Fucking ick.

Well, my last post (no, I didn’t reread it, not my style, editing is for the other parts of my life) was written in the throws of 3 beers. 3 – 16 oz beers. That is not such a large amount. I mean I’m not a tiny person, and I’ve put back 4 times that and not been hungover off of it.
But little did buzzed me know that that night would also, so coincidentally, be the night the full force of a stomach virus would make its incubated self known. I went to bed around 9, as is my usual, and granted I’d eaten cereal for dinner because if my husband isn’t around I rarely bother cooking, but all seemed all right enough. Then around midnight I wake up and feel like I have to vomit. I do so, and I think I managed to fall asleep for at least a few more hours before getting up for work. The next day at work I felt so hung over, my whole body just ached, especially my joints, and I was halfway to convinced that I really had contracted the flu. I mean the liquor store right by my house is NOT all that hygienic. People definitely live there. I was also incredibly exhausted all day Tuesday, like even worse than your worst menstrual fatigue (which for me has always been a 10/10). But I tried to blame the beer, since I don’t drink that often anymore. But then the following four days I continued to feel incredibly awful, the same as before with addition digestive distress…to put it as nicely as I can. Also, to go along with the feeling of nausea and lethargy that plagued me all day was the fact that I lost a few hours of sleep each night to having to deal with this illness. So….not the beer. I guess it was just a coincidence. Or I got the virus or whatever from that store. Because Saturday night…you know the night before Easter, I woke up around 3am to the sound of my husband vomiting on our bedroom floor. Personally, I wanted to punch him in the head because he’d eaten a LOT of spaghetti recently. As I was cleaning his vomit, from permanently damaging our box spring (it’s sitting on the floor, I’m trash I know) as he took a turn destroying the bathroom, I realized how LITTLE I want to have to do this for kids. So now I am dealing with my husband as he fights the same fight (but we all know how men are about illness — I will make this sexist comment until the day I die because it IS ONE HUNDRED PERCENT ACCURATE). Yesterday was the first day I’d eaten a full meal in a week. There’s a distinct loss of appetite with this illness, whatever it was.

I turn 29 on Thursday.

 

Birthdays will always be an emotional trigger for me, because they (along with holidays) were opportunities for my dad to act EXTRA specially fucked. I guess it means more to ruin something special than something boring, especially if that something special is geared to make someone ELSE happy (couldn’t have that). He was always on his absolute worst behavior for my mom’s birthday. Of course. He really does act like he hates her. I doubt he’s even aware how he really feels about anything, he’s too fucked. Maybe it’s not his fault. Maybe the ability to bear the psychological torture of being raise the way he (and I) was raised is genetic, and ALL of the different kinds of abuse are learned. Because…look at my fucking brother. He really does make me sad, deep down. Being around him in person REALLY exacerbates this feeling. It gets easier if you have 0 contact and  he does dickish stuff. Makes it easier not the easiest. I guess there really is this built in need to connect with your family members, though of course there will always be those of us who cannot, or for whom the price is no longer worth it.

I guess mine is a sad reality. It’s simply not normal for me to not speak to any member of my family, not when we live this close and there’s never been this all-out word-brawl where everyone left despising one another. I think those only happen on TV. But…like…the mildly twisted thing is doing this makes me more like my dad’s family than anything else I’ve ever done. The alcoholism is on both sides, I’ve explained that one right? The whole I think the gay gene is definitely in my mom’s side of the family. The two cousins I have on that side (whom I don’t speak to, of course, though their father and his girlfriend attended my wedding) only have had one boy between the two of them, so I’d have a more accurate scope for estimating if this is real or not with more male second cousins. Of course maybe I’m inventing some elaborate history to explain my weird fetish for gay guys. There could have been a hundred reasons my great-grandparents married due to a pregnancy/never had any other children despite the way of the times in the 1920s. I know my G-grandfather was a raging alcoholic with a chronic wound/infection in his stomach from army service during WW1. He was also super popular, people would drive (horse and buggy) out to their shitty farm and be all “C’mon Art!” and he’d leave and go get plastered and my grandma would be trapped at home with her PISSED off mother (they were poor and did NOT have gettin’ drunk money). I think some or all of her own grandparents also lived with them. She was the only kid. And she always thought incredibly poorly of herself, literally through her whole life. It probably started on that farm. What a trip it’d be to find the place where it once stood, right? It’s in nearby Wisconsin. That’s the closest to a real detail as you’re getting. I wonder what’s there now. I hope it’s condos. Or a mall. That’s what Grandma would have wanted.
Have I told you about my weird thing with McDonald’s? Particularly, the way the building itself smells? Well, okay, if you’ve noticed, I know a lot about my Grandma. I’m almost certain that I know more about her than even my mother. So from the ages of….jeez lets say 5 to 12 or so….my Grandma would drive over to our house intermittently to clean, and if I was there and no one else was (which was the case a lot after school, on the weekends and during the summer) she’d take me to McDonald’s. And we’d sit there and talk. It seemed usual, but now I see how special that time was. And you probably won’t until it’s way too late, like me. Because life is cruel like that. But when I think about it, the roundabout hyper-emotional point I was trying to make was I NOW know that my Grandma was the only reason, the only person who ACTUALLY gave me a chance to be a kid. Because SHE was normal, as far as Grandma’s go. Sure she was emotional and manipulative, but a lot of grandmothers were like that, and mine was always around. Which, again, was how my life was so it didn’t seem unusual, but no one i know had that going on. I am shitty enough to tell myself that she wouldn’t want me to be unhappy and dwell on the fact that it took me six years after her death to figure that out. It makes me want to have a kid and name her after her, which will annoy me because 1) I’m not a fan of the name, just AS a name and not with the obvious emotional tribute it would entail if I chose to use it were I to need a baby name 2) It’s the name of a well-known literary character I don’t like. From an author I don’t like. And with my background everyone would THINK I was going for a theme opposite my true feelings. He doesn’t deserve it, he was a pedo. Plus – was a least favorite movie of mine as a child. I did not identify with that bitch. But yeah…

I started a post bitching about how I had a stomach virus. It turned into my getting really high on headband and realizing a really light truth to my childhood. Because life is nothing but a balancing act, right? And frankly I feel I deserve a few happy realizations.

Now I’m going to go eat, because for once in the past week I can and want to. Also, very high.

Sorry this is so fuccckking long again. The will to organize and notate these entries is strong. But I also don’t like reliving certain memories so I don’t feel like bothering to write it in an attempt to not have to TALK about it, only to READ the thing over and over again.
Plus I’m not out to impress people.
I mean i try to give off that same air in person, but I think it just registers as some lofty haughtiness. It’s not that, I’m actually poor as a fuck, always been that way, always been credit poor cash poor, in debt since the beginning. Debt OG. Yes.

OMg I am way too hungry for any more, yet I desire more.

 

~Cassie

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