...It's not you, it's me

It has taken dropping my basket of complete "shittery" to realize that I need to come home and home is here. My blog is my therapy and my outlet. My blog is my voice that is not interrupted by the SBF asking me "What did I buy for $210 bucks at Kroger?" at which time in my head I always answer..."groceries, you dumbass." My voice is not interrupted by Miss B asking me to come look at her shit this one last time because there is something weird in it. To have a decent phone conversation nowadays, I get in my car and back out of the driveway and close the garage door. Seriously, I spend 80% of my conversations with friends in my car in the driveway. Miss B can read text messages now and loves to spell the word S-H-I-T. She will spend a good hour asking when would be the appropriate time to spell it...like when could she get away with it. Can I spell it on vacation? Can I spell it at home? Can I just spell it in the car...this one time? Have I allowed her to spell it to get her just to shut the hell up...yes. The struggle is real around here.

The Divas are getting older and their social lives, homework, and extracurricular activities have rendered me their bitch, their butler, their Benson, their Hobson (etc)...some of you may have to google. Giggle. Anyway, I am basically their "do boy" which was all fine and dandy, until I forgot that you can't be a "do boy" and a "volunteer whore". I have had the honor to serve on very wonderful organizations that have had the most wonderful effects on my community. To these organizations that I just tapped out and quit on the spot a couple of months ago...."It's not you, it's me". With my sick sense of humor comes this insane passion to help others. I go all "balls in" with a majority of the stuff I participate in. THIS IS NOT HEALTHY! It took several crying spells in my bedroom closet and thoughts of "choking out" other volunteers to make me realize that my basket was full. So, I dropped my basket then picked it up and proceeded to drop kick it into the yard. I tossed cigarette butts in it and walked away. I left that damn basket in my neglected yard and cut the damn porch light off. For the first time, I tapped out. AND GUESS WHAT HAPPENED...the world did not come to an end. These organizations kept on without me. Someone else picked up the torch and the heavens opened up and I started to see the light. I started to see the greater good, humanity, all of the warm and fuzzy shit that makes you believe there is good in the world.

What started out as "just wanting to help out" became too much. I caught an STD while whoring myself out in the world of volunteering. The STD is called "I give 0 fucks now." I blame myself. You can't "do" everybody and "do" everything without it catching up with you. So, I have almost completely phased "working for free" out of my life for now. I am still PTO president and my term will end in May at which time I shall go underground. To those women out there that are tired, frustrated, fed up, exhausted, and on the edge of losing it....JUST QUIT. I am a quitter now and the shit feels awesome. I know some may read this and think that I am shitting on volunteering. I am not. I am shitting on myself. Again...it's not you, it's me. Public service announcement: the worst things you can do to a volunteer is not tell them thank you, take them for granted, be mean to them, and believe they owe you their services, time, energy, and money. We have created a world where service is expected by some. I grew up in an environment that "nobody in life owes you shit, so if they take time to acknowledge you...you sure as hell better show gratitude."

So, my free time is no longer consumed with opportunities to serve others. I gladly placed the golden baton in the next person's hand and I wished them much more wisdom and patience than I had. My sabbatical has allowed me to focus on myself more and I suck at it. For some odd reason, I think I am only of value if I am helping everyone but myself. I am not in anyway trying to be Mother Teresa. If I see something empty, I must fill it. If I see a need, I am drawn to conquer. I love to fight for the underdog. This shit sounds all noble and wonderful, but I don't know how to balance it. I do too much and then go bat shit crazy! For now....some days, I don't do shit. I focus on my house. I watch shitty TV. I ignore my kids. I have cocktails. I workout. I daydream. I let the laundry pile up. And every day, I learn the world is okay with me doing just that....not a damn thing. More of us out there need to realize that...the world will be okay without us.

It took weeks, but I decided to open my front door and go find my basket. Let me tell you...the weather did a number on that basket. Seriously, the fucking cold weather resulted in too many snow days, too many illnesses, and too much time indoors with my family. In one day, I experienced one Diva mumble "gummy bears" and proceed to faint in the doctor's office after being diagnosed with the flu and another Diva collapse in her own vomit in the kitchen with her pants around her ankles. Why did I find her with her pants around her ankles...in the kitchen...face down in vomit? Well, she had diarrhea and had to vomit and needed to run across the house and tell me....duh!!! Back to my basket, I found that bitch. I have pieced her back together and I have carefully placed strips of paper back in her. I read a book. I actually made time to read a book that a dear friend gave me about giving your "best yes" and it helped treat my volunteer STD. I can now just say "no" instead of "hell, no. fuck you. you life suckers. you dream killers, etc". I forget to return emails. I don't answer my phone sometimes. I don't respond to texts immediately. I no longer fill in sign up slots with my name. I even started working out. Planks have become my friend. I am filling my basket with strips that make me better, not everyone else better. I am still a work in progress. Some days, I feel myself being drawn into a FB war, a rally, a cause, and I simply tell myself  "Nope. Not today. It's me. My basket just isn't strong enough."

Realizing "it's not you, it's me" has allowed me to breathe. It has allowed me to find peace and let go of the anger and resentment I was carrying around. I can fix myself, but I can't fix others. I can't make them care as much, do as much, or fight as much. Deciding that I was the problem made me feel better about not enjoying some things or some people. FOR EXAMPLE....Disney Fucking World. Please note that I have emphatically expressed that "it's not you, it's me". The SBF surprised us with a trip to Disney World for Christmas. I grimaced when he told me which came out as "I'm trying to fucking surprise y'all with a trip to Disney, but you keep spending so much money on Christmas!".  I was shocked because the SBF and I went to Disney World after our first year of marriage with my family. I thought we both agreed to never ever return. But, I fell in love with his effort. He doesn't do holidays. So, this was big. We surprised the Divas with a trip full of magic, bliss, fun, and all that good shit.

Imagine Christmas Day, Magic Kingdom at Disney World, 3 Divas, and 10,000 people wanting to be apart of the magic....shit looked like the apocalypse.  Miss B tried to go apeshit because she wanted a $350 Mickey Mouse nutcracker to the point I wanted to tell her to "crack deez nuts" in the store. I dry heaved over several rides in Magic Kingdom. I screamed "fuck" when someone rammed my ankle with their wheelchair and it was not a soft "fuck". I screamed that word in slow motion making sure to enunciate every single letter. Where was all of the magic, happiness, and the squeals of joy?? I witnessed husbands and wives turn on each other. I witnessed sibling relationships being destroyed. I witnessed parents basically telling their kids to "suck it the fuck up and keep walking". Oxygen should be pumped into Disney like they do the casinos in Vegas. After spending $80 on Mickey Mouse ears (we had to buy one Diva another set because the other Diva slapped it off her head in the Haunted Mansion), the SBF decided that he was no longer feeding us. We were on our 12th hour of Magic Kingdom and this asshole refused to purchase anymore food. Pause...the SBF is frugal to say the least and thought a $100/per diem budget for a family of five would suffice at Disney. Anyway, I mentioned that I was weak and starving after fighting to see the fireworks which my kids chose not to watch but ride the teacups for the 5th time. Well, this asshat looked at me and said "No!". I don't remember what I said to him on the bridge in front of the castle that was glistening like Frozen. Whatever I said caused Miss B to ask if I was going to divorce daddy. I reassured her that we were not getting a divorce...I would just kill him instead. How did we miss the magic? "It's not you, it's me". Disney World lovers are a special breed. My kids failed to appreciate the magic, the fairytale, the beauty...all those bitches wanted to do was ride. They gave 0 fucks about Mickey. They only wanted the thrill of the rides. So, we realized that we are more of a "Six Flags" family and not a "Disney World" family. We're also a family that can only enjoy spending that amount of money on a trip that includes sand, ocean, and cocktails. So, if you love Disney..."Do you, boo", because "It's not you, it's me."

I have also tried to fill my basket with friendships. I am surrounded by 4 completely insane individuals that mean so much to me, but I feel so lonely sometimes. I often wonder if volunteering gave me a different kind of human interaction that I was craving. I expected people coming together for the greater good would spark harmony, thought provoking conversation, and laughter. Well, it didn't. Again..."it's not you, it's me..." I was expecting too much from people I didn't really know. So, I have gathered up my friendships and placed them back in my basket. I have focused on grabbing more of the strips of friendships that feed my soul and less of the surface bitches. HA! I just need a little more and I don't have much to give.

Just the other day, I met a group of women. Within 30 minutes, all three women looked at the size of my wedding ring, asked me what the SBF and I do, and where I lived. I almost said..."who the fuck cares?????". The size of my ring says nothing about my marriage. I don't have a rock on my hand and I am in no way knocking those who have some bling..."Do you, boo!!". I like big diamonds. They are pretty to look at. If I have a friend with a rock, I am happy for her. But, it says nothing to me. I have a wedding ring that was purchased by a fella who scraped together every dime he had and I cherish my ring. I look at my ring when my marriage gets really hard...the really dark kind of hard and it brings me home. My ring reminds me that we were willing to accept each other as we were almost 14 years ago and vowed to make it work. As far as asking me what the SBF does....he "does" me. As far as asking me what I do....I "do" the SBF and all kinds of off the wall shit that would be far more entertaining to hear about than my occupation. I often return to my vehicle after grocery shopping only to find my trunk has been open the entire time. Ha!!! My job does not define me and won't tell you much about me. I am an audiologist. I look in ears. I have many close friends and I don't know what they do. Seriously, I just don't care. I know their secrets...well the ones I can remember because often times I forget. I only retain the information that is important. I know their heart and to me that is enough. Asking a stranger, where they live baffles me as well!!! WTF...are you trying to plan a "late night"/"after party", do you want to come over, is this some type of financial litmus test??? I live in the country is my normal response. The size and location of my home will not give you any information about me. You will not know the harmony, the chaos, the laughter, the tears, the heartache, and the love from the size and location.

Since, this post has turned into a "Take Me to Church" flow....I will end with one confession: When people see me in public without my kids and say "How did you manage to get out without all of the kids?", my ears start ringing. Seriously, the bubble over my head is saying "Fuck my kids right now. I'm free!" or "They with they daddy." I always muster up an explanation. I realized I never ask people where there children are if they are alone. I don't care. I assume they are safe and well. I know this sounds harsh, but I will pray for your child when he/she is hurting. I will fight for your child. I am all about "it takes a village". It's just...I dropped my basket and tried to set it on fire. So, I have to be easy with myself right now. I have to fill my basket carefully with strips that are colorful and meaningful.

In the most simplest terms....

"It's not you, it's me."