Cults, Sentences, and Jumpsuits

Why is the PT/OT place where Sarah had her evaluations today touting scientology? They have a variety of L. Ron Hubbard books on display and for sale, about exploring and understanding your mind and becoming happy and such (“Dianetics”, and “Self Analysis” were a couple of them). I thought it was just weird. Maybe I wouldn’t have thought so if I hadn’t known he’s the scientology guy. Maybe scientology’s not a bad thing. After all, Tom Cruise appears to be a crazy, jumping-on-the-couch, giddy guy so maybe there’s something to it. Before I decide to join though, I need to carefully research how much it costs to join, what flavor Kool-aid they serve there, how many guns I will need to own, how often I will have to go door to door to “share”, when they are expecting the mothership to come, and, most importantly, how many wives hubby will be able to have. Joining a cult is a very serious decision.

Isn’t that what cults do is prey on the unhappy (weak, broken, alone, etc.) and promise happiness, strength, camaraderie. Come to think of it – nah, I won’t get into a religion argument right now.

Maybe I need a cult/religion/whatever. Or drugs.

I’m sick of paperwork, appointments, work, kids, hmmm what else did I Twitter… well, sick of everything. “Life sucks and then you die” is really becoming the reality and reality bites. I don’t want that to be my reality but that’s what happens when you decide to become a parent and your life becomes wrapped around their lives. Become the parent of a special needs child and you no longer have a life. Kiss it goodbye. Your life becomes paperwork, appointments, meetings, trying to figure out how to communicate with, teach, and help a child grow up who doesn’t listen, doesn’t understand, doesn’t respond for the most part, and seems like they will never grow up; running after, blocking, stopping, preventing tripping, falling, choking, with a child who runs in circles, runs back and forth, trips over her own feet, looks behind her when she runs, lacks balance, can’t go up and down stairs well enough to not be right behind her ready to catch, will not sit long enough to go to a restaurant where you have to wait any longer than Arby’s, will not stay still, has no sense of danger or fear, is not yet potty-trained at 5 1/2.

You know what it seems like? Like I will never get my own life back. And I don’t feel like I do enough. I should be learning signs, making picture cards, getting fun things and setting up a room with different shaped mats, trampoline, balls, therapy balls, swing – like the gym at UCP would be nice. I should be taking her to therapies and learning what to do with her at home. I need to get back to aggressively potty training her now that her surgeries are done. Somehow I don’t feel like I do enough, but I feel exhausted. Yet I feel like I cannot answer a question at a meeting or an appointment intelligently, and like the person observing her seems to be able to read her face, sounds, gestures when I don’t see it and I should be able to since, even though I’m not a trained professional, I AM her mother.

I am also sick of my job doing pointless shit, pushing, collecting, filing papers, listening to patients and parents go on about their problems like I care, getting piles upon piles of shit to pile up and pile up even more, to get paid and make the house payment.

I WANT to do so many things. BUT I don’t even know where to begin. Well, I guess I’m beginning here because I love to write. I want to write novels. I love to draw. I want to take a class and learn to be better at it. I would love to paint, too. I would love to learn piano, maybe guitar, or drums. I would love to make money with online sales or creating/updating websites. Would like to learn to make bead jewelry or some kind of crafty jewelry – saw at the Folk Festival one year, a woman who makes jewelry, badge clips, keychains from things like painting pictures on bottle caps. I want to go kayaking and canoeing. Hiking without kids. Travel, go to concerts. Join the Y and go to exercise classes, swimming, learn different kinds of dance. DO things. Just fucking DO things! As an adult. By myself even. But I would also like alone time, and time for JUST Ron and I, and JUST Jamie and I, and when Tyler’s back, JUST Ty and I. It would be nice to take Jamie to see a movie, take her bowling or to do something fun just the two of us, sign her up for some activities or lessons. Saturday is my day with the kids including Sarah, while Ron works, and then Sunday is “family” day (read: MY one day off when all I WANT to do is lounge and pay attention to NO ONE). I really don’t want to keep doing the same nothing I’ve been doing for the past (well, I might as well start from way back when I was doing nothing but wasting time after high school, so) 18 years. This is it. I can’t get any of this back and unfortunately as much as I would SO drink blood to live forever, that ain’t happening and I will die and then I guess at that point I will no longer care that I never did anything.

One of my friends on Myspace made a 100 Goals list and I think I should do it, but I also don’t want to make myself more depressed by not fullfilling any of them. Fact is, I will work a shitty job until I retire, and when I retire I won’t have the energy to do any of these things (65 year-old lady going wild at a Nine Inch Nails concert – yeah, Trent’ll probably be the big Vegas attraction in a jumpsuit long before then), and we will have a delayed adult we will still be caring for and probably an aged parent too (thanks Cindy, for moving to TN – as if I didn’t have enough. I’m sending her your way you know. No offense, mom.)

Well, I am an open book and this is the inner workings of my mind. My own self-analysis. Screw L. Ron Hubbard, I don’t need him after all.

I am a negative, depressing, bitchy person. Fuck you all. All one or two of you.

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