soapboxdiner

Run, Forrest, Run!

Just got off the phone with the Bro. Nice chat, wherein he reassured me that, you know, the house hasn't closed yet - if I don't have everything done by this weekened, it's not the end of the world, and no one will think the less of me for it. Which was really wonderful reassurance after the phone call I had with the Office of Child Support Enforcement this afternoon.

You see, I've been trying to squirrel away money for the move, after having paid off the $2000 for the shrink for the foster care parenting evaluation et al and et cetera. I managed to save $600 after paying off the regular bills and expected to have some more from child support to help fund the move. But no such luck, Charlie Jane. Come to find out this afternoon that Daddy is unemployed again, which is the reason behind not receiving the $600 worth of child support I was supposed to (and was expecting) to receive in January.

Fuck.

God, I'm scared. I'm scared, and there's nothing to do about it. I'm hanging here by the skin of my teeth, and there's not a damn thing I can do at the moment but live in the fear, and plan a second job. I hate second jobs, and I told myself I would never do it again. It feels like a defeat. It feels like three giant steps back in life.

I've always prided myself on moving forward, so not only is it a defeat, it's also an acknowledgement of failure to thrive.

For God's sake, I'm a parent. It's supposed to be my job to be stable emotionally and financially, liquid, and productive of an economically evolving lifestyle. I am none of these things for my child. I come home and I just hide. I'm tired and spent, and I feel like I have no emotional surplus to provide him. I'm scared, tired, disheartened, disillusioned . . . and a whole bunch of other dis-es I can't even put a name to.

I ache to be wrapped in protective and comforting arms. I ache to hear and believe that everything will work out and we will prosper. And the bitch of it is, there is no one here to offer that comfort to me, real or simply . . . otherwise. That, in so many people's minds (barring the die-hard feminists) would traditionally fall into a role supported by a life partner. And the one person who MAY be available for that is someone who has spent a total of 8 hours in my company -- that's it.

And of course I wouldn't even hope or want to put that on his shoulders. I have no way of knowing he can stand underneath that weight, much less want to. But I would love to lie and say, "Come over!" so I could fake pretend to cuddle very nonchalantly, when in reality I would really be getting what I was ever-so-carefully pretending not to be asking for. Except not.

Le sigh.

Fuck, life is hard. And I guess that's all there is to say about that.

6:58 pm - 02.04.08
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