October 25, 2013

I don’t want to write this, but I am going to anyway.

I’m going to write about a few things bugging me, as I’m often want to do, but when I realized what the date was, I am adding a topic.

Today would be Part 2 of 10 year wedding anniversary. I say “Part 2” because if some of you recall, and for the benefit of those that don’t know, when the former spouse and I married in March 2003, our ceremony was for immediate family only and in the chapel of my grandmother’s nursing home. She had a stroke and her prognosis wasn’t good and we were unsure if she’d live to October for the wedding, so we decided to get married in March so she could be present. The gift of foresight is helpful sometimes, as she passed away about a month later. So, in addition to that wedding, we decided to keep our original wedding date of October 25th and turn that into a vow renewal/reception. Jason and I celebrated both days as anniversaries. Plus, he emailed me extremely randomly earlier this week, which shocked the hell out of me. I’ve been back in Nebraska for almost 5 months and haven’t heard boo from him until then. Makes me wonder if he remembered, as well. Anyway, there’s that, so I’ve got that going for me, which is nice. Even over three years later, stuff like this still gets to me at times. The feelings aren’t as intense as they once were, thank gosh, but it still kind of stings a bit. Hey Erin! Remember that time you were married for seven and a half years and then got divorced? Hahahaha!

Now, on to what I wanted to discuss.

I should explain what I mean about my opening statement. It’s not that I didn’t want to write this, because I do. I will always want to write. What I meant was I had another one of those “Eureka!” moments a while ago. I have intimacy issues. That’s not the shocker. My old dog Blue has intimacy issues. It’s common. I hide behind my writing. Again, nothing new and ground-breaking here. I prefer to write about stuff than talk about it. The Keanu Reeves Whoa Moment is realizing I hide behind my writing because I have intimacy issues. All together now: whoa. 

Explanation: I can write and divulge personal, intimate details to the internet with zero qualms, but get me to talk about the same details face-to-face in a conversation? Oh no. Nonononononononononono. No. Nuh uh. Nope. Pass. I was having a text-versation with a friend earlier this week about that. I told her I wanted to write, but was talking myself out of it because I want to make a more conscious effort to actually talk about stuff instead of cowering behind my laptop, the glow of the screen reflecting off my glasses lenses. She tried to make me feel better about instinctually going to writing by saying, “we all have our own ways.” While this is true, but I countered with “I prefer writing to ever talking. The thing is, once I write about it, it’s done for me, but people who read what I write then want to talk to me about it and I poopoo the conversation because to me, I’ve already ‘talked’ about it.” And then we started psychologizing each other and doors were blown down. Anyway, that’s why I’m hesitant to write about personal matters anymore because I really do want to vocalize my concerns/worries/etc to an real person now, but oh god, it burns me. But I’ll try. This old gal needs a new trick to learn. So why am I writing this? Because…? Everyone is busy and I needed to get this out and I get a freebie every now and again. Like the diet I should go on, “I’ll start tomorrow.”

Next topic. This one hurts and makes me feel like eight kinds of shit, which is a shitload of shit.

I applied for and have been granted unemployment benefits. Insert feeling like an absolute loser here.


I don’t know if many of you know how claiming unemployment works, but here’s a brief lowdown–you apply and have to submit weekly claims. By doing so, you must also submit proof that you applied for at least two jobs during the week and give this information to the Nebraska Department of Labor. They check this shit out, yo. Anyway, I applied the second week of this month and surprise, surprise, I fucked it up and got a phone call from the office telling me I did as such, so my weekly benefits were denied. It’s so bonkers. It’s kind of backwards because you apply this week for last week. Plus, the website is less than friendly to use and I was under the impression I did it properly, but oh, ha ha ha, Erin, you stupid twat, you sure didn’t, so as punishment, I haven’t gotten any benefits yet, so those of you who bitch about having to support people on unemployment from your own paychecks can please shut the fuck up about me for at least another week. Enter having to ask my mom to help me which compounds my extremely worthless feeling tenfold and I’m 32 years old and I have to ask my mommy to help her incompetent daughter and hooray! Hooray and hooray and hooray!

Yes, I’m being hard on myself. Yes, I know I’ll get a job. Yes, I know all this. But please try to understand why I feel like such shit. I feel like I’m taking advantage of so many people and I fucking hate that so much. I’m beyond grateful for the help, of course. I still feel like the pond scum that lives on the asshole of pond scum, though.

So, there you have it. That’s my weekly self-deprecating post. As I’m fond of saying, “some day, I’ll get my shit together. Today is not that day.”

Also, how many times have I said “shit” and variations of “shit” in this post? A special prize to anyone who gets the correct number.

Love you all. Mean it.


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