<-- That's me with no makeup and no shower and the unbrushed hair and the ungroomed eyebrows and the frowzy bra and the chipped toenails. I'm fucking exhausted. Emotionally, physically, whatever. I keep coming up with fancy descriptive sentences in my head, then not writing them down fast enough. The words flit back out and into the air, and here I am, still speechless. Aside from spewing my feelings all over twitter every couple of days, I've been trying really hard to hold my shit together and remain positive and smily and BEST FOOT FORWARD or whatever, hence all the brevity and bullet points and photos you might have noticed around here. I've felt like it would be a lie to write something of any length and not Talk About My Feelings, and I've always been a spectacularly bad liar. Just ask my mom.
Anyways, since I can't seem to write the several posts this all deserves, I'm just gonna write one of the please-excuse-the-rambling variety.
My grandpa's dying. Like, Dying-dying. His heart is failing, his doctor thinks he has 6 months to live. My grandfather. One of those larger-than-life people. And yeah he's kind of an asshole; he once ran for city council on the premise that we should feed the homeless to the hungry. He wears a gold belt buckle and a beret and he has a diamond in one of his teeth. And to me he hasn't aged. He's looked like my grandpa for as long as I've known him. With the same white hair and the same glasses and the same EVERYTHING. And I guess he's been getting older and more frail and his eyesight's been getting worse and he's been riding his bike less and less over the past couple years, but it's all been so gradual; it's easy to miss.
And then I saw him yesterday and he was so small and so frail. His voice was quiet and strained. His limbs hanging off of his frame. He could have blown away in the wind. Like cobwebs. Like dry grass. Like eggshells.
And I mean...He's 85. He's five years past his malignant melanoma diagnosis, a point by which 95% of those diagnosed have already died. And. Yeah. Whatever. I dunno. That doesn't change anything, or at least, it doesn't change enough. It doesn't change anything enough for me.
And my mom. I worry about my mom. When my grandpa dies there will be all this stupid will and estate bullshit, plus some left over stuff from when my grandmother died, plus who knows all what else. With my mom to sort out all this garbage amongst her siblings, not all of whom are functional humans.
And my great-uncle Russell (my grandpa's brother) had a heart attack and a stroke a couple months ago, so she's already been doing her best to look after him, and now she's taking turns with her sister sleeping over at my grandpa's, and I need her, and my sister needs her, and my brothers need her, and my dad needs her, and I worry. I'm worried about my mom. When I left last night she was crying. When I talked to her this weekend she was crying. She doesn't cry all that much.
And then there's Gabriel's dad. And there's nothing new, but he's just SUCH an asshole. So I have all this anger on top of all this worry and sadness. I had to sit and listen last Friday as he told a judge that my brother Duncan shouldn't be allowed to pick up Gabriel, because Duncan's unstable, and has made threats to K's person. Duncan's one of the greatest, most stable people I know. And yeah, when I was pregnant and you were FUCKING CHEATING ON ME my brother told me that he wanted to fucking kill you. And yeah. BECAUSE HE'S MY BROTHER. Fuck. You.
On Sundays I'm supposed to pick Gabriel up in Sacramento at 6, and 6 has been really hard on Gabe, because he doesn't sleep well in the car, and he gets home so late, and he has to wake up early to start Monday morning with me and work and whatnot. So I wanted to pick him up earlier, so he could nap in the car and have dinner at home and have a slightly easier transition. But DonkWad can't quite bring himself past the point of Fucking With Me to the slightly more desireable mindset of Let's Do Right By Our Kid. I can pick him up at 5 now. Which doesn't change so much of anything.
He makes me all stabby and vindictive, and it makes it just so hard to be the person that I want to be; the person who takes the high road and doesn't engage in all of this agonizing antagonizing bullshit.
I'm trying to set everything aside so I can get through work and life. I want to enjoy the hell out of my family and friends and sweet baby boy.