What’s funny about my post yesterday is it started out to be about how I was going to complain about looking at a really nice house today that we can afford and about how Tucker’s been put in for two new jobs – both in NE Florida. Obviously those two events are diametrically opposed.
So? See? That’s why I was talking about problems being relative and everyone’s problems being valid to them.
There are tons of people out there without jobs – you might be one of them – and tons of people out there who have lost or are losing their houses and I’m bitching about being in love with a house in one city whilst worrying about moving for a higher paying job. And to be a complete bitch about it, that’s my prerogative because this is my site.
After I wrote the Suckitude post, I got an email from my ex-step-mom asking if I had talked with my father.
OK. Hold on.
I don’t think I’ve ever explained that relationship.
My ex-step-mom [let’s call her D.] and my father got married a while ago and they’re about twenty years apart. Initially, she and I were not close. I was a brand new teenager and therefore a little shit and she was dealing with having a toddler and a husband who went through periods of crazy. Once I hit college, things got even weirder and more strained until she called me up one night and we talked for two hours – both of us realizing we had been played against each other by my father. A few years later, she left his ass after he started pawning things for drugs and had the cops got called on him for putting hands on her and one of his kids.
At any rate, ever since then, she and I have been close and a lot of the stuff I know about how my father is doing comes from her from what she hears coming down the grapevine.
I would have put all that in a footnote but that thing would have been HUGE!
Back to yesterday.
D emailed and asked if I had talked to my father. I hadn’t spoken with him in about a month – since he called me sobbing. She told me to call her.
And this is why I say “blogging isn’t real life.”
If I was writing pure-truth-real-life-blogging then I would recount word for word the conversation D and I had. Every nasty detail. Every tear dropped.
I don’t want you to think my entire site is a lie because it’s not but how often do you read the minute details of a person’s life on a blog. I mean the really tiny details.
Today I woke at 6am and poured my first cup of coffee only to spill it down my shirt. Since I wasn’t wearing a bra, I burned my left boob. After I drank some coffee, I went into that bathroom and peed and then pulled my greasy hair up in a half pony tail. Then, I got the kids their breakfast, poured my second cup of coffee and checked my email. Also? I think I’m about to start my period because I have cramps.
I almost fell asleep writing that.
I’ve been blogging since 2007 and in those years, I’ve learned a few things though few of them have been useful. However, one very useful thing I’ve learned is if the thought of writing about something makes your stomach hurt, then you should probably put that post off for a day…or a week…or a month.
Somehow, even as brutally honest as I’ve been about my father and mental health in general, I don’t feel like this is my story to tell at this moment. That the wound is still gaping and oozing and best to wait until all that mess has been mopped up.
Maybe I won’t need to write about this after all. Maybe I won’t need to. Maybe things will go the way they should and maybe promises from someone who has never kept promises will actually be kept.
I will say this: my father is alive. He has admitted he needs help. That’s all I’ll say about that today.
Blogging isn’t real life.