Sometimes I have self-esteem problems. The whole “aww, I’m not good enough” deal. And then sometimes I’m pretty moderate in my confidence. And then rarely–oh, so rarely–I think I’m a fucking badass. Almost never, however, do I come home one day and literally everything and everyone around me seems so blatantly, stupidly inferior in intelligence that I actually feel smart. And yet today it is so. I absolutely hate the feeling, because while it is a remarkable confidence-boost to feel like you know something the rest of the world doesn’t, it is equally discouraging to realize you live in a world–especially a family–where common sense isn’t…a habit. Not even a thing.
I know that people have coping mechanisms they use to deal with triggers, with unchangeable situations in life that they hate but must face everyday, and general mannerisms they employ to run the rat-race in a way that helps them avoid going crazy. Many times, the things they do that make sense to them don’t make sense to those on the outside, especially those ruthlessly compassion-less (like myself, right now). These things are fine when they don’t effect other people. I do them too. This blog is a way that I cope: it’s an avenue through which I process my emotional life, it’s a safe place for me to share my opinions without offending the people I’m bitching about, and it’s also a sounding-board for my more philosophical ideas. It’s also, arguably, pointless. I know that. It’s part of my rat-race. But it’s okay, because I cope in a way that doesn’t inconvenience anybody else (except maybe Jake, who has to read it per my excited demands).
But some of the ways people cope, such as by “changing life up a bit”, are completely inappropriate, such as getting another dog while Susan is on vacation. She can’t object when she’s not home, so let’s just get him then. Never-mind the other dog. Everything will work itself out. (Ignoring problems makes them go away, duh.)
They’ll get along–the Pomeranian and the Pit-bull. They’ll be the besteresteresterest of friends and share the doggy-door and their food bowls and the backyard. Susan will loooooove eet!
Literally, when I found out mom and dad took in the pit-bull, I thought Mini, my dog, must’ve died, because we’ve tried other pets before, and it was always nope because Mini and other animals–much less other DOGS–do not mix well. She’s a territorial dog. She’s a one-person dog (a Susan-dog, pretty much). She’s the kind of dog who will make life hell for everyone else if she is unhappy.
Sure, Buster the puppy pit-bull is cute. Sure, he is “harmless” (riiight) and only wants to play with Mini. But does that mean Mini will play with him? Does that mean she’ll share the house and the yard and her food dish with him? No. She never has before, so why should she now? Instead, Susan can keep Mini in her room all day so Buster can run around the house without constantly getting into fights and tearing her to pieces. What a brilliant compromise! Susan is responsible. She can take care of Mini even though she’s at school 5 days a week and works the other 2. Wow, parents. Thank you for your glorious common sense.
This is the routine nowadays: I leave for school in the mornings; Mini is moved from the livingroom to my room before Buster wakes out and is taken out of his kennel; she stays in my room all day until I come home that night; often, I’ll find a pee-puddle on the floor or in the hall because everyone has failed to take her outside, and her food or water dish is empty because no one has thought to feed her in God knows how long. Buster has the entire house to roam around as he grows. He eats out of her old food dish and pees all over the house and tears everything in his fucking way because he’s not actually trained (unlike my family’s many claims). And attempts to hump everything, including my leg, whenever he gets the chance. Fucking hormonal puppies, man.
Mini is lonely, and confused, and noisily paranoid at everything. I am concerned that she isn’t getting enough exercise because she can’t even run around the house anymore, and that she is lonely because no one spends time with her, and I can’t. In her place is a much bigger dog who can’t possibly get along with her because he’s frighteningly large and will squish her by attempting to play with her. My parents are always trying to reassure me that things are constantly improving between the two creatures, but the only thing that happens when I watch them interact is viscous fighting, with Mini on the offense.
I feel that my feelings were not considered when Buster was adopted. Mini has been the dog for 10 years. Originally, it was the idiot-decision on my dad’s part to adopt her as a surprise for us without researching to find out Pomeranian’s are NOT family-friendly dogs, but whatcha gonna do, kill her? Send her to the pound? I’m not into emotional trauma–like at all–and I know animals suffer some of that too. I do my best to keep Mini happy, especially because I’m her Adopted Person.
My family knows that. They know she’s pretty much my dog, not by my choice. Therefore, when they adopted Buster, they not only gave Mini the boot, but they pushed her onto me as her sole care-taker by making it near-impossible for Mini to live in the house without constant conflict and possible danger. By needing me to protect her, I now deal with her in my room all the time, along with her pitchy barking–at Buster, at neighbors, random lights on the walls, etc. And there’s no booting her out of my room. Where’s she gonna go?
It especially hurts me that amongst all of this chaos, they don’t even bother to take the time to care for Mini’s needs when I am away. Of course, I’ll fill up Mini’s food and water dishes from now on so that I’ll know she’ll always have those necessities. I try to play with her and take her on walks whenever I have the time so she can be healthy in her old age. She’ll die within the next few years, most-likely. It’s just stupid that I’m the only one who cares or is smart enough to actually do this.
So among other things, my little brother has a friend over tonight and tomorrow night and they were making so much noise at 10:30PM that I had to leave the house just to get an hour of studying in, partly because they were screaming and making Mini bark all the way from my room. It was impossible to focus on anything.
My phone stopped working, for the umpteenth time. I swear to God, phones that aren’t Smartphones or iPhones are trash and if Verizon doesn’t fucking fix it, I’m going to cry. Oh wait…I just did.
My dad’s dad died a couple of weeks ago. He took leave off work, and right when he was getting back to normal emotionally, he had a ridiculous root canal that forced him on a Saturday to go to the dentist and beg them to pull his tooth even though it was infected and antibiotics wouldn’t subside the pain. It was like a Stone-age dental procedure with him screaming and kicking things in the chair while the dentist pulled out his rotten tooth. We have wonderful genetics when it comes to teeth…
He’s been absolutely miserable, and he’s been doing his best to cope between making things in the garage and suffering from deplorable headaches with ice-packs on his head. He goes back to work tomorrow. I hope he feels better.
My little brother is also the assiest of asses when it comes to being helpful. Also, this isn’t very important, but he took out the garbage last Thursday night and left my recycle bin outside on the garbage can. It’s still there. Sooooo I haven’t been able to throw any recycles away in a very long time. Sorry regular garbage can. You get paper.
I’m also starting my period, guys. Except…I haven’t yet. It’s just pain, and extra acne, and fucking righteous anger over everything including all of the words in this post. (Sorry.)
Oh, and homework. So much god-damned homework. In some ways, I love it. I’m learning like crazy, and I’m doing well in all of my classes. But all of this homework is ridiculous, especially when you have the most unhelpful environment to do it in.
At least there’s coffee. Coffee is sometimes the answer to, like, everything.