I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I have that sick-to-my-stomach feeling like I felt all during my last year in college when I was completely stressed out. I feel like there’s something wrong, that there’s something I should be worrying about, but I can’t for the life of me figure out what it is.
Plus it doesn’t help that I managed to ruin my W&M Computer Science (“Writing the sexiest code since 1693”) shirt by coloring my friend’s hair for her. I figured it would be fine since it was dark green; if I got any dye on it, it wouldn’t really show. But it wasn’t a normal hair color — it was Loreal’s Colour Experte, where you color your hair all over first, and then put in highlights. The highlights are basically bleach, and I managed to get a big glob of the highlighting cream on my breast, since it’s the part that sticks out the most, and when I wiped it off, I managed to get this huge circular brown spot in my shirt from the bleaching action. I should have just let that area bleach since it was so tiny and then found a permanent green pen and colored in the brown bleach spot. But no, I have to ruin a completely irreplaceable shirt. We only got shirts my sophomore year of college because some of the seniors put in the order and got everything taken care of. It wasn’t something you could just get at the college bookstore. And DAMN does it piss me off that I managed to ruin it.
So now I’m sitting here feeling sort of ill and chewing on my fingernails. I have NO fingernails. I have had nails, once, when I first started college and actually stopped chewing them, but for most of my life I have chewed them.
And I really HATE it when people tell me to stop. I don’t tell them to stop bitching or smoking or drinking or whining or whatever — what is it about nail biting that makes everyone think it’s ok to chastise the biter??? “You know, that’s really not good for you.” Well, duh. “I had a friend once that had to have surgery because she ate her nails and it messed up her stomach.” That’s nice. “Here, let me give you some advice on how to stop.” No thanks, I’ve tried most everything (including the hot stuff you paint on your nails), and I still chew my nails. I’ve even had someone slap my hand away from my mouth!! This was just a month or two ago — I’m a friggin’ adult; I can chew my goddamned fingernails if I want to! I wanted to turn around and tell this woman that I don’t tell her to stop wearing clothes that are four sizes too small and letting her belly hang out when she’s well over 40, so she’s got no right to tell me not to chew my nails.
I am the one who has to deal with not having nice and long, gorgeous, well-manicured fingernails. Hell, I’ve been told my nails are too short for acrylics! But you know what? I have short fat fingers. Even if I had nails, it wouldn’t really make my hands any prettier. And yes, I am ashamed of the way my nails look, and I realize that I could never have that wedding photo of the bride and groom’s hands showing off their new wedding rings because of my nails.
But all in all, it boils down to ME. MY decision. My chewing my nails won’t put me in the grave like drinking too much or smoking will. It doesn’t endanger anyone else’s life like second hand smoke. So why do people feel it’s their duty to try to make me stop biting my nails?
Fine, some folks are grossed out by it. Well, I’m grossed out by fat people who wear short shirts. Does that give me the right to walk over to them and yank their shirts down to cover their flabby belly?? I think not!!!
Part of the reason it pisses me off is because NO ONE treats me like an adult in most every aspect of my life. I can’t, for the life of me, figure out why. Fine, I look like a friggin’ 15-year-old, but that’s not MY fault. I’ll be laughing at y’all when we’re 40 years old and I look 25. I’m pretty mature for my age too, and that’s not me talking — my friends who are 15 years older than I am think I am mature.
And if you question my maturity, how many 24-year-olds do YOU know that can be married for a year and a half, move from the East Coast to the West (and therefore 3000 miles away from everything she’s ever known along with her entire support network), buy a house, have her husband leave two weeks after moving into the new house, not have ANY IDEA when he’s coming home even though the war is “over,” be completely alone because all her friends and family are so far away, and not fall to pieces?? I pay all the bills, keep the checkbook balanced, have money in reserve, get everything taken care of with the house and the cars, make sure the animals are groomed and have all their shots up to date, fix whatever’s broken in the house (because if I wait till my husband comes home, I’ll be waiting forever) if I can, cook healthy meals (NOT ramen and Cheetos for dinner every night), and do all the chores that one has to do to keep a house in order. I can’t just say, “Hey, honey, I don’t feel like mopping. Can you do it?” because I don’t have a honey here to do it for me. My one friend’s husband was freaking out because the housework wasn’t getting done because she was working temporarily; how would he handle it with her gone for 8+ months??
I don’t tend to whine about my situation either. Maybe I do in here, but that’s because this is my journal; I have the right to whine here. But in real life I rarely mention my husband being gone, my lack of sex (which is really hard for a sensual person like I am), not having help around the house, stuff like that. Where is whining going to get me?? Absolutely nowhere, and it just alienates my friends.
I know I’ve been ranting in here quite a bit lately, and it’s because the situation is just getting to me. This life of mine is not easy, but I still wouldn’t change it for anything else. I am very independent in comparison with a lot of folks my age, even if I am dependent on my husband for our income. But hey, I was meant to be a housewife; it has nothing to do with my being lazy and not wanting to work. Why should I work if my husband can support me and we agree that it’s better for me not to work? No one questioned housewives in the 50s; why should we now question them? But I know a lot of folks my age that are dependent on their parents for SOMETHING, and I am proud to say I am completely independent of my parents and everyone else.
But this is my diary, and it’s my way of getting out my frustrations instead of taking them out on other people. Sometimes just putting angry words to “paper,” as it were, calms me down enough to not scream at the stupid people in this world.
I have another possible reason why I am so angry today. This is the day that my sister and I went to go live with our father and our new stepmother eighteen long years ago. There was something mentioned about remembering that special day and having a small celebration of the day our family was formed. Our parents remembered this day for about three minutes, then completely forgot it. However, when our baby brother was brought home from Guatemala on the 23rd of May in 1989, our stepmother wanted to make it yet another special day in addition to his birthday in December and managed to carry through with it for several years. Ask her today when they got custody of us and when Mark came home. I guarantee she’ll be able to tell you Mark came home on the 23rd of May. Some days I think I’m the only one who remembers this date and why it’s important, and I know that my parents would think I was being stupid for thinking my brother gets special treatment. I don’t think he gets special treatment, I know he does.