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I hate nights like this when it's getting late and I can't go to sleep. It means I'll be hung over in the morning. It means the dang dogs will wake me up at the crack of dawn and want to be fed. I'm not as much of a dog lover as I used to be. I've kind of had it.
One thing that really pisses me off is that my aunt who is eighty-six, has more money than God. I'm fairly certain she still has the last penny she ever made, and since her bipolar son self-medicated himself to death, she has no heirs except for me, my mom, and my sister. Mom says my sister and I will each get $1,000 when she dies. Big deal. With gas at $4.15 a gallon and peanut butter going for six bucks a jar, a thousand dollars won't last a week.
Aunt Betsy owned several businesses throughout her years. My dad was very bitter before he died in 2010. He had blown through all of his money and when he knew he was dying, he begged my aunt to leave her money to my mom. Aunt Betsy refused saying that she and my uncle Leo, who died years ago, agreed to leave the stash to the Boys & Girls club. What a waste. I've been having visions of the director driving his new Mercedes a week after her death.
I'm glad she was stubborn and didn't leave the money to my mom. She would have done nothing but buy pretty sh*t with it. She'd get her hair done more often than she does now, and buy a bunch of junk like Easter baskets and Christmas stockings for the help. It's pitiful, I know, but she's the only mother I've got.
On the other hand, I've blown every dime I've had on animal rescue. It was a sickness having something to do with growing up and not feeling loved (according to every therapist I've been to). Aunt Betsy knows about my devotion to animals--my dad bitched about it alot. And yet, she still won't cut me a break. It's not that I think she owes me, but I have suffered from the same genetic affliction her son died from. You'd think that would account for something when I can't even fill the gas tank on my SUV all the way.
I no longer own a dryer. My last one died. And I'm forced to look at the fat ass I'm married to lay around all day; or I can throw him out all together but today for instance, I had left the headlights on and the battery had died. My next door neighbor (he thinks I'm pretty and will do just about anything for me) is too old to help out anymore. Sure, I could have walked forty miles to the store, but did I? Hell no! I caved to the ogre in my life and sweet talked him into jumpstarting my battery. I'll admit it, I'm weak.
At times like this, I remember the story I once read. I don't remember the name of the book, but an american woman had married a guy from Africa. Her in-laws came to visit and when she ran out of milk for her children, her father-in-law said, "I'll walk down to the store and get some."
She gasped. "You can't do that!" she said. "That's more than fifty miles away (she lived in the country).
"Yeah, so what?" he replied. "It's only fifty miles. In Africa, it'd be seventy!"
I guess it's all a matter of perspective and if I were living in Africa the way I'm living now would be nothing out of the ordinary.
Peace, M.
I hate nights like this when it's getting late and I can't go to sleep. It means I'll be hung over in the morning. It means the dang dogs will wake me up at the crack of dawn and want to be fed. I'm not as much of a dog lover as I used to be. I've kind of had it.
One thing that really pisses me off is that my aunt who is eighty-six, has more money than God. I'm fairly certain she still has the last penny she ever made, and since her bipolar son self-medicated himself to death, she has no heirs except for me, my mom, and my sister. Mom says my sister and I will each get $1,000 when she dies. Big deal. With gas at $4.15 a gallon and peanut butter going for six bucks a jar, a thousand dollars won't last a week.
Aunt Betsy owned several businesses throughout her years. My dad was very bitter before he died in 2010. He had blown through all of his money and when he knew he was dying, he begged my aunt to leave her money to my mom. Aunt Betsy refused saying that she and my uncle Leo, who died years ago, agreed to leave the stash to the Boys & Girls club. What a waste. I've been having visions of the director driving his new Mercedes a week after her death.
I'm glad she was stubborn and didn't leave the money to my mom. She would have done nothing but buy pretty sh*t with it. She'd get her hair done more often than she does now, and buy a bunch of junk like Easter baskets and Christmas stockings for the help. It's pitiful, I know, but she's the only mother I've got.
On the other hand, I've blown every dime I've had on animal rescue. It was a sickness having something to do with growing up and not feeling loved (according to every therapist I've been to). Aunt Betsy knows about my devotion to animals--my dad bitched about it alot. And yet, she still won't cut me a break. It's not that I think she owes me, but I have suffered from the same genetic affliction her son died from. You'd think that would account for something when I can't even fill the gas tank on my SUV all the way.
I no longer own a dryer. My last one died. And I'm forced to look at the fat ass I'm married to lay around all day; or I can throw him out all together but today for instance, I had left the headlights on and the battery had died. My next door neighbor (he thinks I'm pretty and will do just about anything for me) is too old to help out anymore. Sure, I could have walked forty miles to the store, but did I? Hell no! I caved to the ogre in my life and sweet talked him into jumpstarting my battery. I'll admit it, I'm weak.
At times like this, I remember the story I once read. I don't remember the name of the book, but an american woman had married a guy from Africa. Her in-laws came to visit and when she ran out of milk for her children, her father-in-law said, "I'll walk down to the store and get some."
She gasped. "You can't do that!" she said. "That's more than fifty miles away (she lived in the country).
"Yeah, so what?" he replied. "It's only fifty miles. In Africa, it'd be seventy!"
I guess it's all a matter of perspective and if I were living in Africa the way I'm living now would be nothing out of the ordinary.
Peace, M.