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Monday, May 31, 2010

Chapter 13 - If you have to work this hard at something that is illegal, you shouldn’t be doing it!

Saturday, September 3rd, 1988

Everyone is totally against me. I am truly going crazy. I know this. It has to be true. What have I done to get everyone against me?

Jennifer, no longer talks to me. My own sister! She walks around barely speaking to me and slamming the doors. My relationship with her has only been getting worse since she moved in here . I know its only till she finds her own place. But I can’t understand why she doesn’t talk to me anymore? At least tell me what it is I have done?

She’ll talk to JP for the whole night and he’ll sit there explaining things to her that he would never explain to me. I find myself standing around the corner in the hall listening to their conversations that go on for hours. Pink Floyd, Racing, work… Then the minute I come from around the corner they shut up. The room is silent. I’ll sit on the couch, ask them what they are talking about.

“Nothing, we’re just watching TV” They could have slapped me in the face. It would have hurt less.

I’m jealous, I know this. I know in my heart my husband doesn’t care about me and that makes me insecure. I’ve always wanted to be Jennifer, which makes it even worse. She is so beautiful, skinny, well toned and followed around everywhere by guys. She had the admirer’s in high school, I had the boys asking me how they could date her. She had the boyfriends with ex-girlfriends so jealous of her that they would attack me. She was the one that got sewing lessons when we were growing up. Her toys were never broken when she received a gift, mine were chipped or cracked or darn right didn’t work. She had the best Barbie clothing, I on the other hand got spanked when I snuck away with her wedding dress trying to dress my Barbie for her ‘special day’. Ken still shirtless, Barbie needed a dress! Jen always dressed classy and well put together while I looked thrown together. Her make-up was perfect her hair never out of place! Where did she learn to do this? Who taught her how to be a woman? Why didn’t they teach me? Why didn’t I ever have a boyfriend? Why didn’t they ever follow me?

I have always wanted to be her. Jen, if I have done something to upset you just come to me. Please just tell me.

Friday, September 23rd, 1988

I’m bored. I have been off the pill ever sense we came back from Belgium. JP doesn’t want to talk about anything baby, he just wants the sex part of it. I thought couple’s were supposed to plan all this together? I’m guessing I was wrong on that also. Since I have been wrong on so much it doesn’t matter. I can do this also on my own.

I’m not really on my own. Chrissy is never away from my side when I am home. I guess I should have married my cat instead. This is really sad if you can imagine.

Here I am 21 crying like an ass in this book wishing life was just easier. Then again, if it was, the challenge would cease. I know I can’t get people to stop doing what they like to do, but please, I beg you JP please stop smoking pot. He tells me all the time that I don’t know what I am missing. So I finally tried it a week ago. I gave in, against all my better judgment, I gave in.

How can I adequately describe it for you. Picture yourself sitting on the couch the world spinning around you and the sounds in slow motion. You feel like you can’t touch the ground but you know your sitting. You try to move your arm and it takes all your effort and your eyes see nothing moving. You realize that if the house catches on fire that you would not be able to escape the fire alive, let alone rescue your cat. You can’t catch your breath and people are handing you the joint again telling you to ‘take another hit’. You pass it on to the next person, leaving your lips off of it. Your still trying to breath, something that has become increasingly difficult as the seconds pass on. Your not even sure if they are seconds, they may be hours. You try to go over in your mind all the hazards that might happen trying to prepare yourself in the event of an emergency. You can’t get your brain to concentrate and that’s when you feel it, the cells in your brain dying off one by one. There went a whole sector just now. Cell’s you know you will never get back. Cells you know you will need at some point in your life and what is going to happen when you need them and they aren’t there? You spend the rest of the evening near the telephone just in case you need to call for an ambulance because you can’t breath anymore, then it hit’s you, you forgot your address. Crap! You lost the brain cells that contained your address in them. So you dig through the house looking for a scrap of paper and pen so you can write your address on it from the bill that you found laying around.

It didn’t dawn on you that you can just use the bill you found and read it to the ambulance people. No, you actually had to re-write the address (more brain cell loss) and sit by the phone for the rest of the night.

The next afternoon JP awoke, proud and happy that he finally got his wife to smoke pot. Lighting up another join the passed it to me as if I would automatically like it. “No thank you, I tried it, I’m done.”

“What? You’re crazy, this shit is awesome!”

“No it’s not! It’s horrible. You always tell me not to knock it till I tried it. Well I tried it and I’m knocking it! It’s horrible! Why anyone would want to waste and evening smoking this crap is beyond me.”

His response flabbergasted me. “You just didn’t do it right.”

I am always wrong at everything I do. I can’t even get smoking pot right. I am doomed. I’m not a good wife, I’m not a good druggy and I will probably be a horrible mother! I’m doomed.

So, wanting to make my husband happy and give this wonderful past time of his a chance to pull me in to his gnarly den I commit to the week of trying to learn how to smoke pot correctly. A week of which I will never get back. More brain cells that are lost forever and I know I will need some day. He of course thinks he has me hooked. He goes out and buys more then usual and starts smoking it near constantly. He hands me the joint and I start dismissing it. Turning and walking away, this isn’t the life for me. He questions me with anger. I am not playing the game he thought he dealt me. He tells me again that I am not doing it right. It apparently takes work to acquire this ‘skill’,

“If I have to work so hard to do something that is so bad for me then it’s not something I want to do. I’ve tried it! I can knock it now. It’s still crap!” I turn to leave knowing full well that I have probably lost him. He can have his friends and my sister. They can go off and smoke pot and watch that Pink Floyd crap all they want. I’d rather clean a toilet!

I’m still missing my brain cells. I believe I can really feel the one’s that are gone!

Tuesday, September 27, 1988

I sit here at my desk, my birthday just behind me a day and the world ahead of me in a cloud. I am still trying to shake the feeling of smoking pot this last week and I am seriously beginning to wonder if I will ever feel as sharp and clear as I did the weeks prior. I am beginning to doubt it. Making me kick myself even harder for the stupidity of allowing someone to get me to do something I never wanted to do in the first place.

My job has been going great. I have been getting a lot more responsibilities. Moving up the ranks as they may say. I have gone from just answering phones to actually learning to do the credits and take the orders. I want to help my boss with the payroll. I know I can do it. But she still says no. Last week while we were doing some of the auditing stuff, I was the one that realized one of the line workers, actually was using the vice principals social security numbers. It just looked familiar to me, and when I looked it up, there it was, plain as day not his number.

It’s interesting watching them fill out their applications when they come in. You know they don’t know anything about working in America. I mean you hand them the application and they return it with 5 digits filled in the space for the social security number. I have to hand it back and ask for the rest of the number.

They fill in another digit and look at me. I return the look of ‘more’ and they do another number. This continues till they get all 9 numbers on the application. I know it’s a fake number, but per my boss there is nothing we can do about it. They provide us with the number and they get to work. It’s not our responsibility to verify that number is correct. But, wait, it’s a total different story when you accidentally guess the VP’s number!

It has taught me to carefully look over my paperwork I get from Social Security people that’s for sure.

I like being at work more lately then I do at home. I don’t know how to get JP to stop smoking pot and I don’t want to have a baby growing up in that type of home. So I am torn. Do I continue to try? Or do I call it quite and live in my world with no child and a husband that rarely comes home?

This is where I am hoping you respond back to me with the answer….


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