I think it’s the rain. The rain that has been the constant backdrop to life these past few days. I’m not used to so much rain. I live in Calgary, not Vancouver. Too much rain. Too, too, too much rain.
I couldn’t even go to church today. Mainly because I couldn’t gather the children to come with me because one didn’t come home from grandma’s and one was too tired.
Fine! Fine! Play at the park! You’ll be sorry in hell my child!! <- no, I didn’t really say that. (Mainly because it wasn’t my son’s choice, it was my mother’s, who let him go to the park rather than bring him home.) But there’s a reaction in my soul that says “why don’t they care?”
It’s selfish, really, and I see that. It’s selfish to say to your family, “Care more about me!” But I want them to. I want someone to read what I write, I want my husband to notice that it’s getting close to church time so why doesn’t he put the baby to bed and I can go, I want to feel the acceptance that I’ve craved since I was a child.
But everywhere I feel like I face rejection. I’m a writer, I can handle that rejection. I get it. But when your family rejects you or when it feels like there’s not so much rejection as just…. a non-acceptance. A feeling of ambivalence. I see clothing on the floor and I think “doesn’t anyone else care?” I see bedtimes approach and I start to prepare. Doesn’t anyone else?
Lately I’ve been trying very hard to stay on budget. I watch each penny I spend. I find little bits of joy in getting a lunch for under $2. (Superstore, it’s for me!) But then one offhand comment from a family member about my spending just crushes every bit of happiness I had. Every bit of try.
Why is that?
