel self-righteous and broken!
I can care for her just as well as you (with my sister right there,
she didn't seem to have an issue), but you did. . .
Who the hell are you anyway? Not her mother, that's for sure!!!
But you take her because she's fussing and doesn't feel well. . . what
the fuck's the difference between her being tired and not feeling well
and her being tired and feeling perfectly fine and fighting sleep?
There is no difference in my book!
But you took her anyway. . . bitch!!!
Fuck you!!!
And empty. . . I feel empty.
The kind of emptiness that if I let it would drive me to my knees,
make me crawl on my belly and writhe on the ground and curl up in the
fetal position and cry.
CRY, CRY, CRY!!!!
Maybe that's what I need. . . to put this somewhere, to make myself go
there. . . I'm afraid I won't come back though, I'll get lost, in
there. . . in the Baby Maze. . .
Trapped. in. the. Baby. Maze. . . (sobs)