I’ve been in California with Peyton since Thursday night watching my sister’s three kids and their new 9 month old rescue dog. If there’s one thing I’ve [re]learned about myself it’s that I’m mother fucking amazing.
I gave up 3 days of income to do this and went full throttle with all the kids. I hit all the school pick ups, all the dietary needs, all the bathing, curls-combing, dog-training, basketball playing, refereeing, loving, cuddling, book reading, cooking, bed-making, and kitchen cleaning with almost no guidance whatsoever.
My sister kept texting me from NY with little things to do, but I was already on top of it. “I’ve got this,” I texted more than once.
Twice I had to say, “No, I’ll do it my way and however I can manage it,” but largely I did it the way the two of them would with only 3 kids in tow. No, dear sister, I will not walk the dog with 3 children while the 4th is at swim practice because that’s what her husband does.
This is the kind of sister I am. The kind of person and woman: someone needs me and I show the fuck up 100%.
I remember the night I moved out of my house in December 2010. I was devastated and terrified and so I’d made arrangements for my best friend to stay the night with me. She bailed hours before because she hadn’t spent that much time with her husband that week.
I remember the night I was heartbroken and bereft about The Neighbor and I asked another best friend if I could come over and talk, I’d bring the wine. She said she wasn’t drinking during the week anymore, so no, I couldn’t.
I remember telling my group of friends in February, emotional and through tears, about this blog and my trip to London and what a huge deal all this was and how scared I was to share it with them and then they never even asked me about my trip, let alone said anything about my writing.
I used to show up for all of these people like I did this weekend for my sister, but I don’t anymore. I kind of just hang back in the periphery. I reserve my efforts for my family, but it hurts. I can’t help but wonder if they even love me*.
I’ve syphoned off a lot of my giving nature in the form of sexual contact with men over the years – they’ll appreciate my efforts, right?? – but looking back at the data they’ve all just been opportunistic and not really all that interested in me either.
I still haven’t heard from anyone in 8+ days. Not Peter, not The Golfer, and not not surprisingly, The Vet. I matched with an interesting prospect on OKC last night and I quickly lost interest in the conversation when he only responded to my questions and never asked me one fucking thing in 6 messages, save for my thoughts on fucking crawfish.
I don’t give a fuck about crawfish.
I’m beginning to feel more and more panicky about my future. No one is remotely treating me humanely. I’m an afterthought, a good time when convenient and when horny. Necessary in a pinch, but not worth any effort.
I’ll end this with a non-sequitur: my new love is white Bordeaux.
*This isn’t some passive aggressive message to my friends. The one who bailed on me that first night away from home knows how I feel. We had our only big rift because of that night and we made it though to the other side [mostly] intact, albeit altered. The others, the ones who encouraged me to share the URL for my blog with them, I truly believe they haven’t read me and really don’t care to. Not in a malicious way, just lack of interest way. I must not have made it clear what a big deal it was to share this with them and that I wanted their feedback.