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And in yet another sign that I shouldn't exist and why don't I just fuck off and die already, now it looks as if the Household's lingering financial woes may have killed my plans for a garden this summer -- not because we can't afford the plants, because god knows I couldn't fit more than about $15 worth of seeds/seedlings out there, but because we're behind on the condo assessments and they're Tired Of It. So, as usual, I end up getting fucked over by circumstances that are not actually mine to affect. (see: quite a lot else under the "brainweasels" tag, actually.)
Interestingly, I had a nightmare about two months ago, that they'd taken the garden away, and woke up in tears from it. It may seem like a small thing, that garden, and it literally is, but it's kind of important to me. As in, there have honestly been days where gotta water the plants was what got me moving at all. I did play the "medical reasons" card in the most recent communication about it, and we'll see what Mum can do because there is actually news on the assessments front that she needs to talk to them about anyway and of course hasn't because she's stuck in her own avoidance-patterns about it, but I've got a bad feeling.
It doesn't really help that I was already deep enough in the brainweasel pit last night that I looked grim enough somebody tried to sell me drugs. (I'm guessing that crazed expression + walking after dark + dressed-down = potential customer, IDEK. Inner Trevor says he's so blogging that experience.) Or that this morning started off with a tremendous fight with Mum because I wouldn't go on-line to check her bank-balance; we were waiting for the cable-guy to bring a new box for the one that spontaneously crispy-fried something inside itself Tuesday ('cos, dude, I missed the last frickin' royal wedding for not having proper telly access), and I damn well know myself well enough to know that there's no such thing as "just check one quick thing before I X" on here. (I am, in fact, still sitting here from booting up shortly after he left.) A fruitless conversation about boundaries ensued before she had to go to work, which probably accomplished very little as we seem to keep having it fairly regularly; what it seems to boil down to is that while from her perspective I say no to everything she asks, from mine I don't get to say no to anything without a fight about it, which is really doing a number on my sense of agency. I am very much in a place with my life overall where no needs to mean no, not why not or muttering about my character for refusing, and I wish I could even get her to see how much of it's Not About Her in the first place.
(Last night's brainweasel, BTW, was the one about needing therapy so badly I don't have the inner resources to get it. He's a smug bastard in a fairly nice suit, who particularly likes to make the case that whatever help I ask for will be denied on the grounds that it's me asking and that's an automatic disqualification. I think I must have looked like I needed a dime or a half after about an hour of that.)
Interestingly, I had a nightmare about two months ago, that they'd taken the garden away, and woke up in tears from it. It may seem like a small thing, that garden, and it literally is, but it's kind of important to me. As in, there have honestly been days where gotta water the plants was what got me moving at all. I did play the "medical reasons" card in the most recent communication about it, and we'll see what Mum can do because there is actually news on the assessments front that she needs to talk to them about anyway and of course hasn't because she's stuck in her own avoidance-patterns about it, but I've got a bad feeling.
It doesn't really help that I was already deep enough in the brainweasel pit last night that I looked grim enough somebody tried to sell me drugs. (I'm guessing that crazed expression + walking after dark + dressed-down = potential customer, IDEK. Inner Trevor says he's so blogging that experience.) Or that this morning started off with a tremendous fight with Mum because I wouldn't go on-line to check her bank-balance; we were waiting for the cable-guy to bring a new box for the one that spontaneously crispy-fried something inside itself Tuesday ('cos, dude, I missed the last frickin' royal wedding for not having proper telly access), and I damn well know myself well enough to know that there's no such thing as "just check one quick thing before I X" on here. (I am, in fact, still sitting here from booting up shortly after he left.) A fruitless conversation about boundaries ensued before she had to go to work, which probably accomplished very little as we seem to keep having it fairly regularly; what it seems to boil down to is that while from her perspective I say no to everything she asks, from mine I don't get to say no to anything without a fight about it, which is really doing a number on my sense of agency. I am very much in a place with my life overall where no needs to mean no, not why not or muttering about my character for refusing, and I wish I could even get her to see how much of it's Not About Her in the first place.
(Last night's brainweasel, BTW, was the one about needing therapy so badly I don't have the inner resources to get it. He's a smug bastard in a fairly nice suit, who particularly likes to make the case that whatever help I ask for will be denied on the grounds that it's me asking and that's an automatic disqualification. I think I must have looked like I needed a dime or a half after about an hour of that.)
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