I’m NOT down with OPP, thanks

Well, what can I say — obviously, by this photo, you know I’m at home!

I’m so very through. So. Very. Through.

I’ve been struggling with something huge lately. Other than the ominous, whiny, demanding, critical, dependent cloud of gloom and doom that permeates my apartment.

And I realized today, it’s in God’s hands. Not mine. It was never in mine. I don’t know WHY I thought it was.

Well, I DO know why. Because this fucked-up home life of mine refuses to solve itself. I’ve stopped trusting God. I remember when I was unemployed back in 2004. It took me finding God and trusting Him for the situation to turn around.

And here we are, six years later, and I’m doubting Him again. I think He’s going to take me back to the brink of absolute insanity again.

You know what I fear? Other than my mother living with me FOREVER and me missing out on life and love and wanting to come home? I fear stupid shit. Like illness. Or having a kid with some sort of problem or another. (I can’t even articulate it.)

I used to be grateful for “stupid” worries like I have now. I always figured it saved me from having bigger problems … that if I just had a series of utter annoyances, I would avoid Problems with a capital P.

And while I don’t want anything more-serious than what I’m dealing with, when does my break from it all come?

Work is good. Busy. Stressful sometimes. Not bad, overall. Had I not worked at the goddamned insane asylum, I might not be as happy as I am in a mild form of chaos. I like teambuilding and having visitors from out of town/out of the country. I had lunch with a former Congresscritter yesterday. Life’s not too bad these days.

I just wish the UEOEH (Ultra Extra Over Extended Houseguest) would move out. She loves to tell me how cruel I am. Today I asked her (nicely!) to get a package from my cunty landlady, who signed for it a week ago and never BOTHERED to tell me it had arrived. Since, you know, she doesn’t do anything else. (Which, I didn’t mention!)

So she tells me she got the package and asked what I was going to do to thank her for seeing the cunt. I replied with a quick, “Enjoy another day rent-free.” So I got about six e-mails blah blah blah “You’re so mean” and “You’re cruel” blah blah blah.

Hey, if all anyone wanted ME to do was get a fucking box from the landlady instead of paying half of the (*mumblemumble*) rent, honey, I’d be pretty FUCKING happy to stick a Swiffer up my ass and dust the floor on my way out!

I don’t know, God. I know lots and lots of people have it worse. But I also know lots and lots of people have it better.

I know I grew up poor. I didn’t have two nickels to rub together till I was 27 years old. I’m finally at a point in my life where I could enjoy said life. And, I can’t. I try so hard. And it just doesn’t come together.

I have been thinking about kids a lot. A LOT. It’s not that I really want to have one. But it was someone reminding me that I have a finite time to decide either way that really sent my clock into overdrive.

And again, it was always something I (mostly) left in God’s hands. Minus the extreme birth control. God bless Plan B. And Plan C, for that matter.

But I always thought that would be worked out by now. And yet, after Princess plopped her obnoxious ass into my house, I don’t want to live with anybody. No tall people, no short people and no furry people beyond the cat I already have. (And she’s annoying me too — she goes wherever UEOEH goes!)

I started wondering about adoption. Or even a turkey baster. Or hitting the pound for a puppy. But again, I need Miss Muffet to move off of my tuffet so that I have room in my life, heart and apartment for something else. Because anything/anyone else daring to siphon another breath of my oxygen is gonna get a size 8 1/2 foot up their ass.

God? You’ve got my back, right? You’ve helped me with, well, everything else. I want to save my prayers for when I REALLY need them. But I kinda need You now. Actually, more than just “kinda.” I know You’ve got a plan, and I’d be an asshole to question it. But could you throw a girl a hint about Your timetable?

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