Day Four: Something You Need To Forgive Someone For.

Day 04: Something I have to forgive someone for.

Guess who has daddy issues? I know it is totally uncommon because most fathers are so loving, caring, and supportive of their daughters, I know that my nearly opposite experience is rare. I do not want to shock people too much but this is a writing project and I am obligated to write. Plus, I have missed a couple days due to not being around a computer. So, I might as well get going with the snark.

From a young age I was told to marry rich. It was rarely ever advice to be smart, push myself, go to school, get a good job, find a nice guy that respects me and loves me for who I am. No. It was “Fran, marry rich!” Eventually I did start getting the “you are not going to be svelte and dominative forever!” My father is correct, eventually my looks will fade, eventually I will get old. And it is unfortunate that I never had a college fund, stocks, savings bonds, or any type of cushion afforded to me by my parents. My brothers, both older, were given these things. Not all of it was from my parents. Some of the investments where from relatives that had lost interest, stopped caring, or were too confused on what year they were living in to be concerned with me.

My father’s logic was sound. I have to give him that. My brothers are only three years apart, so it makes sense to have college funds for both of them considering my parents would be paying for two educations at once. I am five years younger than my middle brother and eight years younger than my oldest brother. Both of them should have been out of college by the time I started. Therefore, my father figured there would be more than enough available cash to put me through school.

I am sure there was enough, had there not been enough I know my parents would have found a way. But, unforeseen issues arose. Firstly, my Freshmen year was really rough for me. I bombed. Those grades stayed on my transcripts, obviously, and my grandma dying played a large part in my horrid SAT scores. These parts of my high school career did not get me into any Ivy League colleges, or any colleges. So, I did what every kid who has no other options while refusing to go into the military, I went to fake college. Fake college is okay, most people call it community college but really it is high school with older classmates and teachers that give zero fucks. Calling it fake college is way shorter and easier and more accurate.

I was excited for my first quarter at fake college. I did well. I loved being able to pick my classes and picking the subject of my classes, picking the times, I felt like I was able to take a baby-step into adulthood. My second quarter included classes like English 105 and Polisci 100. I loved reading philosophy and participating in class discussions. I was looking forward to participating in the classes study group and then my father fell ill.

Taking care of my father became my biggest duty. Leaving for school involved a guilt trip and a threat at coming home to find my father no longer alive. During class my phone would go off to make sure I would come home after school instead of going to my study group or staying in the library to write my essays. Going to work was an ordeal. School took a backseat. My life was taking care of my father, taking him to the hospital, staying with him when I had to, and being thrown in the middle of my parent’s fights. Anytime I could escape, I did. I loved escaping to school. I loved studying, writing, seeing my friends and classmates, but I had bigger issues to worry about.

I flunked out of fake college my first year. Because I performed so terribly paying for school is now my responsibility. If I cannot afford school, I do not go. Failing out that year is rubbed in my face a lot. It was further proof that I will never be more than a pretty face. To my dad, it set my fate in stone.

I am not entirely sure he remembers, with accuracy, what those two years were like. I am not sure he knows what he put me through, my brothers through, my mom, my uncles. I don’t think he remembers going into my work and handing my manager a letter telling her not to schedule me more than one-four hour shift a week so that I could spend more time at home taking care of him. I don’t know if he remembers all of the times I had to rush him to the hospital. I do not know if he remembers calling my phone non-stop while I was at work, school, or out with friends. I do not know if he remembers calling me away from computer every five to 10 minutes while trying to write seven page essays on Thoreau. Yet, with all of these things he still feels free to cite my lack of drive as the reason to fail. My obsession with bad television and frivolity is the reason he throws out for my failing.

He needs to be forgiven. Maybe he doesn’t know that I am harboring this grudge. This is how I feel; this is how I remember those years of my life. Obviously, my memories are slightly biased, and I am sure there is more I could have done to pass my classes. But, at the end of the day, I can never think of any spare time I had to fulfill my responsibilities and maintain a good GPA.

Nothing gets accomplished by still resenting my father, but I do. 

Day Three: Something You Have to Forgive Yourself For

Day: 03. Something I need to forgive myself for.

There are plenty of things for which I need to forgive myself. We all make mistakes. Some of my mistakes have been huge; a lot have been making a wrong turn while driving (because I still do not know my right from my left!). But, I think the biggest thing I need to forgive myself for is where I am at in my life.

My dreams in life have changed, a lot, but they have always been difficult and abstract and something that involved my imagination and being artistic. I have never been good or original enough at drawing and painting to make it more than a hobby. I stopped acting during High School. Singing is a good time, but it only happens during karaoke, because I have absolutely no shame. Writing is the artistic outlet that I think I love most. So, I continue write, but my dreams have still not been fulfilled. No matter how much my dreams have changed, I never imagined at 26 years old I would be so unaccomplished.

At 26 I have not completed anything past my High School degree, and the closest thing to a “real” job I have held was getting screamed at for eight hours a day while working at Comcast. When I started working in restaurants, it was meant to be a means to an end. I was able to work part-time, pay my rent, pay my tuition, I could still afford to go shopping and go out with friends, and I could always cater my work schedule to make school a priority. But five years into the restaurant industry, I am not sure where I went wrong.

I make more money than I have before, but I think I am further behind in life than I ever have been. I never imagined in my wildest dreams, at my age, I would be doing exactly nothing with my life. The worst part about the whole thing is how incredibly easy it would be to fix my situation.

There is no way for me to go back in time and make different decisions, I cannot change what has happened to me, I cannot change the different situations that have landed me where I am. All I can do is worry about the future and do what I can to get to where I want to be. I know that I need to forgive myself for being so far behind on my dreams and aspirations, but I find it hard. Even if I achieved my Associates in the next few months and went to a real college to get my Bachelors, I would have a nearly impossible time not feeling behind.

Instead of dwelling on what I have not accomplished, being behind on my dreams, being behind on the abstract goals of success I have set for myself, I need to remember the goals I have set are still within reach. I am not too far behind, I am not too old, I can obtain the life and success I want. Achieving it years after I expected to is okay, I need to remember this and I need to forgive myself for being afraid, being lazy, getting distracted.

Holding a grudge against myself is obviously not working. I need to let go and move forward in life.

Day Two(point)Five: Something You Love About Yourself

Day 02.5: Something I love about myself

I dislike and disagree with my last post, but I feel that in the spirit of this challenge, I should leave it posted.

It is true that writing what I hate about myself was far easier than even thinking of something I love about myself. And I really do like my strength and self-control, but I think that is a weak topic and I think maybe the bad does outweigh the good. So, I wrote a new blog. It took me awhile to realize what I truly love about myself. I love my sense of self.  As I type this it sounds ironic considering I could not even think of something I love about myself, but I do.

I have no idea how I achieved my sense of knowing who I am and what I stand for, but I never remember not feeling this way. Even in middle school when most other kids are going through their awkward phase, trying to find their place, where they fit in, what they stand for, who they are, I knew. And while in some ways it was comforting to have such a strong sense of self, it also made that time in my life harder. I have also been weird, different, and it only served to even further set me apart. It probably didn’t help my case that not only was I aware enough, but also a big enough asshole with an acid tongue to tell the cunty girls in school that they will hit their peak at 17. Sometimes I was wrong; they capped younger. Kids at that age can sense difference.

Strangely, it also made me less self-assured at such a young age. When everyone around you is walking around peacocking, trying to impress each other, trying to look the most confident, trying to make it to the finish line of self-awareness first, it is strange to not have the burning desire to do so also. I thought, ‘Is this what I am supposed to be doing?’ I didn’t understand why more kids were not like me, it seemed so simple, just be you.

This same feeling carried on into high school. I watched as the kids around me grew up, succumbed to peer pressure, made poor decisions, tried to figure themselves out, tried to find their identity outside of what their parents imagined for them. Sure, I struggled with some of the same issues, but in general, I knew who I am. People always write in year books for the person to stay who they are, never change, and I always found that strange. Of course, I will grow up and evolve and change in the sense of maturing, but why would I ever really change, or be someone different than I have always been? It never made sense.

Sometimes my opinions change and evolve. Sometimes I cannot decide what I want to do with my life, but every day I wake up and I am the same person I was the day before, and the day before that, and every day before the last. I can never be anything other than who I am and I will never change that for anything or anyone, if for no other reason than because I simply cannot, no matter how hard I try. I love that about myself. I love that I will never change. I love that I know who I am and that was lucky enough to have always carried that knowledge. 

Day Two: Something You Love About Yourself

Day 02: Something I love about myself

This question is infinitely harder than the last. There are plenty of things I like about myself, but I am not sure what I love about myself. While typing this makes it sounds like I am a person without confidence, I would not go that far, I am extremely self-assured and confident, but I am not sure if I can pinpoint something I really, truly love about myself.

I think the thing I love most about myself is a double edge sword. I love my strength. Not my physical strength, but my mental and emotional strength. I rarely ever lose my temper, I rarely ever break down. It is not that I bottle up my emotions, I vent and I rant and after a 30 second rapid fire explanation of why I hate people who ask for chips and salsa I am back in my normal mood of  unemotional.

Plenty of people have told me my strength is like an emotional wall, and maybe there is some truth to that, but typically I find the good outweighs the bad. My strength does not allow me to break down at my work after a couple drinks, crying for hours. Or have a public freak out; including a screaming rant (this has actually happened, once). I do not get emotional and make rash decisions. I do not get wrapped up in my emotions. 

Day One: Something You Hate About Yourself

Day 01: Something I hate about myself.

Do I have to pick just one? I guess right now the thing I hate most about myself is my fear of failure. Not in the sense of being afraid that I might fail a class or that I might get rejected by someone I like, my fear of failure is on a totally different scale.

My brothers have always been pretty good at school, they have always been smart, they have always had the same friends, they are have always been kind of weird and shy, good students, respectful, they have always been the All-American boys. I have always been the exact opposite. Part of the reason I am the opposite is simply because I have a vagina. So, at the most basic level I am a gender opposite. But I think more than that, I was always expected to be like my brothers. It would make sense after all; we grew up in the same household, so how could we all be so different?!

Elementary school was really hard for me. First off, my brothers are a lot older than me. I saw their times tables and their algebra and was terrified! Was I supposed to know this stuff? How would they turn letters into numbers? And what do all of these symbols mean? I am surprised I didn’t have an anxiety attack while walking with my brother, Tom, to the first day of class. I was used to my friends at the daycare across the street, I had my routine down. Quickly, I learned the same kids that were my friend a week ago were blessed with popularity and because I was cursed with being strange and weird, these same kids that I ate backyard mushrooms with were no longer my friends.

The change in friends mixed with my kindergarten teacher, Mr. Heaton, started my schooling off with a rocky start. Mr. Heaton was my brother, Tom’s, third grade teacher. It was his first year teaching kindergarten and while I found his jerry curl mullet really sexy in the early 90’s, he was not the best person to be teaching a kindergarten class. Apparently my poor kindergartener penmanship did not qualify me to experience recess with the rest of the class. This was my first experience with failure. The type of failure that sets me apart from my peers and my family, different from the neighborhood boys not letting me play football for being a girl, something that sets me apart regardless of gender. I was set apart for not meeting the standards.

This same trend continued through middle school with common phrases being “Your brothers never had these problems…” and “I never had to have this conversation with your brothers…” or “Your brothers never spoke this way…” and into high school with other common phrases being “Your brothers were really good at this…” or “This was never an issue for your brothers…”. If I wasn’t getting these sentiments at school, I was getting them at home. And sure, I probably brought some of them onto myself. I have always been louder and more willing to express myself, even if that means calling my teachers morons (this happened more than once). But certain areas, like math and science, that have always been easy for my brothers were more difficult for me. And while teachers never seemed to point out that I was a much better writer than my brothers, they did point out that I was a much bigger asshole than my brothers.

I was the tortured artist and social butterfly in the family. I excelled at dating, drama, changing friends like most people change sticks of gum. This did not go over well. In a family where favoritism and sexism are prevalent, my skills were laughable. And while my mom would tell everyone, at the time, I was going to be the next Edgar Allen Poe, it didn’t seem to matter. My writing skills and interest were looked at as a flavor of the week. In their defense, it seemed logical to think that as I do not still want to act, sing, dance, etc.

Knowing that I will never live up to the standards my brothers set before has giving me the attitude of Why Bother? I am so afraid of trying and not meeting that standard, and thus having it held over my head (if you think my family would not do this, you obviously do not know my family!), that I would rather just not try. Getting over that hurdle is terrifying for me. If I fail, I will never live it down. I will have cemented the beliefs that I will never be more than a pretty face with an acid tongue. However, if I succeed, then why didn’t I try sooner? My family will be proud of me, of course, but I still know it will be said. Regardless of my success, it will be a lose-lose.

That type of pressure is a lot for me to handle. This is why my biggest fear is failing. Because I feel like regardless of what I do, I will still be failing. And I hate that about myself. 

Until commitment-phobia does us part...

This summer my parents will be celebrating their 36^th wedding anniversary. With them my brother will be celebrating his 11^th wedding anniversary and the birth of his first child. All of this terrifies me! Don’t get me wrong, I am super excited to be an aunt. But I think being around people that are so willing to commit is what makes me so terrified of commitment.

I cannot imagine being with someone for any extended period of time. My longest relationship is two and a half years. And sure, that is a respectable amount of time to be in a relationship, but there were a couple break-ups during that time. The thought of being with one person and one person only for the rest of my life, honestly, feels like death.

I always hear that I will not feel that way when I meet “the one”, but really I think meeting “the one” will only make it worse. Half of all people, in this country, that get married think they have met “the one”, then two years later they are divorced. I cannot imagine failing at something that I look at as so important. Nor can I imagine spending that much money on something temporary.

Being the first person in my family to get divorced and proving to my parents and brothers that I am a failure is possibly more than I could take. This type of failure is not like failing a class, getting fired from a job, starting a business and going under, not completing a 200+ mile bike ride that my brothers signed me up for against my will, this failure seems so much bigger. This is huge personal failure to me.

Don’t get me wrong, I am not judging other peoples divorce. Sometimes two people grow apart and no amount of therapy, talking, romantic vacations, or anything else can bring those two people back together. And sometimes there are outside influences. And sometimes one person is abusive or unfaithful or whatever. I do not know. But, my goal is not to say anyone divorcing is a failure at life, I am simply saying that I would view my divorce as my biggest failure.

This is something I feel so strongly about, that I would honestly rather not get married. I would rather not try. 

If you don't want my peaches, better not shake my tree

Write what you know. That is what I hear I am supposed to do. For most people, I am sure this works great. But, I find that writing what I know gets me in trouble. Apparently as adults we are held responsible for the lessons our peers missed out on in their formative years. However, part of it is probably my fault. There are two types of people in the world. Some people expect everyone to behave in a PC and friendly manner while in public, go out of the way not to offend anyone, never touch on sensitive topics, keep conversations light and about things like the weather, but not too much about the weather as to insinuate an opinion on global climate change. Others, myself in particular, expect there to be discourse while in public. 

I find people asking questions they are not prepared to hear the answer to, because apparently they expect a nice answer, even if it is a lie. Then, of course, I am the asshole that insults someone’s mother’s cooking or calls their sister fat, or says their boyfriend is a deadbeat. And I do not understand this. I am not the bad guy because I gave an unfavorable answer to a question. Sure, I could follow my mother’s advice and simply not say anything at all when I do not have anything nice to say, but I think that mentality is what leads to this hypersensitivity of my peers. If they want an honest answer, they should understand that it may not be a favorable one. 

Then there are the people that will gladly post their opinions in online forums or hold up signs in the streets or shout them from their microphone. Doing this, in my opinion, is allowing people to challenge your beliefs. And the best part of living in the time we do is the Internet is everywhere. Literally, the Internet in the air you breathe. It.is.everywhere. Therefore, people should not be allowed to get away with the gross misinformation that they pass around as fact. No one would allow a person to walk around telling kids the Earth is flat! So, why not stop people from spouting their BS about school violence happening because of violent video games? Or Social Security being deemed unconstitutional by the Supreme Court? Or Organic not being any healthier than GMO? I have the Internet, and as an avid user of the Internet I can quickly, and easily, look these things up and show people that their beliefs are not based in fact. And if they are voicing these opinions in any type of public forum, I think someone probably should step up and correct them. So, I am that guy.


Writing what I know and what I observe will never win me any friends. It will probably cost me a few.


Being well liked has never been one of my goals.