The Post Where I Rage About Everything

I have no tolerance for anyone or anything except for those that live in my house and perhaps a few “chosen” others. 

I’m in pain, the lupus flare up is kicking my ass, besides Andrew issues, sinus infection and other things (finding doctors, dealing with insurance companies, errors by companies, etc.) – I’m no longer able to suffer anyone, especially fools.

Why do people have to have pissing contests?  If someone tells you what is going on with them – why must you add your list of ailments or wrong doings to the pot.  Just listen and shut up.  I’ve tried really hard to do that – but if someone asks me – what is wrong – and I tell them – and they shoot back their ailments- I want to scream – stir a big fucking dose of autism in that pot and then let me know how you are doing.  

I know.  I know.  Everyone has their right to be upset, scared, in pain — but it just drives me nuts when happy go lucky “Annabeth” (name changed to protect the stupid) starts a conversation with you – and says “you seem off is everything okay” – and you start mentioning your ailments or concerns and they come back at you like a Gatling gun with what I deem at that moment not to be as bad as my problem!  (I’m being silly here – but sometimes -it is true – Exhibit A below).

I had a neighbor that lived across the street from us in New York.  She would call and ask me to do things for her – rides, order her special shoes – and I always did it.  Even in the midst of chaos I would do it.  One day she called to ask how things were – this was right after Jim got the FAP diagnosis – (97 percent chance of colon cancer by age 50) and we were going to Johns Hopkins for a second opinion – I told her – to say a prayer. Do you know what she said to me?  “Pray for my poor Debra (her 50 year old daughter that lives in the basement – but is a normal, healthy adult that has a good job) sprained her ankle.”  Are you fucking joking?  “Jenny, can you order my shoes – Debra just doesn’t have time.”  Debra left the house at 7 am and returned home every day by 5.  Give me strength, Lord.  After all the things we did for this woman, she didn’t even call us – or walk across the street to say good bye to us.  Our other neighbors – Roseanne and Pete – and Paula and Tom – ordered pizza for us, kept dropping by – telling us how much they were going to miss us.  Kept things for us that wouldn’t fit in the truck – went out of their way.  But the person I did the most for – couldn’t even come over to say good bye – and you know what I was busy – I didn’t have time to run across the street and kiss her ass – my lips were busy kissing everyone else’s.  It just reminds me of the old “what have you done for me lately?” She knew I couldn’t help her anymore – so I was written off.

There is someone I know who is genuinely sweet – but every time there is any conversation I get the third degree.  I don’t want to answer your questions – if I had the answers I wouldn’t be moaning on a small, insignificant blog about everything and everyone.  If I want to tell you something I will.  You shooting questions at me doesn’t prove you love me – it proves that you haven’t figured me out yet.  Let me vent–and say “I’m here for you”.  Do not assault me with questions – please.  

I posted about how difficult it is to find a pediatric psychiatrist.  Well meaning people – googled and sent me a list of psychiatrists — don’t you think I could figure that one out myself?  I know I’m a bitch – but for Pete’s sake – I am a competent -albeit bitchy – woman.  Yes, I should practice what I preach – let it go – ignore it – just say thank you – but I can’t – I can’t.  I want to rage.  I can’t control incompetent companies who make errors and I have to make dozens of calls to correct them.  Let me be in control of my rage.  

I have tried lately to stop bitching about autism.  Autism does not define us.  It sucks – it is hard – but it is not my whole life.  I don’t love it – I don’t embrace it – I hate it.  All these posts on Facebook about how parents wouldn’t change their child with autism for anything.   I would change my child in a heartbeat – for him, not me.  I have a good kidney – only used on Saturdays for a frozen pouch of pina colada – take away the autism – it is yours.  Want a hardened, imperfect soul – it’s yours – comes with autism.  

I know there are worlds of hurt out there – I do not have it so awfully bad in the grand scheme of things but it feels good just to vent and rage and be the only one doing it for a minute.  If I tell you I had a bad day, don’t say “you think you have it bad…just wait until you hear this…”  — advice:  unless you were abducted by aliens and probed and shot back down to earth – don’t tell me that.