After yesterday’s post, I’ve been debating sharing this blog with my parents. I love getting their feedback, and as writing is how I best communicate, I know it’s a handy way to help them understand what’s going on in my head.
But at the same time I’m hesitant, because I still care too much about what people think and if I knew they were reading I would lose some of the newfound liberty I have enjoyed.
I have, however, introduced Jo to the blog. Of all my family, she’s the one I’m least concerned with offending. And it’s nice to know someone in the house is aware of my thoughts.
What almost pushed me to sending Mom and Dad an invite was a conversation I had with Mom earlier today.
During that break-down I mentioned in the last post, Mom had said without any encouragement from me that perhaps it was time for me to pursue another job. Anyone can see Gram and I don’t get along the best, and that I can get a little tense being home all day with her. Part of it, Mom will claim, is because we are so alike. To my mind, it’s because I have little tolerance for people who won’t help themselves, I have no experience with dealing with dementia up close, and I am constantly having to bite my tongue to keep from uttering any number of sarcastic remarks that are just part of my nature. This all leads to a lot of pent-up feelings I try to avoid dumping on the first person to walk in the door at night.
I really have learned a lot about myself over the past few months.
But back to that convo. I’d already been thinking about at least getting a weekend job. There’s a hardware and appliance store in town that would definitely hire me because I worked closely with them at my last job. (I say this with some pride, because the man I most often interacted with has told Dad on several occasions that he would give me a glowing recommendation in a heartbeat.) I never saw myself working at such a store of all places (I’m not very handy) but it would be a good stepping stone.
So I told Mom today that I was definitely considering it. She was all on board. More than that, she wanted me to submit an application that instant.
Her reasoning was partly because I’m pretty much guaranteed employment, they are known to be flexible, and it would be a good start.
“Plus,” she added with a sly look, “there are all those good-looking guys who come in.” And she may have made tiger noises. I was too busy dodging a hip-bump and swallowing a groan.
“You really need to read my blog,” I grumbled before I could think.
Then, in true Phoebe form, I jumped to explain myself and only dug a deeper hole.
Now Mom is put-off because I deliberately left her out of this endeavor. I didn’t tell her Jo is in on it, but I did make the mistake of telling her some of our friends out West are. (Hey, guys!)
Have I mentioned I’ve been biting my tongue a lot?
So that’s my life. Just when I had decided I was going to move forward with my shoulders back and my head high, reality drags me back down to earth. Everything I wrote were things “I wish I could say” because, though I feel them strongly, I lack the courage to broadcast them and sign my name at the bottom. And writing them down didn’t send signals to my well-intentioned parents to stop looking for a husband for me.
Why is it that, when we are stressed about something, we become so sensitive to it in our daily lives? I know Mom has been this way for years (and I don’t blame her, because it’s only proof she’s doing the mom thing properly) but I used to be a lot better at brushing it off.
And this became more rambling than I had hoped. I’ll be leaving now to struggling with the pros and cons of revealing myself to the parentals.