I started on a Suicide Survivors’ group, but I’m not done whining, and I don’t want to bore them. So I’ll continue here. But before I do, these are the rules: anyone wishing to comment may contribute their own complaints, or express sympathy with mine, but do not, under any circumstances, offer encouragement or advice! I know damn well I have to do it, I know damn well I can do it, I fully intend to do it, but tonight I am indulging in the luxury of a pity party.
I’m sick of everything in my life. I woke up this morning to a smashed windshield, I guess because the loony downstairs is blaming his looming eviction on me and the “people” who stay in my apartment and mess with his computers with radiation beamed through my floor. A month ago it was a slashed tire, for reasons unknown. I say “I guess” because of course I don’t know, no one saw it happen–again–and I have no proof.
Work sucks. I spend all day chasing around in circles, trying to stay on top of shifting piles of paperwork, and not lose the kids, who are SUPPOSED to be why I’m there. And after I spend a couple days and a lot of writer’s cramp and phone time to get an MIA back in school? Parent comes in, says the kid had a cold, that’s why he missed a week and a half of school–and the administrator nods and smiles and says we’re glad he feels better! I spend half a day chasing down paperwork a parent SHOULD have (honest to God, a mother asked me how she could be expected to have the birth certificate and shot records!) to get their child into school, only for mom to change her mind and ship the poor clod back to dad, who didn’t give a damn in the first place, that’s why he was shipped to mom!
There’s the boy who’s on serious probation, really trying to turn his life around, who’s mother comes and signs him out for half the day, or brings him in late, three and four times a week. All for doctor’s appointments. There’s the girl who comes to school late because her stepfather ripped up her school planner when she didn’t do the dishes right, or woke her up at four in the morning to find her sister’s toy so he could put batteries in it.
Humanity sucks.
Hope earned a green light once, and almost a month ago now, two days with red lights. On the thirty-five other days of school, she has had a purple light and her name on the board with checks. Most days she is removed from her classroom for a while. She won’t get dressed in the morning unless I watch her every move, she won’t brush her teeth, and she unbuckles her seat belt. She dumps $5 worth of Mr Clean in and over the toilet, uses my whole bottle of shampoo as bubble bath–instead of her bubble bath!–and screams her lungs out when I refuse to take her out to dinner after yet another purple light day.
The person I least want to see in all the world, our first CPS worker, has been in my office three times this week, and the one I need because they’re cancelling my day-care four months before they said they would, is nowhere to be found. But no, first worker can’t do anything about my day-care. I have to talk to the vanished worker.
And I miss my husband horribly, I can’t celebrate 7 years of marriage in two weeks, and I’m mad as hell that he left me to deal with all this BULLSHIT by myself! He wouldn’t be much help with any of it, that’s true. But at least I’d have a hiding place late at night.