Change: It's Not All Good

       So my new bed is shorter than my old one, which was shorter than I preferred. My feet just hang right off. It's also very wide. And, unfortunately, not very soft――also not really a bed bed. It's just a mattress, and my computer desk drawers have more depth. I'm told it will slowly inflate over the course over the course of three days.

      Let's see. I got $20 and a hug from my mother's boyfriend, and a high-tech camera from my mother that she bought from her boy-friend, two free pizzas, an amazing Shake 'N Bake chicken dinner, a cheesecake, and from a past neighbor, I got a chocolate bar, guitar picks, and a guitar song book.
      I'd have liked to have a handyman look at the toilet, but maybe for Christmas. Even though I am still the only one having problems. When I last mentioned it, my mother said she "didn't see the point of calling until she noticed an issue," so I told her that I was kind of mentioning the issue. "Nope, nope, nope, until your brother or I have problems, we won't get a handyman." Well, we're not exactly wealthy, so I've just been living with it. And, yes, adding that none of my problems matter and nobody hears me, and she said they do matter and they do hear me. But still won't consider the problem I keep having.

      My brother said, "Maybe it's because you use too much toilet paper?"

      Helloooo?! That would never affect the toilet handle. Weirdo. But of course I can't "give him lip," because I'm "just a female." Gosh, maybe my sister had the right idea when she took off. You know he thinks doing dishes is women's work? That we should stick to quilting and childbearing? I mean, he may have said those things in jest, but he does condescend to me a lot, especially.

      Too much toilet paper. Now that's fucked up. Of course they asked me if I know how to flush, as if I've been having this problem my entire life. No... Just recently. But maybe I'm too stupid to tell.

      You know, they keep saying I need to stop being hard on myself, and then they go and treat me like I'm a complete retard. And how dare I get angry, stand up for myself, and "sass" them? What is this, the '40s? Why am I treated so differently? Is it my face, my shoulders, my voice, my height that makes everybody dislike me?

      Maybe I'm average, and everybody just sucks. I bet my life that if either one of them was having the issue with the toilet handle, they would have called the handyman right away. It's like when I sleep, they make all the noise they want, but when they sleep, the entire world had just better shut up. And my brother can do whatever he wants when he wants. Go for a walk in the dark, take a taxi twice in a day, but god forbid I even think of it.

      I'm just less. And after 32 years of knowing it, you'd think I could just shrug it off, but no. It fucking hurts. And yes, I still live with my family; if one of us moves out, the other two can't afford rent, becomes homeless, gets eaten by a bear or maybe the wolf that's hanging around now, so I just...stay. No matter how much I want to just disappear.

      Ugh, fuck. Damn Christmas parade. If they really want to give, how about they don't come down our street and give the First Responders a clear path?

     They just want to feel good about themselves, that's all Christmas is. And birthdays, too. Just a handyman would have been wonderful, a handyman, like I've been saying, and saying, and saying. I mean, a guitar song book when I don't even know the chords, a bunch of sugar now that I've finally gotten my skin under control... I know they think I appreciate it, but am I really supposed to? After all this time of being ignored and condescended, am I really supposed to appreciate all this extra stuff? Or is it about them? Give the birthday girl some presents, follow the tradition and fulfill your duty. Pat yourself on the back maybe. Just congratulate me on being closer to dying, thank you.

     Birthdays are always the worst. I always wake up with a head-ache, have a seizure, haven't slept. I could probably never look at a calendar again in my life, completely lose track of what day it is, and I could tell by how bad my day is going, on a chilly day, that it's December 6th.

      Oh, whatever. I'll eat the pizza and still be hungry, I'll eat the snacks and get zits. Then I'll eat something else, and something else, and never be full while I try desperately for at least a month to get my skin back under control because, oh no, I had a chocolate bar the month before.

      Why are they so hard to get rid of?

     But the good news is, I may have started something in my petite inner circle. Whenever my mother tells me "Happy birthday," I say "Happy Mother's Day." Because it should only, always, fall on your kid's birthday. It should be personal. Putting it on "the second Sunday" in May is so random. And why should somebody say Happy Mother's Day to me, if I've never had a kid? Abolish the second Sunday nonsense, say it falls on whatever your kid's birthday is, if you have multiple children, you get multiple Mother's Days. It's sweeter. It's kinder. It's about both of you.

      I should make a poll, see what the world thinks. Rather the two, three people who bother talking to me, but maybe they'll share it and get more responses. Worth it.