I have always admitted to it, and never been proud of it. But it's hard not to be when your life in it's nearest proximity is only you. Well, I have the boy, and he's really #1 with me. Really. The #1 most important person in my life, my best friend, my first person to tell anything too, my first person to whale on when it's not his fault - #1. And he knows it, so this isn't a passive aggressive post - he never has one reason to ever question his #1 spot because I make it pretty fucking clear.
And maybe that's bad. My life since I moved to NYC has gotten a lot fuller on a number of levels and it's been hard for me to find a balance. I want to be so independent and show my family I can do this all on my own, and please recognize me as a successful adult, but then I also want them to be interested in my life without prying. I want to figure my shit out at work, define my path, realize if this is right for me or not, and that means not being able to let the family stuff in. I've been delinquent at keeping in touch, I know this. But it's because I can only do one thing at a time. I have work in a compartment, and I have family in a compartment, and I have boyfriend in a compartment and for some reason it's easier to have the boyfriend compartment span my whole life, but family is harder to figure out. And I'm getting nailed for it. I'm having some sort of serious father daughter talk tomorrow after a day full of high stress meetings.
Because he doesn't know "where your head's at". It's on my shoulders spinning, can't you see it -- see, right there, yeah, now you've got it. When do they stop doing this? And why is it so dramatic and manipulative when it happens? They don't just say "yo, beav, get your shit together, you're totally blowing us off"? Why is it always "we're so hurt, and when you can make time for your family you let us know"? Jesus. I'm not coming to you asking for support for my 2 toothless crack addicted babies. I'm not asking you to help me with grad school. I'm not asking you to put me up because I fucked up all my bills and I have to declare bankruptcy at 20-somethingwaylate. I'm fucking moving right along, trying to find my fucking grove YET again. And you would think that maybe I could get a little understanding from the man who traveled for work 3 out of 4 weeks a month, moved to a different state to live with his new wife, and basically relied on my fucking phone calls and STILL DOES in order to keep in touch with me.
If I don't call, we don't talk. Period. Yet somehow I'm going to get my asshole ripped into oblivion tomorrow because as an adult I don't have my own life to muddle over. Jesus tits on a disfunctional trampoline filled with horse piss - I can't organize it all. I really can't. And I hope that is a good enough excuse.
