You Wouldn’t Like Mom When She’s Angry

I realize I should have snapped some “before” and “after” photos for you guys, but for at least two weeks, our kitchen has been undergoing a remodel. Mom’s wanted it since the LAST time we remodeled the kitchen, it’s her dream kitchen. The beach house finally sold, but after all the idiocy involved with that, there wasn’t enough money to pay off the house. So instead, kitchen remodel.

The only time I felt myself REALLLLLY hating the process was the week we ate out of two coolers perpetually stocked with ice in the process of being more or less solid. I’ve lived without the stove (we’ve been using the camp stove and trailer); I’ve lived with the microwave; I’ve lived with my electric kettle (best college gift ever); I’ve lived with having no where to sit and all the furniture moving and the huge boxes piling up in the living room and dining room, and all the fast food we’ve been eating in the process. Even the dog was calm with it. But I have to say I was pretty happy to finally get a fridge, and we were all ECSTATIC when it appeared we were going to have a stove again.

We bought the appliances from Sears. Maybe that was a mistake. I know they’re clothing and home merchandise have been going downhill for years, but since they’re owned by a guy who does mechanic companies, maybe their appliances are okay. Certainly their installation teams aren’t, because for complicated reasons I didn’t really pay all that much attention to, the stove WASN’T installed on Thursday. A promise to have it done this morning with a call last night didn’t happen.

And right now Mom’s been lighting torches to burn the homes of the Owners of the Means of Production.

Or at least making some poor telecom’s day really, really hard. I was woken up at seven by the sound of her yelling, and despite all attempts to ignore it, my curiosity and innate sense of “OH GOD NO FIGHTING NO FIGHTING!” made me get out of bed and see what was going on. Mom’s angry to the point of tears. We weren’t even put into the system to have the stove FINALLY installed today. So she’s raising hell, and Papa plans to go to the department store and raise some more.

All of this would be fine except their two week vacation begins today, as does mine – at home. Now sans stove, which certainly makes the eating process more difficult, but not impossible. Mom’s a really strange duck. When she perceives a threat to me, she can become the most upset person alive, and I watched her shriek on the phone “And now my DAUGHTER doesn’t have any way to cook!” It wasn’t the biggest deal in the world to me. I have frozen food that can be cooked in the microwave and I can go out for Chinese – A LOT. But Sears kept food from the mouth of her baby, and that was the final straw.

So who knows when that will be fixed. I’m just writing this while I finish my coffee, because then I need to shower and get MORE ice for the folks.

I also finally quit the teen program. I suppose it’s a little disappointing, since my classes went so well, as did tutoring. But X informed me that I was only going to be paid 2.75 hours per week, without my prep or post time being paid, or any necessary hangover with students. So I informed X I quit. I seriously hoped he’d shoot back some stupid response so I could forward that to HR, but alas, he did not. Instead, he’s hitting on poor K in the creepiest manner possible. Welcome to my life, K.

So I’m mostly unemployed. In theory I’ll be helping two days a week in the pre-school again, and I called the temp agency I guess I’m an employee of and updated them on my status. The most hopeful of all is that I’m babysitting pretty frequently a kid I had in camp, and a great kid with an awesome mom. As of October, I’ll be there twice a week, so it’s not a bad deal. It’s not a real job, but it’ll be enough to pay off the last couple hundred I owe on my debt, which is good.

On self-reflection and use of my Tarot cards, I’m finding I’m not as complete as I thought I was. This whole blog is about how I find out who I am, and I thought I was getting pretty close, but apparently there’s a piece missing. And I think until I find that piece, the writing will continue to be hard; I’ll have the weird bouts of depression (i.e. serious emptiness) like I had yesterday; and I’ll remain single – which is good, don’t get me wrong. I’ll find the one I’m looking for as soon as I’ve found myself, because a guy can’t make me whole, and I will not be ready till I am. If this is at times difficult to swallow (for me or for you), rest assured that I accept it and am not anxious for it at all.

Inquiring minds wanted to know about the previously mentioned Guy I found again. On talking with Lacey, it was determined he was “still in love” and in an “on-again off-again” relationship with his ex, and I finally said “f–k that noise.” (Did I already write this? I’m getting de ja vu.) I do not have time to waste on a guy who can’t remember why they broke up in the first place. And I REALLY hate those types of relationships, having been subjected to it by two friends all throughout high school – who then got married. And somehow still are. Go figure that one. So unfortunately my dreaming mind will still sometimes subject me to him, but I am decidedly on the path of getting over THAT piece of stupidity. I suppose that’s another thing that will have to happen before I find the guy I’m looking for – and the last piece of myself. If nothing else, it’s an adventure, isn’t it?

The coffee is done, so one last thing before I go: I wanted to link two posts from a blog I subscribe to but rarely check up on. But happenstance made me accidentally click the “follow” button this morning, and I’m SOOOO glad I did, because these posts are works of beauty and thoughtfulness. And also, excuse any random capitalized letters I didn’t intend, my shift key seemed to keep sticking while I wrote this.

Race in San Francisco
When Writing is Hard


About emilydnelson

A recent graduate of Hofstra University with a B.A. in anthropology, Emily is like every other twenty-two year old on the planet - trying to figure out what the hell to do now. Follow as she struggles with writing, her social work job, and bopping from coast to coast.
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