Don’t you know me?

Today, I have been asking that question in my head way way too much. Have you met me? Do you know me? Do you FREAKING LISTEN TO ANYTHING THAT COMES OUT OF MY MOUTH?!?!?!?!

Ok- what has me so flipping twisted? SURPRISES… I HATE SURPRISES. Anyone that knows me knows that I cannot stand being surprised… planning a surprise for my birthday, sending me flowers, holidays even. I hate them. I have tried psychoanalyzing myself and trying to figure out why I hate them so very much, and all that I can come up with is that almost anytime I have ever dealt with these situations, I have been disappointed…. I know- that sounds ridiculous- but it is the truth. I can vividly remember so many times expecting things that never materialized. Over the years, I have actually started having severe anxiety when my birthday is coming up and I freak out if anyone tries to do things. I get rude and angry.. Last year my husband sent me flowers at work and I refused to go to the office to get them- when I was “Tricked” by someone to come to the office and they presented me with the flowers, I actually started CRYING- not like that cry of joy- I mean tears of anger and frustration. I wanted to shove those flowers down the throat of the person who called me to the office AND my husband. This person presented me with the flowers like it was a pot of gold and I should have been so very thankful they tricked me into coming up. I was so very angry.

Mother’s day… yeah. Those Hallmark card breakfast in bed mornings with gifts from the kids and cards…  Guess what? Either you kids have to be old enough to have a job of their own and a car to get themselves to the store… of you have to have a significant other who choreographs the whole thing. The last few mother’s days with only the boys at home, and now Addison, I have laid in bed, listening for conspiratorial whispers coming from the kitchen, begging my bladder just to wait… only to finally end up getting up and starting breakfast, disappointed I didn’t get syrup dropped in the bed or coffee spilled in my lap. The gifts the boys make at school, forgotten until everyone either hears the words, “Mother’s Day” on TV or they wonder why I am in a crappy mood… this last year the boys brought potted flowers home and they ended up putting them outside and they died before Mother’s Day. I never even got to see them because they were tossed before Mother’s Day even arrived.

Christmas isn’t so bad because I enjoy giving to others. I always search for just the right gift- I listen to subtle hints being dropped, and I make those things happen. So, when Santa comes and we open gifts on Christmas morning, I am surrounded by happiness. i always put my gifts aside, unopened, until  everyone else finishes because I almost need that good spirit to get through the disappointment that I know awaits me. My daughters, now that they are grown, are pretty good at giving me what I want- but if they are not home for Christmas, either I have nothing, or I get an afterthought. It is extremely depressing. I try to tell myself it is not important… gifts are not what matters, after all. And, that is not the source of my discontent. It comes down to no one making that effort. No one caring enough to make sure that my eyes light up in the morning- or searching out that one thing that I have dropped hints about and making it appear under the tree. I could tell you so many horror stories of gifts that I did receive that were so clearly those gifts that say- I forgot about you until the last minute so what I got you was all that was left in the store. I am not hard to shop for- I have worn the same perfume for years and it is inexpensive- you can usually get the lotion, body wash and spray for less than 20 bucks if you shop the sales. I only wear certain types of boots, am not a big jewelry person… love books… love certain crafts and would be excited over a collection of Chalk Paint… I collect cookie Jars and am always looking for an odd or different one. I have never wanted diamonds, or flowers, or other girly stuff. I just want someone to show me they know me and they care about giving me that gift that shows it.

OK- I got off on a tangent… sorry- So- what was I so twisted about today? Undoubtedly my husband has planned a “surprise” for me for Monday. I HATE when he says that… I hate it because every time he has said he has a surprise for me, it has turned out badly. He is either BSing- or what he thinks of as a surprise is so NOT a surprise. When he said to me You have a surprise coming next week… I assumed it was his cousin, who I love, coming to stay because he lost his job… When he assured me that was not it, I allowed myself to think that there was really a surprise. He then said it was really for the whole family… Man- my dumb ass started thinking he had found me a Great Dane puppy and it was coming next week- knowing I had been mourning the loss of my big girl. OR- maybe it was the car I had found several weeks back that was in TX- and the most perfect car I had ever seen. Had he SOMEHOW gotten the car I loved just from the pics and gotten it delivered? WHY? Why do I allow myself to think that someone actually went to that much trouble for me? Have I not yet learned my lesson?

So- when he couldn’t keep the secret and finally told me someone was going to come for a visit… I was incensed… enraged… He knows that right now I am in a funk… the medical issues and dr appts, the things happening with my son, dealing with insurance and phone calls, conference calls…. and trying to keep our heads above water through it all. He knows I haven’t even talked with my best friends. I have just sank myself into writing projects where I don’t have to think about it. I do not want to see anyone, go anywhere, do anything. I am still showering, still eating, making money… doing what I need to do. I just don’t want to inflict my funk on others. AND, to have someone coming HERE- to our house? We are far from the pages of Southern Living. We have 3 kids- dogs-cats… we LIVE in our house. It is not dirty or nasty, but we have junk here and there- things get piled on the table sometimes… so if someone is coming over I go into a frenzy, trying to clean and basically change the way we live for someone else. I never have friends over- and part of that is just because I like being comfortable in my home. I like to sit in my peeling leather recliner wearing my jammies and no bra in the middle of the afternoon when I am writing. I like to smoke when I want without worrying that other people are going to be offended. Sometimes, I sit in my chair with cats or dogs or kids… or all 3. I do not find pleasure in the thought of entertaining… making finger foods, locking the animals up where they won’t bother the guests- not letting anyone breathe until it is over with… I know- that makes me a freak. I just feel so exposed when people come over. I don’t like that feeling. And when I found out that this was planned behind my back- I was furious. I felt disrespected. I know- crazy… but is a surprise a good one if you are embarrassed because your house is not a showplace? If you sit, looking around the house at things that should have been cleaned before someone showed up? Dusting that hasn’t been done, or rugs that should have been vacuumed… Am I the only person in the world who wants my private life to stay private? Who likes to keep home life for family? IDK. I have been accused of being a control freak, and maybe I am to an extent. I have had to be in control for so long- had to take care of my kids by myself for years as a single mother and then as an abused woman with a vengeful and violent man. I have always paid my own bills- have always been the money maker… maybe that is the problem. IDK. All I know is that, now that I know that this surprise visit is planned for Monday, I am torn between exhausting myself cleaning the house from top to bottom tomorrow, or simply putting my foot down and refusing to have anyone over here… Does that make me a psycho? OH WELL- we shall see what happens, I guess….

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s