This Is Me Maria

• My front yard. Half of the weed barrier I laid down is some how gone. So this whole section is over run with weeds.
• My “carport” what is also known as the entry way to my house. The previous owners attempted to enclose the carport. They did the shittiest job EVER.
• Everything about the upstairs which includes my kitchen and the upstairs bathroom. The walls, the floor, the cabinets. Ev-er-y-THING.
• My deck - 320 square feet of pain in my ass.
• My gigantic back yard - there are no words.
• I have resigned to pretending that the windows and siding don’t even exist because I doubt I’ll ever see them get replaced.

I know, I know got myself into this giant mess. In my defense though I said I wanted to move to this city. I did not say I wanted to move to this house. Mr. Maria picked out the house. I said we should wait for something else.

I really want to have a better POV on this. Like oh I’m so lucky that the only problems in my life are my house and my yard. And I should be happy for each day. And oh it could be so much worse.

I can’t though. Everyday that I have to come home to this house I am angry. I can’t handle this. This is why I ran away from home all the time when I was a teenager. We lived in my grandmother’s depressing unfinished house! I hated being there so much.

I would rather stay at work (where stupid angry people call me all day long) than go home at the end of each day. I only come home because I miss my family and they are the only things in the world that make me happy right now. I wish that was enough, but it isn’t. The rest of this is just too much.

The thing that makes me angrier than any of this is everyone who says, it will get done eventually, it will happen in time… and all the stupid shit they get to say because they don’t have to put up with this. BULL.SHIT. It took 2 years to get here. Like we’ve finally made it up to -1.

How am I ever going to make it to the end of this?

Dear person who searched this term and found my blog, I hope your computer stops being an ass. I feel your pain.

I admit that 1. I started knitting a scarf for my daughter (after having completed one for my son); over two years ago and still have not completed it.

I admit that 2. I really suck at math.

I admit that 3. I am over scheduled and under rested and stressed 90% of the time and it is all my fault.

I admit that 4. I could happily spend 12 hours working as long as it is in front of a computer.

I admit that 5. I have the most unorganized (read: messy) room in the house.

Anyone remember when I first started this blog? I mean like the very first iteration. Anyone? Do you also remember the first time I shut down my blog? (Read: have shut down at least 3 times now) Well for whatever reason, I didn’t export in the appropriate fashion. I somehow turned all of my blog posts into a really secure PDF file that I can’t even copy and paste from.

I must now painstakingly retype every single one of those posts into Notepad before I can bring it here. There was some good stuff in there from like two years ago.

I am stupid.

Dear Stupid Bastard;

I heard you coming around a corner today and instead of waiting around and risk spending even 1 minute of sharing air in a confined space, I bolted and took the long way. While I was traipsing all over hill and dale I realized that I’d sooner fall down 22 flights of stairs (because 23 would be over doing it) than have to make small talk with you and listen to your stupid voice and your stupid words anymore than I already have to.

Sincerely,

-Not buying the load of BS that spews from your trap daily

Me (sound of keyboard as I hammer out an email): clack, clack, clack…. clack. clack, clack.

iPhone (as I receive a text message): Ding!

Stupid bitch: Is it time to take your medication?

Me (in my head): No. I’ve stopped taking it so I’ll have an excuse when I bitch slap you.