Okay, a rather long title. I’m still flying a little bit on the cheese cake(s) from my celebratory vengeance expedition at the local mall. Perhaps I should say that revenge is best dished up with a credit card and someone elses money. It goes back to the whole “I’m really ashamed of the way you present yourself.” and “I don’t want you to embarrass me” crap that I got from my sister today and my mother on Saturday. So, went shopping to buy clothes to wear to work with my sister. Despite the fact that I got a great deal on the clothes, like saving over $200 on the majority of it, I used the money I’m supposed to pay my sister with. Can’t have both, money and a sister that doesn’t embarass you. Pick one. I do have to say, retail therapy is VERY effective.
I did something I can’t believe I did but I have absolutely no regret on and that was buying a purse that is all leather, that fits all my writing paraphernalia and is just elegantly understated and is so not the tattered bag I’ve been carrying around with me because it fit everything I needed to carry around. It’s sitting here next to me and the smell of the leather is soooooo nice.
So, let’s address the issues at hand. First of all, I got angry and went shopping. Everyone I talked to about how I had been so mightily abused agreed with me, even though I looked horrible, dirty shirt and torn jeans and tennis shoes, everyone agreed that was just out-of-bounds for anyone to say to another person, especially a family member. But the sting of the anger that I normally would have been fussing at before, even though I’m off my anti-anxiety pills briefly due to supply, has me feeling more empathy for Cyndi and even understanding that she thinks it’s okay. I’m trying to get beyond the crap our childhood has mired us in, she’s happy as a clam up to her nose in it. She is hurting me because she is hurting and doesn’t realize it, and I can’t hate her for that. And I’m going to keep trying to maintain that attitude.
So, the clothes, socks, pj bottoms, purse, make-up, face care and make-up brushes are my ways of compensating myself for the slight by giving Mom and C what they want, me to not shame them in public. Of course, this doesn’t mean I won’t wear the dirty shirt and the torn jeans when we’re out as a family. I’m not going to stop who I am because it offends their narrow interpretation of what the world should look like in order to be accepted. They can just bite me if they think I’m ever going to be like them. The one thing I am keeping is my Mickey Mouse watch. They can pry that off my cold dead wrist before I’ll give that up.
I love my purse.