Unless I personally put it in your face, it's none of your business

For those of you who haven’t been with me from the beginning, there will be a short history lesson in today’s post.

For a whole lot of reasons in my history, trust is an issue with me.  (God I hate that sentence.  Trust is an issue. No it’s not.. lack of trust is a problem.)  I don’t trust well, or easily.  But this isn’t really about trust… this is about privacy. Maybe it’s more about respect.

Anyway… to the history lesson.  Shortly after I first met Brian, I let my over active,  non-medicated, bipolar imagination get out of hand and I broke his trust, violated his privacy (or at least tried) and totally disrespected him. (in an ironic twist of fate.. he returned the favor several times… with much success…. but that’s not part of the lesson)

My life is all over the internet, if you know where to look.  Ok, not my entire life, but a lot of my life is plastered everywhere if you want to spend 5 minutes stalking me.  Some parts of my life are very public, some are very private.

Brian always kept his laptop password protected and guarded, and when I thought we were sharing a life together it kind of bothered me that there was this part of his life that was kept from me.

Until yesterday.

Then?  I got it.

Yesterday, I was showing someone this really awesome picture I took last Friday.

Which, if you ask me, is a truly awesome picture.  Apparently Corvettes haul more than ass.

I pulled it up on my iPod Touch, and showed this person.

They reached and took it out of my hand.  I turned to answer the phone.  When I turned back around? They were thumbing though all of my photos on MY iPod Touch.

I immediately took it back from them, asking “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

Just looking through your pictures.

Uh, those pictures? Are none of your business.  I didn’t give you permission.

There are some out there who would argue the fact that when I gave him the iPod to look at one picture I implied permission to look at all my pictures.  I call BULLSHIT on that.

Sure, there is nothing illegal about what the person did, it was underhanded and schmarmy and uncool. And at that point I wanted to stab them.  I still want to bitch slap them.

Yesterday I got it.  I got why Brian kept his laptop password protected.  I got why he valued his privacy.  While I put a whole lot of my life on the internet, I don’t put everything out there.  And what I don’t put on the internet, or personally show you?

Is none of your business.

They're always thinking of me

Last night, after picking up the girls from their dad’s early because he wanted to watch the Super Bowl. Meh, what do I care?  I’ll pick them up early.  Not like I was watching the game.

We get home at a fairly decent time, and by decent I mean Oh my god I still have hours before it’s time to go to bed even though I could drop right now and sleep the sleep of the dead.  I decided to have a snack, you know because nothing is better than eating when you really just want to go to bed.

I’ll have some cheese and crackers and finish off that half bottle of wine in the fridge that I started the other night while watching the second season of Sex and the City.

I go to the kitchen, open the cabinet, grab the box of crackers, pop it open, reach in and Hello (hello hello hello) (those are echos for those of you who aren’t hearing this post narrated in your head like I am as I type it)

The girls?  Had helped themselves to some cheese and crackers (but not my wine, thankyouverymuch) while they had been snowed in.  Fine. I’m ok with that.  The cheese and crackers?  For everyone.  The wine?  All. Mine.

I reach in the box, thinking WTF?  There, at the bottom of the box….

2 1/2 crackers.

Not 3.

Two and a half.

I slowly turn to the girls and ask them “Did you seriously put this box away with only two and a half crackers left in it?  Why not just EAT the two and a half crackers?  There’s still plenty of cheese left, so I know you didn’t run out of cheese.”

The best answer they could come up with?

“We wanted to save some for you mom!”

Gee.  Thanks.

My full-on bipolar weekend

I had a bipolar weekend. It was horrible, terrible, angry, sad, mad, awesome, fantastic, party all night, laugh till it hurts, cry till there are no more tears, scream until I have no voice, and everything in between kind of weekend. Actually, it was exactly that weekend.

I ran the full gamut of emotions this weekend. I have been so frustrated for so long about so many things by so many people. And putting voice to those frustrations was getting me nowhere. Nobody was listening or paying attention. I had asked of them, over and over, and still… crickets.

I reached my breaking point. My boiling point. My I-don’t-give-a-fuck-about-the-consequences-I-just-want-to-be-heard point. And so I spewed forth all the frustration and anger and exasperation I have been feeling for weeks now.

And once you let that genie out of the bottle? That bitch don’t know when to quit and get back in the damn bottle.

I was so tired, and frustrated and angry, and feeling unheard, and unimportant, and overwhelmed, and stress, and… and…. Yeah.

Then, after spending an entire day blowing up time after time, I dressed up and went to a party. I got the hell out of dodge, out of my house, away from the anger, the frustration, the fear, the stress, the edge, and I partied. (Thank you company I work for but will not name here, because I do have some small degree of a life that is not spewed all over the internet. But if you live in/around/close to/have driven though St. Louis it’s a name you’d recognize).

I laughed, and ate, and drank, and laughed, and danced, and drank, and laughed, and partied.

All. Night.

And it was fun. I had a blast. And it felt good.

To blow off steam. To leave all the ugly at home, far behind me, for a night, and just hang out with friends. All the ugly would be there when I got home, I could pick it up and carry the stress and the weight and the drama around later. For one night, I was going to let loose, and have fun.

And I did.

The next morning. When I woke up? The drama of the day before was there but the anger wasn’t. The I’m sorry was.

I just needed to blow out the pipes. I needed to left off some steam.  I needed to at least put a voice to all that I had been feeling and all that I was sure was going unheard. The yelling, crying, talking, begging, screaming, stomping day, followed by the drinking, dancing, laughing, partying, having a great time night was just like resetting my emotions, so that I could start over from a fresh place.