30DoW - off topic completely

I don't know what made me think I'd be able to write everyday.  Actually, I do.  I thought I'd be bored when I came to Baytown.  Oh how wrong I was.  I do plan on going back and writing on a few of the topics, as I'd really like to visit them and see what I can come up with.  But it's just not going to be happening this week.

Instead, I need to vent.  

I hate Baytown.  I hate every single fucking thing about this god-awful place in America.  I hate the environment (refineries, smokestacks and pollution galore), I hate the music they listen to (Nickelback and Guns 'N Roses on constant repeat at the swimming pool), I hate the people who live here (Neiman shopping bleach blond chicks with their blond-tipped buff boyfriends littering the pool with their beer cans and cigarette butts) and I hate the mentality (every small thing said creates a testosterone-driven fight).  I hate that this place makes me hate.

It's been no better behind closed doors.  It's an exact replica of what it was like when I lived here.  A passive-aggressive, bullying boyfriend.  A mom who makes excuses.  And children who are beat down by the pattern.  I did well the first few days.  I remained quiet, reminding myself that this wasn't my life or my problems.  I called Chris and my friends for support who walked me through what I should or shouldn't be saying.  But too much time spent in Baytown reverts me back to the Baytownian I once was.  And last night I reverted hardcore.  I begged, I pleaded, I screamed, I cried.  I lost.

I believe I've said it before but it bears repeating again.  I know what it feels like to be the offspring of an addict.  Addiction to dysfunction is just as real as an addiction to drugs or alcohol.  Except there isn't a 12-step available.  The manipulation, the excuses, the highs and the lows.  The feeling that maybe this time will be different so you allow yourself to get caught in the loop again.  And be disappointed again.  It's painful.  It's even more painful not to repeat the process in your own life because it takes so much work.  And the resentment.  Tons and tons of it on all sides.

My mother looked me square in the eye last night and said "I'm sorry I don't have things figured out like you do.  I'm sorry my life isn't perfect like yours.  I can't wait to see how well Izzy has adjusted to her oh-so-perfect life in 15 years.  How nice it must be to be you with all the answers."  Ouch.  Again with me and my perfect life.  Again with the guilt over my "high standards".  Again with the disdain over my inability to tolerate anger and dysfunction.  Again and again and again. 

Our parent's generation was coined the "Me Generation".  How right that description was.  

scary angry

This year one of my obsessions is our yard.  I've worked really hard planting a garden (and all that involves from start to finish), planting flowers in the flower beds (ditto) and planting some grass (ditto again).  When we moved in, we figured our yard was once a pretty place.  There were remnants of flowers, trellises, flower beds and the like.  However, the last tenants here were blind crackheads (literally) so it's safe to assume they didn't put a huge priority on yard work.

Anyway, this morning I was admiring the Nasturtiums that were just starting to sprout (an edible flower).  I planted them from seeds and I cannot begin to describe the amount of satisfaction I receive when seeds actually sprout (success!!)  This afternoon, Izzy wanted to play out on the deck while I was doing kitchen-duty.  No problem.  But later, as I walked around the deck doing my routine satisfaction walk, I noticed that every.single.one of my Nasturtiums had been pulled out of the dirt.  Every single one.  I was absolutely furious.  Izzy had already picked all of my baby tomatoes last week and this was enough to throw me over the edge.  I seriously had to talk a walk around the yard to prevent from beating her.

This is harsh and I know it.  But already this child takes too much from me.  My sleep.  My cleanliness.  My need for organization.  I love her.  God knows more than anything else in this world.  But as any grown adult knows, we often want to hurt the ones we love.  And today, while staring shocked at my aborted Nasturtiums, I wanted to hurt her.  I've replanted them and gained my perspective.  They are only plants.  She is only 2.  It's not that big of a deal.  But bless my poor angry soul, I am looking more forward to getting out of town this weekend than a happy mother should be...