What I’m really trying to say is…
I know I suck, but I’m learning to be ok with that. Why can’t you?
When I drop my kids off to school late, the secretaries and assistant principal and everyone look at me like I just farted in the moment of silence during a funeral. When I say, “I’m sorry. We couldn’t find her shoes or her jacket, so after an hour of looking, I gave up and took them shopping,” what I’m trying to say is, “Look I know I suck. Get the fuck over it. There’s more important things than your fucking world.”
You know, those words are good for just about everyone and every circumstance in my life. Why is your house a mess? Why is your car so filthy? Why can’t you be on time? Why did you forget our appointment? Why can’t you find your kids’ shoes? Why did you send your kid to school without a jacket? Why didn’t you get me something to eat? Why did you overdraw your checking? Why didn’t you pay that bill? Why didn’t you plan in advance? Why are you buying something you already have? Why is it we can’t walk into a bar without running into at least one guy you fucked?
OK. Nobody really asks that last question…
When I respond with things like, “I haven’t slept in 2 days. I have PTSD and can’t keep track of time or memories too well. I can completely forget paying $700 in bills in a manner of a day. I’ve been busy writing a book or designing something for a client. Nobody helps me with anything. I married a Puerto Rican, so I don’t have a husband who cooks or cleans at all, like all my single mom friends have more help with their house and kids than I do. I had 3 kids back to back, like that’s a clusterfuck of FUBAR. This week I had 2 sick kids with 2 different doctor visits, a birthday, a Halloween party, 2 nights of Trick or Treat, and I still managed to write 4 chapters in my book (that happened in October by the way), please don’t call me lazy. You wouldn’t understand because you don’t have kids. So what if I’m a whore? I don’t like being alone. Not many people do.”
What I really mean?
Look. I know I suck. Get the fuck over it. There’s more important things.
But this is where I don’t suck. This is where I tap into more important things. This is what makes me better than most people, especially my haters… This is good advice for GOOD PEOPLE who are dealing with EVIL PEOPLE.
I’m more aware of your bull shit than you are, and I’m trying not to be an asshole about it, even if you deserve it.
The problem is the judgment I get from people is actually a direct reflection of how they see themselves. If you hate me, that’s because you hate yourself. If you think I’m a bad mom, you’re insecure about the type of mother you are or will be. If you are trying to talk me into doing something desperate, that’s because you are the one who is desperate.
Knowing these weaknesses about you, so obvious, I could really fuck with you back, and see my punches would hurt because instead of hitting you with my own insecurities, I’d be hitting you much closer to home with your insecurities.
I should delete this next paragraph but this is what I’ve been WANTING to say so bad now… SO BAD. I need to get it out… And it’s a prime example of what is really important.
The meanest bitch I deal with who judges me the most as a parent, as well as many other parents, well I’ve heard that she can’t have children and has been trying for years. Let’s assume for a minute that’s true, then her hating me has nothing to do with my ability to parent. It’s pure jealousy because I am a parent, and she has herself convinced she can do a better job and is thereby more deserving of children than the rest of us. The truth is, if you treat other people and their children like shit because your vagina tree isn’t bearing any fruit, then you aren’t going to be a good parent. You are going to raise an asshole just like yourself.
In no way am I saying she deserves not to have kids. Every woman deserves to have something to put above her own needs and wants for the rest of her life.
BUT… I so bad want to flaunt my crotchfruit in front of her snubby little prissy face like a cat waving its tail underneath the nose of a bitch chained to a tree because she has really fucked with me in ways that if this were on the streets of Mexico, she’d be dead, but I won’t because Jesus Christ. He wants me to be a better person than that. Instead, I’m going to send her a nice note in her Christmas card.
I don’t hate her for who she is. I hate her for what she’s done to me. That distinction is a tough pill to swallow sometimes, but like those Prenatal Pine Cone Sized Pills, we take it because it’s what is best for us and our children. While she really does deserve hell in the name of revenge, it’s hell that made her that way, and she won’t change if I bring her more hell.
That is what is important. It’s easy to be nice to nice people. It’s easy to give money to a guy who deserves money. What isn’t easy is caring for those who hurt us. Caring for those who don’t deserve it.
Scrooge was a dick to everyone, but that didn’t stop anyone from wishing him a Merry Christmas or inviting him to Christmas dinner despite that his presence would ruin their Christmas. That’s what’s more important.
Look. Some of you suck. I’m getting the fuck over it because there’s more important things.
This has been part of Finish the Sentence Friday. For more, check out…
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