2004-03-06 @ 10:45 p.m.
|Ever sit around on Saturday night and think, wow, this life thing isn't going very well. I'm 46, unmarried, no kids, I'm not a home owner, no car, no foreseeable success coming down the 'pike.
My shrink's favorite phrase, after "get rid of Married Guy", is "Nobody is going to rescue you." I'm actually very aware of that right now, especially in the last few weeks being without a car. It's been rough. Really rough.
I mean I do have a few things. I have an apartment. I'm not homeless. I don't live under a bridge. I have Medicaid health insurance. I have a shrink who looks the other way on a rather large bill. I have a social worker. I have art lessons paid for me. I have a cute kitty who likes to lick my nose when we're watching TV. I have a computer.
I'm actually pretty lucky considering some of the people I've seen as I've been walking under highway overpasses recently. These people are sleeping under bridges after all.
I'm also lucky to have one very good friend in Married Guy. It's a complicated relationship, but I consider it to be a mostly positive thing in my life.
So am I waiting to be rescued? Not exactly. Do I want to be rescued. Sure. But waiting? No.
My Dad used to rescue me financially all the time. I've never been able to make a living financially. I've worked as many as 3 jobs at a time, but without an abundance of confidence, or a stellar educational degree, I've never been able to get a high paying job.
Of course, I don't have my Dad to turn to anymore. I lost him last March. I actually lost him a year and a half before that, but that's a long story.
He didn't mind rescuing me. He knew I was kind of clumsy in the game of life. He knew the guys weren't exactly lining up to marry me. And I wasn't exactly setting the world on fire as the CEO of my own company.
I was just this shy little creature who liked to write. And play the piano. And do creative things. He never encouraged me in any way. He wasn't exactly a Father Knows Best kind of Dad. And I don't mean that in a bad way. He just didn't know how.
We mostly talked about the weather. And the cat. And...um, the weather. We were both quiet. He was an alcoholic.
But he knew how to write checks. Oh yeah! He was all about "Checkbook Love". What's that? Instead of saying "I love you", he used write me a check.
I never realized how damaging that was until recently. I mean, when I was younger, getting checks and having credit cards, was great. I mean, it was like "Yay free money!" And I certainly miss it now, but despite abject poverty I would definitely trade a few dozen checks for one big fat "I love you" about now.
You know what I mean, Dad?
Am I angry at him? No. I really don't think he knew how to express love any other way. My mother lassoed him into a loveless marriage because she was pregnant with me. I bet that was fun. Living with the Black Hole of Calcutta. No wonder he drank himself senseless every night.
It was a war zone at our house when I was a kid. Constant fighting. I could never relax. I was seeing doctors for ulcer-like symptoms when I was 8. Fortunately he traveled, so at least when he was gone, it wasn't quite as noisy. And I got to be her emotional punching bag. Yay!
And of course, my mom had access to all his bank accounts and credit cards. She was also part of the Checkbook Love thing. But hers was default.
Not really sure what made me think of all this. I guess because I'm always writing about finding a rich guy with a SUV to take me away from poverty.
In real life, I am about as far away from a gold digger as you could ever get. But I guess maybe my shrink is right, I do want to be rescued. Why? Because I don't want to die alone and in poverty. I want to experience a happy family life just once.
Is there anything wrong with that? I think not. Anyways, just thinking about you tonight, Dad.
Lyrics by Lennon/McCartney. All angst copyright by awittykitty