Saturday, September 13, 2014

Who Do I Talk To?

When you're a writer, and you have a place to put your words, sometimes you have to put them there right away because you know otherwise they'll be forever gone.

I'm in the throws of moving, but I had an inspiration, and it will disappear if I don't get to it soon. 

Meanwhile, there are boxes EVERYWHERE.


I'm that person who calls in for customer service and, when not getting anywhere says,  "I want to talk to your supervisor." I don't ask for anything that I'm not entitled to, but I will go up the chain until the situation is fixed.

Maybe the fact that I'm not scared to fight for what I want is what makes this so difficult.

I was just putting a box together and looking at the announcement for yet another person's baby. It was going in the garbage. Not in an "I don't want to look at this way," but in a "my life is going in storage and I'm not paying to store a picture of someone else's kid," way.

And I wondered:

Where is whoever is in charge of this process's supervisor? Who do I talk to? Because I want someone on the phone now who will explain to me why it's been three years, and I'm still waiting. Why sometimes it's fine and other times it's just not. Why sometimes I'm thankful for a child free existence, and then it hits me like a ton of bricks and hurts everywhere like the punches just don't stop coming.  Why I know someone who is bragging about waiting to get knocked up with baby number three while I'm coming to terms with never having one. While I may have to spend thousands and thousands of dollars for the CHANCE at having one of my own, and others get to have way too many for free. 

Today, all of a sudden and out of nowhere, I'm struggling.

My semi-religious upbringing would tell me that there is someone to talk to who is always listening.

Yeah, well, I'm not so sure of that right now.

I mean, I am. I'm not overly religious, but I cling to my spirituality as the last shred of decency I am capable of as the last few years continue to be hard. But, let me tell you, I've been talking and asking and begging and pleading and thanking for all of the perfect things in my life, and that's not getting me any closer to actually having the one thing that I would do just about anything for.

No one is listening. 

Can someone go back and listen to the recording of these calls? I just wanted on record that I asked to speak to a supervisor, but I was ignored. Are these calls recorded for quality assurance?

It feels silly to keep asking. It is silly to keep asking. Someone had to have heard me by now, and they would have already done it if they were going to do anything about it.

Who is your boss's boss?


As always, it's hip to be square, kids. 

Monday, September 8, 2014

Dear Mother and Father of Another Little Elsa: YOU SUCK.

To the parents who allowed their young and unknowing child to wave her "Frozen" wand, which is basically a multi-colored strobe light, around a dimly lit restaurant this afternoon:
I sentence you to one month of non-stop awkward commentary to friends and strangers from your kindergarten-aged child regarding things you do at home. Additionally, I sentence you to one month of non-stop profanity from your toddler that will only be uttered in the presence of adults who will think it's hilarious and laugh every time as to unintentionally encourage the behavior.
Good luck to you because this miserable migraine aura and now painful headache that I've had all day will make that all seem like a cake walk.
Maternal Damnation
P.S.- You suck.
P.P.S.- Yes. Light up toys can cause migraines for those who suffer from these awful beasts. If you aren't sure who you could be unintentionally injuring, please leave the damn thing at home. She could have even left it in the car. I seriously thought they were police lights before realizing that I was just being punched in the brain by a dumb toy.
P.P.S.S. Yes. It feels like being punched in the brain. Repeatedly.

Thursday, September 4, 2014

Good Morning Sunshine

Yeah. It's afternoon. 

I never seem to know what time it is anymore. 

I'm not complaining. I have something to keep busy with all the time.

Husband might be complaining, but I think he'll manage. 

Being busy has kept my mind off of the amount of upheaval and back-and-forth that have been going on in our lives. It's all good things, and we have made it through in tact, but it has been stressful. We managed to get a contract on our house, and it won't be our house anymore in about 11 days. I haven't had time to think about how bizarre that is, and that's probably good. We'll be moving in with family for a few months while our beautiful new house is finished. Saving up will be very, very nice. Living with other people might be difficult. I think we'll survive it.

We're settling in to new ideas of life and things we might need to focus on instead of the ideal that we had our hearts set on for most of our lives. This might not work out the way we want. Since other things seem to chugging along, that doesn't seem soul crushing anymore. 

Most of the time.

We got the sister-in-law married off in a mostly uneventful weekend of wedding shenanigans. By uneventful, I mean everyone returned alive with all limbs intact. I dodged relentless grilling by the bride-to-be about when we're going to make babies, and I handled it way better than I ever thought I would. 

I survived the wedding that was put on in three months because she wants to start making babies yesterday. The idea of it was difficult for me to begin with, but it was never about me. Sometimes, my feelings really don't matter. That's totally ok. She'll have babies because life is good to her like that, and I'll sit and hurt for a while. It these last few months have taught me anything, though, it's that I'll get over it. 

And we continue on because that is what we do. We're busier than ever and, right now, that's a good thing. 

It's a great thing.

And, as always, its hip to be square, kids.

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