Do. Not. Fucking. WANT!

Sigh. I don't know why it is that I can't live in peace, avoiding the people I wish to avoid. I am an adult, and I should think that if I do not wish to associate with my father or any of his family I should fucking be afforded that right. Apparently not, because at approximately 8:23 this evening my phone rang. Upon seeing that the number was my bipolar paternal grandmother's, I decided not to answer. Mainly because my number is not listed and I have not given it to her, so I was wary and scared of how she had gotten it.

Now, as I said, she's bipolar. That's the side of the family it comes from. My dad is as well, but his mom...well, she tends to get pretty manic once or twice a year. Her mania generally involves calling people constantly, and I do mean fucking constantly. After her first call and voicemail, she wound up leaving me six more in a span of half an hour. All the messages are "Heather...this is your grandma Janet. I'm going to bed soon but I'm waiting for you to call..." Sounds harmless, I know, but SEVEN of them in half an hour? No. Just no. This woman never tries to seek me out when she's not manic. Ever. That being the case, I've only spoken to her several times since my dad threw me out of the house, and those times were because my other family members gave her my number.

Now, I suppose they think that they're being nice, and that I'm an asshole for not wanting to talk to my grandmother. Okay, fair point, But the only thing she does when I do talk to her is yell at me for not keeping in touch better, and asking me every single detail of my life so she can report it back to my father. Her son, the man who threw me out to die the second I turned 18 and was no longer his legal responsibility. I'm a type one diabetic and had just started my senior year of high school, but so what? Wasn't HIS problem. And I'm sorry to those who think I suck for not wanting to talk to him, but I don't. I don't want him to have any knowledge of what's going on in my life. And I feel I am perfectly entitled to that.

I live in an apartment in a home owned by my mother's grandmother. Apparently, my grandma Janet has her phone number, because according to my gran she's called three times a day since the day before Christmas. Tonight she asked for my phone number, and my gran GAVE it to her. I suppose I can't be mad at my gran, but for fuck's sake. Why do they think that I need to be in touch with my father's family? She didn't have my number for a REASON. Now my father will have it and he's going to start coming over here like he always fucking does. I have no idea why, he kicked me out so there's no reason for him to come check up on me, but he does it anyway and I am pretty damn anxious about it.

Once upon a time, I wanted to try to have some kind of relationship with my dad. I wanted to salvage something. But it's too damn hard, or I'm too much of a pussy, or something. I can't forget what he did, and the worst part is that he always acts like it was perfectly fine, like it was normal, like I didn't almost fucking DIE because he's a hateful homophobic prick. And while I've made my peace with it in my waking life (I have nightmares about it, probably always will, but I'm actually pretty okay with it in daily life) I cannot fucking be around him. Even the thought of it makes me anxious as hell. I just can't. I wanted to for my brothers, but they're basically strangers to me, and there just isn't a point. It's too much for my head. When I see him I'm reduced to that social recluse scared of breathing the wrong way lest he punch me in the gut for it on one of his bad days.

Just...buh. I'm dreading the next few days because I'm so damn certain he's going to show up and yell at me for not telling him I'm back in America. Logically I know he can't touch me...hell, he's old now, he couldn't hurt me if he wanted to. So why the hell am I so terrified of him?

I gotta get the FUCK out of this town. Posthaste.

In other, better news though, I was able to pay my application fee for Uppsala today. Now I can send in my supporting documentation as well as the scholarship application, and I'm good to go! I also watched Black Swan tonight and am a little weirded out. People have been saying the sex scene is really hot but...no. If that's hot to people, they have extremely limited ideas about lesbian sex. Yeah, the actresses are hot, but the scene is like 20 seconds of boring. The movie was weird as fuck too, and about as subtle as a two by four to the face. Egads, y'all.

Christmas Bipolarity

Today is Christmas Eve, and a lot of people In the US have celebrations today. Tomorrow too, but today is still big. My family is very nontraditional when it comes to holiday stuff, and we usually just gather at my aunt's and eat some weird kind of gourmet food that she insists on, usually something elegant like prime rib. Personally I'd rather be traditional and have a turkey and all that stuff, but hey, what can I do.

I've been in Sweden for the past two Christmases. 2008 was spent with DD and her family, and 2009, I was by myself, but in my awesome apartment with good food so it was fine. I did call my family in the States but it never seemed like they missed me, which is probably true, they don't seem to like me much in general lol.

I adore Christmas but it usually makes me kinda lonely. I love all the lights, the music, the decorations, the way people seem to be sweeter to one another in general (of course, I don't work retail so this little observation hasn't yet been sullied by reality :P). I've always wanted a family, and this seems like the big "family holiday" for most people. I'm a lone wolf in general, but it still kinda hurts.

Anyway, I'd been somewhat dreading going to my aunt's tonight. I'd been informed by my grandpa that "oh, well, she invited you" which I still think is a bit odd...I mean, I'm family, shouldn't it just be expected that I be there? I know I haven't been in the country at the holidays for years, but still, I'd never thought my family would feel the need to "invite" me to the Christmas celebration.

My anxiety had been going haywire over the prospect of sitting around trying to make conversation with all these people, and the uncle who doesn't like me at all, and the fact that since being laid off I can't even afford to buy any gifts for anyone, and I just wasn't looking forward to it. So, yesterday I called my grandpa and tried to explain that it's just not a comfortable situation for me, and that I'm sure no one really cares whether I'm there or not. He got mad and said that I'll have to make conversation with people my whole life and that I need to stop using the anxiety as an excuse so often. And while he's right...these people never act like they want me around, so really, why should I go and subject myself to hours upon hours of feeling anxious and awkward? I told him I was sorry but that I couldn't do it.

This morning, he called to make sure I wasn't coming, and told me that I was still "invited." Yeah, thanks. Got it. Then he said that with all the snow (we've gotten about 6 inches in this area so driving sucks right now) it'd be a "real nuisance" to come pick me up anyway. I know what he meant, but just...gah.

I know this post is kind of emo and whiny but sometimes I just don't understand why my family are such asses to me all the time. Makes me feel horrible. I take solace in the fact that I have lovely friends who care about me and have wished me Merry Christmas. I'm gonna spend tonight and tomorrow curled up in my blankie and slippers, watching the final season of Seinfeld and then Undeclared. I'm also gonna make the trek down the block to the gas station and get myself some chocolate, which I only get a craving for about twice a year anyway. I have one now, though, and I see no reason to deny myself. I'm also gonna make sure I have food and stuff to make it until the City wakes up and gets things cleared off so the buses can run. I'll also be able to see the clerks who work there, who are pretty much all my buddies since I live so close and am in there so much lol. I think that'll be good for cheering me up. Then I'll put on some Christmas music and forget that my family kinda sucks in general. Next year, and hopefully every year after that, I'll be in Sweden at least somewhat close to my real family, so it's gonna be just fine.

Merry Christmas, everyone!

Things and Stuff

So, I know I've been neglecting my blogs for a long time now, and I don't really have a good reason why. I guess since nothing was really going on in my life I didn't see the need to type out how boring I am, or something. It's also been a rough few weeks with the anxiety. I knew moving back here would be rough since I've never really had friends in town, but for the past few weeks I've been physically unable to leave my house a lot of the time.

I've been depressed. Like, worse than usual. It felt like my life was going nowhere fast;  couldn't even hold down a temp job, I was broke (well, still am but meh) had really no plan or hope for the future, etc. I went so far as to ask a friend to fake a relationship with me so I could move back to Sweden and go to school, and while I'm pretty ashamed of that now, at the time there didn't seem to be any other feasible options. When she said no, I sorta wanted to disappear. Completely.

Things are looking up now, though. I realized I was being way too picky in my plans for the future and decided to expand my options, and did some research on the University of Oslo. Not only do they have a program in Nordic Viking and Medieval Studies, which would be super badass, they have guaranteed student housing and it's easy for students to get jobs. As if that wasn't awesome enough, after I graduate I can stay in Norway on a 6 month working permit to search for a decent job, and if I find one, I can just stay on a work permit and become a permanent resident in 3 years. So, needless to say, I'm definitely applying there. I also contacted Uppsala to check one last time on fees and student loans, not expecting much. But I was told that the loans are perfectly fine, so I'm going to apply to several programs there too. And if neither of those work...there's always Denmark. Those unis don't start accepting applications until April, though, so I have plenty of time. One way or another I'm gonna go back there, though.

On the employment front, I'm back at my temp job after almost two months of being laid off. Relief would be a huge understatement, although now I have to get used to leaving the house at 5:30 again. Totally worth it though. I'm also going to do some testing for a 911 dispatcher job next week, and I'm really hoping I'm able to get that because it'd be steady if various hours and $19.624 an hour, so...whoooooo rich me!

Other than that, my life isn't spectacularly exciting lately. I'm doing Nano, although it's a pretty half assed attempt right now since the job and my laziness make me not care as much as I should. It's just for fun for me anyway, so meh. But I'm working on it. And I miss Sweden and my Swedes like crazy and cant wait to be back and see them again.

Coming Out of the Nonexistent Closet (or, having a meaningless life experience 20 years too late!)

I started this post before midnight. With my Internet ADD it won't be posted until National Coming Out Day is over, but fuck it. I've waited 28 years and I'm gonna have my coming out party here on these innerwebs, official days be damned!

I never came out of the closet. Not once. Never had the inclination or the need to announce what was so integral to my many failures at heterosexual dating (yeah, think on THAT a spell), and I feel like I've missed one of the most defining experiences in any young gay person's life. I've always been really dykey and my first crush was on Connie Sellecca when I was about 3, so I never had one of those big "OMG BEWBS ARE PRETTY I MAY POSSIBLY LIKE TO TOUCH THEM" epiphanies. It was never a big deal to me, I was just gay. Well, bi, but the difference is pretty much negligible in my case so it's the same damn thing anyway. I never had to really tell my family either. My dad and stepmom didn't care enough to care in the first place, and my grandparents were and always have been really cool about it. Apparently I was an obvious dyke because I don't remember them being unaware or not okay with it. So I've never had to come out to anyone, and I can't help feeling somewhat robbed by this fact.

I have to admit I'm a little envious of all the gays who find their lives suddenly making sense when they set eyes upon some beautiful person of the same gender. For me it was always like "oh, cool, hot chick. Groovy." I can't recall it ever being a big deal.

Now, I wanted to make a silly post but I have to admit that I was really lucky growing up. My town isn't exactly Mayberry but it's not really very modernized either. It's mainly a working-class midsize town in the Midwestern US. Having always been openly gay, I'm really lucky, all things considered. Sure, I had my ass kicked a lot, but it wasn't always for being a big homo as I was also bookish, nonathletic, unpopular and not attractive. Still, I did receive a lot of fists in my face/ribs/general soft areas for being gay. I also got death threats and all that good stuff, and if I even glanced at anyone in the locker room after gym class I was apparently going to morph into SuperDyke Rapist. I still find that funny since I was very short, chubby, completely uncoordinated and an ant could have beaten me up, so I'm not sure exactly what damage I could have done to anyone. Oh well, apparently the mere fact that I liked girls somehow meant that I fantasized about every single female I laid eyes upon ever. Even random clerks at the grocery store and bathroom attendants.

Anyway, I've had several friends come out to me, and while I'm always flattered that they chose me I do wonder what it must be like to tell someone a huge secret like that. It must be so damn liberating. I'm pretty much a headcase, but I've always known who I am. I can't imagine suddenly discovering it one day, and I guess I envy that feeling of just letting go.

This post totally didn't turn out the way I expected (oh hey, just like my life!) but I'm way too lazy/not witty enough to go back and throw random funnies in, so this is what you get.

Oh and also, because I never got to say it...

I'm gay.

Now where's my confetti, bitches?

Dental Woes

Recently, one of my upper, more frontal teeth has started to hurt like hell. This is most likely because I have always had problems with my teeth (being born prematurely apparently does not do wonders for jaw development, and also my father is a hillbilly with a busted grill...teef genetics are not on my side) as well as the fact that I am rather poor and thus have not seen a dentist in a decade.

Anyway, this particular tooth has been separating from the gum for years. It's never hurt until about three weeks ago, so I figured it could wait. I always intended to fix it, but as I said, my ass is po' and therefore it wasn't a priority.

The tooth eventually grew tired of my neglect and decided to rebel. Not that I blame it. Honestly I'm surprised it didn't want to hurt me sooner. I was in agony for several days until biting the bullet (figuratively of course, because holy crap ow) and going to visit the dentist I had as a child. She was kind enough to look, although she and her secretary wouldn't shut up about my insurance and money and so on. But she seemed placated when I told her that my family would be helping out, and led me to the chair.

Now, I am a huge wuss when it comes to doctors of any sort, and dentists especially. This is slightly stupid since I have quite a high pain tolerance, and have never really had any issues at the dentist or doctor that I couldn't handle. There have been a lot, too. I've had teeth pulled, metal spacers both put in and taken out, my jaw widened, braces, the whole shebang. But these things didn't really hurt that much, at least not that I recall, and I have no legitimate reason to fear the dentist. But oh Lordy, do I. And after my last appointment, I feel my fears are finally grounded in reality.

There was the usual checkup and poking around with a lovely metal spike, which is always a such a relaxing experience. Also, why do dentists ALWAYS try to have a conversation when they have their hand and various sharp metal things in your mouth? I mean, I'm dumb, but even I know better. These people have actual real-world smart people degrees. Come on, dentists. Anyway, all was relatively well, and after x-rays were taken it was decided that I need a root canal on my poor misbehaving tooth.

(As an aside, this doesn't bother me. Root canals are supposedly horrendous, everything I've read and everyone I've spoken to that's had one says they're no worse than any other filling, so meh. Of course I'll scream like a banshee on here and in the office if it's bad, but I'm not going in expecting hellfire and torture. And I probably just jinxed myself, but whatevs).

The only bad part about the little checkup came when the dentist, who is a very kind and gentle lady in her daily life, pulled out a strange little tool that looked like a disturbing cross between a clit stimulator and a can opener and said she wanted to perform a test to see if the nerve inside the tooth was still functioning. With some trepidation, I reluctantly agreed, thinking that with everything I've been subjected to before this couldn't possibly be worse.

Oh how wrong I was. She leaned the chair back, affixed the little tool to my poor tooth and had me hold onto the handle of the tool loosely. She told me that when I felt anything, I should immediately let go of the tool and it would stop the sensation. Seemed easy enough, so I readied myself for a slight jolt.

For the first few seconds, I felt nothing. Then what I thought was cold, which gave way rapidly to the most intense pain I have ever felt in my entire freaking life, concentrated into my one poor, poor little tooth. I screamed like an absolute girl, and instead of letting go of the stupid clit stimulator of death I tightened my grip, which only made things worse. Perhaps I should have mentioned to my lovely sadistic dentist that when one experiences pain, muscles tend to tense up, not loosen. Thankfully, my cry of agony must have conveyed my pain, because she stopped. I sat in shock for a few seconds, then tried to leave, thinking the appointment was over.

Nope! She wanted to test the tooth on the other side in the same way. I have no idea why I agreed, but I did, with less than desireable results for the both of us. But she should have known better, so I'm really not sorry that I kinda kicked her in the crotchal region.

Her husband is performing my root canal surgery in a couple weeks. I can only pray that she didn't tell him to get vengeance. I'm sure her junk hurt for awhile, since I was wearing my steel-toed work shoes. Still, serves her right.

Sleeps!

I has them. Over 14 hours of them, for some unexplained reason. I suppose when one has no job or other responsibilities in life, one can sleep as much as they damn well please. But I was quite happy with this development anyway.

Normally, I don't stay up too late. I've always been rather nocturnal,  and have stayed up most of the night as long as I can remember. Even in Sweden it wasn't unusual for me to be awake at 4am and asleep at noon the following day. I had nothing to get up for, so why not?

Since being back in the States, though, I've been going to bed pretty early. For me anyway. My 3-week temp job that started at 6:30am may have had a lot to do with it, but I think the fact that I talk to two beautiful Swedes all the damn time and they're 7 hours ahead of me is a bigger part. Anyway, I've been very good lately and haven't slept past noon in months, which is kind of a huge thing for me since I'm a total bum.

I don't know what happened today. I went to bed around midnight after reading a few chapters in an awesome library book, and slept fairly well. A few nightmares but nothing serious. I woke up and looked at my clock at about 10am, figured I had nothing pressing to get up for, and decided to snooze for a bit more.

The next time I awoke, it was 3:13pm. That's right folks, I slept all freaking day, and now feel like the unemplyed, lazy vagrant my family so steadfastly insists on reminding me I am. But damn it all, it feels really freaking nice. The sleep, not the whole being unemployed thing, although that's not even bad since I'm still getting paychecks. That'll stop soon and I'll feel horrible about myself again, but for right now? Fuck it all.

I'm gonna order me a pizza and watch a movie.

Laziness ahoy! Potential employers...well, if you're reading this for whatever reason, I don't even know. Hell, I'm only applying to places like KFC anyway so I don't think this'll really hurt my chances.

Adulthood = fail

Remember how when you were a kid, and being an adult seemed completely awesome? You thought you'd have the freedom to stay up until 2am ordering pizza for delivery and watching cartoons on the couch in your undies. You might have considered answering the door in your underwears, but you could also have thrown on the amazing fluffy 80282721271 thread count bathrobe of softness in dark green with gold trim that you thought all adults owned. (Yes, I had extremely strange ideals for my life even then).

Anyway, yeah, that didn't really pan out the way I'd been expecting it to. Mostly because I'm way too socially awkward to be comfortable dealing with delivery people at any time of day or night. Also, the pizzerias in this town stop delivering at 11pm, so the whole fantasy went kaput. Also, you need money to order pizza, and money is something that I lack due to a combination of a worthless degree, temp jobs that last 3 weeks at most and the lack of any real ambition to find another job. I basically feel like nirvana is sitting around (again in my underwears) at my computer all day, sometimes heating up food and drinking diet energy drinks all day. And walking a mile a day so as not to feel completely slothlike, which really doesn't work all that well, but at least it's something.

In short, I am extremely immature. I am 28 years old, and my life is basically that of a child, aside from the fact that I live alone and have a college degree...which is useless, but dammit, it's an accomplishment. Anyway, because of this, very small adult tasks make me feel as if I've managed to climb Mt. Everest or something. Of course the small things I end up doing are really tiny and regular people with jobs and enriching lives wouldn't give a second through to, but for me, they're epic achievements.

Take today, for example. I've been needing to go to the public library for the past several days in order to print out some forms for a student loan deferment. This has terrified me to such an extreme that I've been pretty much unable to leave the house at all. I do have social anxiety so I know I shouldn't feel too bad about this, but I do. It feels like failing when it happens constantly.

So, to make myself feel a bit better and to reassure myself that I'm an adult capable of performing adult tasks, I went to the Walgreen's across the street from my house and bought some groceries and cleaning supplies. On the way out, I saw that there was a $5 sale on 12 packs of Cottonelle toilet paper. Now, as recently stated, I'm poor. Like, I'd be destitute if I wasn't living in the upper half of my granny's duplex, so for me $5 is a substantial amount. But, when I thought about it, I realized that toilet paper is a very wise purchase since I'll end up using it anyway, and $5 for a 12 pack is pretty damn cheap, especially for a name brand. So, I bought a pack, along with a book of stamps, and felt like a responsible adult.

I'm now riding on the high of that accomplishment, and will be for the rest of the day. And that makes me somewhat sad, because I mean...if finding toilet paper on sale is a big event in someone's life, that's just depressing. Then again, my adulthood isn't living up to my expectations anyway, hence the desire to move to New York. Not that life is going to be automatically more awesome there, but I'm fairly certain I can purchase brand-name TP cheaply.