Nails, or Good Mood Sunday

I reason with myself it’s an easy enough time to be in a good mood. It’s a Sunday that you wouldn’t call warm, but it’s finally not freezing, either. You have pole dance class at noon, in two and a half hours. It demarcates the single hour of your week you spend not at home or work or driving between the two. Now, since the beginning of February, I’ve been using an hour every Wednesday for therapy.

So now I have two things, two hours of my week, arguably the two most productive hours of my week, and they cost me $52, like clockwork. What’s a girl to do?

See now I’m thinking about money and I’m in less of a good mood. If my husband were here (he’s at work, like usual for Sundays, which is why I think of Sunday morning as more “my” time than Saturdays, when he’s here) he’d admonish me for bringing up something unpleasant so early in the morning. But he’s an expert at just never talking about or dealing with anything, because it’ll be unpleasant (not that he’s ever said that, but live with someone 10 years and tell me you don’t know them) so I tend to get irritated. But frankly I guess I get irritated about almost everything.

Which is why I’m trying to tell myself to be in a good mood.

It is a good morning. I’m drinking black coffee (yes, I’m one of those people) and sparkling water (because dear, I have an obsession) and smoking weed, and writing in CF. Well, editing. I have this cockamamie idea that I’ll have a polished draft to give to my best friend when I see her for my birthday. But that’s 13 days from now. Also this my last two weeks of being thirty. How weird. It wasn’t a great year, I won’t lie, but it had a lot of great moments. I will say that.

Today is one, I guess. I have nothing but writing time until I leave for pole.

After pole, I need to go to a Dollar Tree for painters’ masks, because you need those for my newest distraction endeavor.

Guess what it is.

It’s doing my nails.

See the long backstory is, I was jealous, really jealous, of the girls who went to my private high school whose mother’s were somehow willing to drop as much on their daughter’s beauty routines as on their own. Perhaps it was a bonding thing. I’m not judging, I’m just saying that looking at it right now, I can see why some mothers would be exasperated that these unrealistic $90 salon trips were the norm for some of their daughter’s peer group. So I saw A LOT of girls who got to get their nails done professionally (back then, in the early 00s, it was all acrylic pinks and fancy French tips, I refuse to do this style, for that reason). So I did what young Cassie was like to do, figure out a way around it using my inability to let something go when I’m into it.

So I learned how to do nails, and lo and fucking behold, it’s SUPER cheap (compartatively, to salon prices) to do them yourself. Plus the added grossness of a public place where hands and feet are cleaned and groomed and pampered is nonexistant if you do them at home. So in high school, I would at times have crazy long and fancily-painted nails, all of which I did at home by myself. People would ask me where I got them done.

It’s just another example of how you can get around a lot of the stuff that you want, if you try hard enough.

So, for awhile…let’s say….two years, right around the time I got married until a little before things with R ended (thank God), I was getting my nails done. When I interviewed for the job I have currently, I remember having brown and clear glitter sparkle alternating with a pointed gel job.
But, I got sick of having this extra errand to run at minimum twice a month, and one that involved a lot of time and being around strangers and in a public place and worst of all, coming into physical contact with someone else.

(HUGE SIDE NOTE/FOOTNOTE ON PHYSICAL CONTACT AND CASSIE: I hate, HATE, physical contact with other people. If you’re close enough to me for me to smell you, I do NOT want it to be happening….additional footnote – the ONLY time this is not true is if it’s someone I’m fucking, OR someone I would like to fuck….LITERALLY the only time I will ever ever ever touch someone. I don’t even mean in a sexual or intimate way, I mean in the world’s most professional handshake. In Hannibal at one point, after giving a rousing lecture on the connection between greed and death by hanging, Hannibal Lecter holds onto a pile of books so he isn’t obliged to shake anyone’s hand as they congratulate him on his stunning success at impressing them. I remember reading it and being like…smart..so smart…need to start doing that… So yeah, if someone I’m not fucking or want to fuck hugs me, on the inside, I’m fucking cringing, at best. It’s how I’ve always been. This isn’t to say I’m not physically affectionate…but again…with the people I have sex with. ANYWAY, I just thought I’d explain that, because it’s a huge part of my shit).

So now I’m going to start doing my nails.

I have pole class, then to buy painters’ masks so I don’t breathe in a ton of toxic nail dust.

I think about it…and I go WAY out of my way to not look like a poor person…don’t I….

At least as much as I can.

I haven’t gotten my hair cut at a salon in at about four years. If you read my disclaimer you might understand why I don’t like it. Also, it’s expensive. Plus I like having super long hair and it’s NOT hair to cut your own split ends and layer your own hair, it’s just not.
My clothing, the nicer pieces, were all gifts from my mother in law. I buy the random piece (on credit) but that’s about it. I tend to wear things for as long as possible.
With make up, I stopped wearing a ton of it every day, but what I wear every day is still top of the line. Two years ago I had eyeliner tattooed on my eyelids, so that saves money and is the best in many other ways, like it’s always perfect.
But, honestly, since college, when I was FINALLY free of the fucking dress code restrictions of my grade school and high school, people have always noticed/remembered me by my wardrobe. And makeup. Time to add nails, is it not?

Plus idk, it’s something I kind of miss having done, and I’m yet again at a point in my life where I could never afford getting them on the regular basis that they need. My husband took a lower paying job, the lowest paying one he’s had since he graduated college, for better insurance. So we could go to therapy. Which still costs us a combined $60 per week. Then my pole dance class is $22. His gym is $25 every other week and then a twice years $600 infusion, I believe. WHY DOES IT COST SO MUCH TO BE HEALTHY AND LOOK FABULOUS?

Wow that’s like literally the point of this blog and all of my thoughts that aren’t my book, CF. Which still isn’t as good as I want it to be, and I’ve read it BY MY FUCKING SELF so many times that I can’t even begin to look at it objectively.

Anyway, I should get some writing done before class, with the quiet and the cool spring morning and the dozens of active songbirds (so adorably trying to get laid by singing so prettily) and the weed high and all.

I keep myself on a strict cleaning schedule so I don’t neglect anything to grossness but also don’t lose all of my time and energy to cleaning (because instinctively, that’s what I want to do…) and I’m caught up for the weekend. So I can spend the whole afternoon while dinner crockpots itself doing my nails and writing. I’ve been on a vodka kick but I bought some of those Fosters fat boys for this afternoon as well.

Sometimes, I can’t tell

If it’s the weed and the booze and my general state of numbed acquiescence that I brought with me from childhood

Or if my life isn’t actually so bad

I guess it depends on perspective

and your list of needs

All I know is

My best friend, and now my therapist, they both don’t like my husband

Is there something I can’t see?

Or is it just how I put things to them? That I have the same shit-talking negative bent every other member of my family has? I had someone else straight up ask me if I was being abused, from reading this blog.

So I’m literally super confused

And like. Depending on how I feel in any given moment dictates how I feel about my life

AND THAT, dear readers,

is a rare gift from my mother.

See, that’s the thing.

That’s the fucking problem

She, the one with the SUPER depressive personality, and massive inferiority issues, and the mood swings and the stress eating, she was the one example of love I had

Sure, everyone, EVERYONE, always commented on how nice she was. Yeah. In public. When she was around people she was worried about keeping up the facade around. That was NOT the case at home, especially not when it was just her and I.

Anyway. Back to my book.

Love you

~C

Seeing a production of Shakespeare in a maximum security prison went well

Again. This is the second time I’ve gone (to the same place). I saw Much Ado about Nothing in 2014, then this past Tuesday evening I saw A Mid-Summer’s Night Dream. It was SO good. I mean you can really tell they get a year to practice, and that they really put their all into it.  A few of them have been at this for over two decades, so as you can imagine they’re pretty talented by this point. I haven’t laughed that much at a production of anything, like that “my face hurts from this/wedding day” type of smiling.

Then I made the mistake of reading their crimes online. And like…why does the human brain condone murder but never any sex crimes? Like I get it I guess, but I’m an inquisitive person, I’d like to know. But then all I could think about it how each of those crimes happened…and how there’s like fodder for at least five good books, between all of them…but…what do I do, steal their bios? That seems immoral, somehow. I already haven’t been able to donate to their cause yet, despite having gone to see them. I was literally a freeloader. I’ll donate when I can, I swear. I need to because they’re doing King Lear next year, and I’ll probably want to go then as well. Kind of bummed I missed Julius Caesar.

But now that that’s done, I don’t have too much on the agenda by way of things to look forward to. Between my birthday and the funeral and the play, I have 4 vacation days left for this year. Sigh. Not that we were going to be able to afford to vacation anywhere. Plus I get weekends off so I can always do a one night thing, but again, can’t afford it anyway.

Well, this week I had a fucking break down (at home) and it was from a pretty pathetic source. I mean I found out, as I was driving us home on Wednesday from the prison (354 miles from my home), that I was not pregnant, again. I mean we haven’t been trying for too long but you still get hopeful, don’t you? I do. It’s in my nature. But anyway. So maybe it was partially that. But on Thursday I discovered that my husband had spent more $ on gas than I thought, and it resulted in us not having enough $ in our checking account (it’s the only place we have $, I spent all of my on-hand cash and maxed my one credit card just to go to the play and back) for me to get lunch on Friday. I’ve been going out to a relatively cheap restaurant around my work with a coworker every Friday for over two years now. Lately, a different coworker has always joined us, and this Friday a fourth person AND the new intern were planning on coming along as well. This was all fine with me, but this made it impossible to get out of going to this lunch, after we’d planned it all week and such. And I literally did not have the money. Not in cash, or even change, or available to charge on a credit card, or in the bank. DO you realize how humiliating that is, at my age? Like all of my bills are paid up, and we had food to eat at home, but I had nothing to spare and no graceful way of getting out of lunch with my coworkers, either. I know I could have asked one of them to spot me, but that would involve a level of humiliation and embarrassment I’ve been feeling my entire life, that I don’t care to relive, at any cost.
Luckily, while I was freaking out (and by that I mean just crying, lying alone on our bed) my husband took back the empties we had on hand, which came to more than enough cash to cover my lunch (we don’t go anywhere extravagant, but I had $5 left, which isn’t enough for anywhere these days, I needed at least $10). So as pathetic as it was, it really did make me feel better because I didn’t have to relive a bevvy of unpleasant emotions I’ve known since childhood.
So that’s the level we’re still at, if you were wondering. Luckily I’ve been able to afford my pole classes, which are $18.75 a piece, if you buy 4 at a time. It’s only once a week, but then I work on stuff at home, and I actually am getting better! It’s so amazing to be like..wow..I track actual progress in myself….and you’re excited over what your body can do, not what it looks like (I stole that from a meme, lets be honest), AND whenever I’m doing pole, it’s all I’m thinking about. It requires all your focus, which makes it relaxing because you can completely concentrate on it…yet still work out. Yes, I’m very stoned when I go to class. Sometimes I wonder if they can smell it. Probably. Whatever, it’s not that weird of thing anymore, especially down here.
But my husband has only received 2 paychecks this season so far, so I haven’t been able to get very far ahead with things. But, he wants to quit this job, which I mildly support, but I will miss when he was making slightly more money than me (he works many more hours than me, at a lower rate per hour), but I don’t like his job now. But, at the same time, in the past he’s always taken his sweet ass time getting a new job, and I just don’t make enough to support both of us and pay the rent. I make enough if the person I’m with makes roughly what I make, that puts us slightly above the median wage for our area. But anyway. It’s expensive being poor, let me tell you.

Other than that, and my pole success, I’m still plugging along, as always. Still haven’t seen my mom since last October. We email every day that she works, though, so I still communicate with her a great deal. Perhaps even moreso than if we saw each other in person. Who’s to know? Who’s also to know when this will end, or how? I’m uncertain, but sometimes just leave things up to…idk like fate? Chance? Destiny? Idk. Whatever you want to call it. Random chaos? Whatever you want.

What I don’t leave up to chaos is my writing. Though to be honest I’m kind of off kilter with that as well. The funeral last week and the play this week were kind of draining. I’m always wondering why I don’t get anything done writing-wise on the weekend when I have the whole damn day off. But here i am, at 12:20 pm on Saturday and i haven’t even opened the document.

Also I’ve been filled with misgiving about the way I’ve been going about my current process, of editing on my lunch breaks and writing evenings/weekends. Because all of the writing advice online seems to not encourage skipping around like that, or editing while you’re trying to write. So unless I want to write original material on my lunch break (which, due to the nature of my work, would HAVE to happen in my car, and my laptop is too big, it wouldn’t fit well in the space I have, due to my height and tiny-car-possession) I have to forego using my lunch break for artistic things. I could go back to reading at my desk, I guess. I wish there was a place where I could write on my laptop inside…but there’s not. It would get weird and invasive real fast, and those are like my least favorite things.

Anyway. I should wonder why I waste the weekends. I got up around 9:30am, which is very late compared to the 4:30 or 5:30am that I usually get up. Then I immediately cleaned up the house and did the dishes, cleaned the kitchen table and counters, random small things like that, and I’m about halfway done with laundry. And I got really high, duh, because it’s freaking Saturday, and I’ve been pounding black coffee like always, so I feel REALLY high by this point, so I felt compelled to blog. Which I guess is good. I don’t have anyone in my life to talk to about this shit. There’s my husband, and I do talk to him about a lot, we’re definitely not into keeping anything from each other anymore, even shit like when we want to fuck someone we know from work, or whatever, but sometimes I need to talk ABOUT him, you know? And I do talk to my mom about some things, like financial issues, but then she just tells me how well she can commiserate, which I know is true, and then I feel bad, so I try to not mention it. And I don’t tell her about any other issues until long after they happen if at all because I don’t want to stress her. So I just tell her about random stuff going on, she seems to enjoy it. And I have a best friend, but besides the few times a year we see each other in person we don’t talk a ton which is fine and all I understand she’s busy but still, the avenue to talk about issues isn’t there.
But, an outlet is an outlet, right? I’ve told you-all some pretty  weird messed up shit in my life….but definitely not all of it. I don’t know if I ever will. I don’t know if that’s the plan. Yet. I never really know the plan until I’m upon it. Maybe that attitude is to blame for my financial woes. Idk.

Anyway, that’s what’s up in my life right now.

Do you ever notice a WEIRD pattern of behavior in yourself…and you’re like, where the fuck did this come from? Like…I’ve had multiple total freak outs…in MANY different types of doctors’ offices….and that’s literally the only place anything like that has ever happened……

I’ve never told anyone that.

So. Feel special. I guess.

I don’t care if people know. Maybe it’s nothing and I’m just weird…but sometimes….there’s like…..a certain hysteria to what’s upsetting me, it freaks some people out because it can bring about REALLY strong emotion really really quickly (my boss learned)..and…..I don’t quite know….what the fuck is causing it….but it’s INCREDIBLY upsetting just to write about now.

And you’re like…oh…yeah….that sounds normal. Along with…everything else. But anyway.

I should be off so I get some actual writing done today, not this stupidly long diary. I’m sure I’ll post another pole video tomorrow.

~Cassie