What the f*ck does it take to get a little peace? I spend 40 hours a week listening the the most purile, immature drivel coming out of the phone-- "Oh, you have to give me more credit because I *need* this 3k Channel handbag (even though my credit score is in the tiolet", "How *dare* you hold my card for the five dollar minimum payment! I'll pay you whenever I feel like it, and remove that latefee while you're at it". Blah, blah, cosumerism to the point of zealous religious conversion. I smile ('remember, associates, the auditors can hear the smile in your voice'), I apologize and take ownership for everything from other store associates being rude to customer's "not receiving their statements" (yeah, right). That's fine, that's okay, it's something I get paid to do. I thank God every day I have a good job.
Ten hours of this straight, for four days. I have three days off. During these days I do laundry, I mediate sisterly disputes, I make sure everyone is fed (I don't cook, but I provide food), I rub aching backs, dispendse medicine for migraines, make sure my little cousin gets up for work on time. I listen to my brother complain about his work, my nieces complain about each other, and LC complain about the entire universe. I do this because it's part of who I am. Good sister, good daughter, good surrogate mother. Jewish filial piety at it's best. I love my family, I do. And I know I rely on them as well-- I am, after all, an outsider second only to LC.
ONE night a week-- just one goddamn night!-- I ask to be left alone. I get everyone settled in for their TV shows, see LC off to his girlfriend's house, tip toe around so my brother can get an early night in. All I want is one night to watch my Asian horror movies, read, draw, and maybe get a little writing done.
Nope, sorry, NOT happening. For the entire summer, I think I've successfully managed MAYBE three Tuesday evenings without a huge argument erupting, having to clean up something that's been broken, or getting into a stressful money discussion with my brother. (Yes, I know we don't have money to fix the upstairs tiolet. I'm sorry! Talking about it constantly is not going to magically make it appear! All we can do is put a little money aside from each paycheck and get it fixed when we've finally accumulated the funds.)
I am so *taught* from listening to him perseverate on this subject (he's been on and off it since 2 pm) that I feel like my heart and lungs are in a pressure cooker. I have a migraine starting.
And, already, I feel guilty for saying/typing these things. I should just plod onward, with good grace.
*fists hands in hair*
Obviously, I am a bad person. ;_;