Meh should be a feeling word. 🙂
i’m thinking today, a bit in my head about Sir Raven using the phrase, “I don’t care,” when i’m pretty positive this is not what she means.
She has said she doesn’t care about dishes in the sink, but it happened early on, because i thought relax on Sunday meant let the stuff sit for a while. But a breakfast, snack plate, and dinner prep had a mess in there. She walked in, stopped in the middle of the kitchen, came back out to me and said in shock and horror, “What is going on in my kitchen, girl?”
There could be one cup in the sink and she will say something, but she had used the words, “I don’t care about dishes in the sink.”
When i say i can’t understand what that phrase means, she repeats it slowly, like she is talking to someone whose first language isn’t English. Sometimes, it isn’t. i may think in story pictures, fun facts, an entire body of research, and in sign language before i break the words down into English.
She said the same thing about the laundry, after saying something about it the day before. i am having another bad day and i’m sick of being sick, of waking up exhausted, of feeling like my hips may snap, of timing my life around medication and putting on make up to not look like hell.
And i look at it, sitting in its bag in the living room. Yesterday, though she said she didn’t care about laundry. And if she doesn’t care, why in the hell should i care? i mean, we have clean clothes.
i’m thinking, though, that she may mean something like I don’t have to carry about the house being clean, laundry being done, meals, and errands done because you do them. So not doing them isn’t a big deal, because it doesn’t really happen much.
Seriously, i hate when she says something that is evidently plain English and i have absolutely no idea what she means. Her words say one thing, her behavior another. And there the two random times i got punished with the strap because i had not gotten things done.
i’ve learned to focus more on her behaviors, reactions, energy-over directly what is said and the words she uses. For whatever reason, she will make a polite remark because she has manners.
A politely worded, “Would you like salad or a wrap?” means ask for which one you want. If she says “Can we stop talking about this?” it means “shut up, girl.” Its not really necessary for her to raise her voice or be insulting or crude. She comes from a higher social class and has spent a good amount of time with people who were certainly higher still. Old money does not walk around berating the staff, you know? There is a certain level of genteel behavior, as if you are a part of the family-in the sense that having servants is a part of normal family life. They want to please you, and its a sign of your money and class to hire servants who are dedicated to your family, are intelligent and diligent, and so forth.
There are times, though, that i am totally lost from what she is actually meaning. It’s frustrating.
She is the person i want to understand the best in life, and when i fail that it makes me second guess everything. Did she mean this? Or that? Is this an old rule she is adjusting?
There are times that emotionally, i’m just confused and exhausting, sitting in the middle of the road and watching.
My Dispassionate Observer tics of eating disorder symptoms present, nightmares, difficulty sleeping check, weight loss/weight gain
like its a game of Olympics for Dummies game of Psychology, with giant score cards, tally marks.
And i am feeling like-fuck this shit.
i am having anxiety again, not wanting to be in crowds-and everyfuckingwhere has crowds here. Racing thoughts. So, really, i’d rather stay at home right now and pray. Rock. Evidently eat like a disgusting animal, because i’m angry. i turn the hate inward. i push it out, meditate, sit in the moment, feel-but that shit takes some privacy.
So-really-the dispassionate observer is dryly checking off criterion.
The humanist says this focused intention on the now is good, wise mind says it is good to practice self care and spend a few days at home when you need to. Listen to the need for finding some peace in my soul.
i’m silently, and angrily hitting a wall. A brick wall, in New York.
i just can’t be around people today. i have wine for her, a meal will be ready, and i hopefully will manage to fix my hair, which looks like i have just escaped from the wild. i’m bloated everywhere. My frigging foot hurts. i’m burning everywhere. i can’t cry. i’m anxious, tense, feeling on edge. We are going through Police Brutality, people are hot and angry and tired of being abused.
i’m definitely having some memories happen, the hate crime, the times i got second degree burns and black eyes and was knocked out cold. i’m watching it, remind myself it is natural, and that it would unusual if some stuff didn’t come up. i’m actually trying to feel and stay focused and mindful. But i’m pretty worn out of doing that now, and the coping skills are not always at an adult level.
Thankfully, Sir Raven realized that when i ate her stuff and i’ve been pouting a little bit and asking for stuff. Dresses and pool toys, mainly. Cuffs because of the anxiety. And sometimes a puppy. And Tiffanys, because her kids got silver spoons from Tiffany. i can’t even say that without rolling my poverty laden eyes, my experienced laced with the views of luxury, knowing for a fact we had the money, likely more money than the people who owned the homes we toured for months at a time. We were constantly at amusement parks, though, but even there we went thirsty and wanted popcorn or something. It was weird, very unstable. Okay-i need a nap. My mind is just all over the place.