Category Archives: My Life is a Dumpster Fire

How to pump your own gas (out of spite) and other life lessons.

18 Sunday Dec 2022

Posted by in My Life is a Dumpster Fire, Non-Fiction, personal

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I have this thing about doing things I’ve never done before. It’s a fear of messing up, of looking stupid, of not doing it right. Is that anxiety? It feels like it’s anxiety. Or some other mental defect.

Anyway, I’ve been a licensed driver for about nine and a half years. I didn’t get that privilege until I was almost 30. If it hadn’t been for my In Laws wanting to move, I would still be carted around like a stressed chihuahua in a dog stroller, unwillingly. But I would be saving a lot on gas.

And to be completely transparent The Spouse is the number one reason why I’m legally mobile. He’s the only one who consistently put me in the drivers seat learn.

Since the beginning of my time as a driver, Spouse has been getting my gas. It started as free gas for employees and their spouses at his work. That went away, and I started having to buy it.

I had a tiny Chevy Cobalt so it was much cheaper but that’s beside the point.

It’s been a while, so my memory is foggy, but one of my first days driving, my car was low on gas so stopped and pulled up to the pump. I think the check engine light came on so I ended up calling my husband. I remember thinking first that it would figure that something would go wrong with the car as soon as I started driving it and then thinking of course I have to call my husband when need help. Eventually he showed up and we figured it out. He ended up pumping gas that day and from then on.

I will not go into detail but it has recently been brought to my attention that my inability to learn how to do something as simple as pump my own gas is more than just inconvenient.

It is however worth mentioning that someone is an enabler and never forced the issue nor will they use their big words and say what they are really thinking. But I digress.

How to pump your own gas.

(If you pay at the pump like the anxiety-ridden anti-social queen you are)

1. Insert Card, remove card when prompted.

2. Remove nozzle or press the button of your gas choice.

3. Do the other thing you didn’t do

4. Insert nozzle into tank. But do it just right or you’ll be afraid you are gassing the pavement.

5. There’s a little flicky thing that will hold the trigger on the nozzle. Proceed to feel like an idiot while trying to figure this out.

6. Watch the count on the pump to see how much you’ve pumped

7. Nope your nozzle fell out. You gotta really shove that in there. There ya go.

8. Once it’s in there right you don’t have to hold it. But you are going to hold it anyway because that whole “gas is expensive and you don’t want to make concrete flammable”.

9. WHAT IS THAT DRIPPING WHY IS THERE DRIPPING?! THERE SHOULD NOT BE A DRIP COMING FROM UNDER YOUR TRUCK (said dripping was in fact just water dripping from the bed of the truck from rain).

10. The tank is still filling at the same rate hopefully we can pretend it’s fine.

11. Gas fumes kinda make ya woozy.

12. Getting close now. Put your finger on the flippy thing so you can stop the gas flow when you need to.

13. How does this thing—oh it stopped. Right at $50. Luckily that’s as far as you needed it to go. Remove the nozzle. It’s heavier than you think.

14. Worry you’re going to accidentally squirt gas all over yourself and the surrounding area a la Zoolander.

15. Replace the nozzle in the nozzle’s home. Yes, it goes there it’ll sit, just, yeah you got it.

16. Yes you want your receipt. Gotta have proof you paid and didn’t just take off without paying. Yes, of course the people inside know you paid, you’re not going to have cops surrounding you before you get back on the main road, chill out.

17. Start the vehicle after double checking that your receipt is right and seeing how full that actually got your tank.

18. Drive away wondering if you’re just gonna outright tell Spouse that you did it yourself, or wait until he asks if you need him to go get your gas and just tell him no. You instead just wordlessly hand him the receipt and say nothing else.

Oh wait, there’s supposed to be life lessons.

I want to say that it is no one person’s fault that I never pumped my own gas. If I am not made to do something I am whole-heartedly NOT GOING TO DO IT.

Plus I’m an adult and no one is the boss of me. Except the 17 managers with a higher pay grade than me at work. But that’s beside the point.

I have learned to do a lot of things myself. I’ve installed a ceiling fan, a dishwasher and a doggie door. I’ve put oil and washer fluid in my car and my truck. Most recently I changed a fuse in my truck in order to make the washer fluid sprayer work. Now it’s doing something else, but again, beside the point.

The point is, I learned those things out of necessity, and because I knew it wasn’t going to get done if I didn’t do it myself.

I pumped my own gas out of SPITE. Pure, old fashioned, unadulterated, unreasonable spite. Not because I wanted to do it, not because I knew I wouldn’t have gas if I didn’t do it. But because I suddenly felt, for reasons I will not reiterate, like asking for that one thing made me feel like a burden. Because suddenly the one thing that someone else had always done for me was suddenly verbalized as a burden.

So out of spite I will not ask for that one thing again. Simply put.

The lesson here is: do not learn from me. Why? Because spite is one of those terrible things, much like hate—a similar feeling—a poisonous emotion that can eat away at you. It’ll corrode your insides, your mind, your heart, like acid on flesh. It’ll burn you and leave you scarred. And it’s ugly. Once you learn spite and hate they stain you.

I am already stained from years and years of hating myself and situations I put myself in, so I’m already ruined on the inside.

Other important lessons here may include: do things in spite of anxiety: Pump your own gas, it wasn’t that hard, you just hate the feeling you get dealing with new things. Make your own doctor appointments, phone calls won’t kill you. Use your big words, no one will know how you feel if you don’t tell them, and it’s important to say something before you explode. Also, don’t do like me and shut your mouth when no one listens or cares.

You’re problems are not bigger or worse than anyone else’s, everyone copes with their own problems differently than everyone else. Do not compare yourself to other people because everyone is different.

And get a blog where you can shoot ridiculousness out of your ears and those closest to you won’t know a thing because they don’t read it.

Oh and a classic:

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17 Thursday Nov 2022

Posted by in My Life is a Dumpster Fire, Non-Fiction

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And welcome to day one of “Let’s see how many days in a row I can blog until I either give up or lose my ever loving mind

It’s not like I have don’t have enough to stress about. Because believe me. I do. I recently discovered why my tire on my truck keeps losing air. And it’s not just the cold temps.

THERE’S A FRICKING SCREW EMBEDDED STRAIGHT DOWN IN MY TIRE. Its almost as if someone did it ON PURPOSE.

Side note: I just got the absolute worst medicine stuck in the back of my throat. Y’all ever had a bad cold and been prescribed steroids? Yeah. Worst taste in the world.

Anyway, I know I’m not the best person in the world. I know I’m not the coolest or the most well liked but I sincerely hope that no one intentionally sabotaged my tire.

November 17th is Apparently a bad day for me.

Annually.

9 years ago a dear jumped out of the road to avoid a car then BACK INTO IT apparently to check its makeup in my passenger side mirror.

It busted out the mirror, dented around the handle of my car door, scratched the side panels with its antlers, and left bits of hair along the back fender.

I hadn’t had my license four months, it was around 10pm. I had gotten off work and was on my way home. I managed to keep my composure long enough to get home and I got emotional.

8 years ago, heavily pregnant, I was sick all day, despite my morning sickness mostly passing by this point in my pregnancy. I managed to hold it until I was moments away from the exit door of work and I knew it was happening.

I’d made the mistake of eating food. I’d skipped lunch and ate on my last break. Mostly under peer pressure. “But you’re pregnant you can’t not eat!”

Hell yeah I can and I should have. I felt it happening as I walked out the door and managed to turn to the side out of the way of where customers would walk and just let it go.

The Husband was picking me up from work that day, and didn’t see it happen as there was a car in front of him (they got a show tho). I was, however, watched by a coworker who literally stared, said nothing and just walked in the door.

A friend (who really doesn’t talk to me anymore) happened to come out, I think I warned her, and my “mess” got cleaned up I legit felt better after but was cautious to eat the next day.

So what happened today?

Oh besides being screwed? By a screw? In my tire? Well, my kid had two separate meltdowns at school, leading her teacher to message me multiple times. She eventually calmed down both times, but it ripped a hole in the delicate fabric of my day.

Considering it’s really hard for me to have a good day, and this was the beginning of my weekly four days in a row, it’s not hard to rip me a new one.

The fact that people with less of a tenure than myself are moving up and moving out of my place of employment, and here I am, content to be useless. At a job that, let’s face it, I do not love. Even if I did want to move up, knowing that doing so and my child not having a single week of consistent good days? Let’s just say, it seems entirely too selfish looking for a better position and knowing I’d inevitably lose time with her, which is important when she struggles.

I’ve often said, maybe when she gets a little older and she has adjusted to her struggles and learned to understand what’s happening in her mind and how she can fix it, maybe then I can feel confident in moving up.

But it feels a little selfish that it would mean some piece and quiet, if I’m alone sometimes.

All I really wanted to do today was come home and play Lego Star Wars on my Switch.

Hello and welcome again to Depressed Crystal

29 Saturday Oct 2022

Posted by in My Life is a Dumpster Fire, Non-Fiction

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I’m your host, Lobotomeee.

I recently took an 8 day vacation from work. When I came back from it I was feeling much better emotionally. However, things are starting to building up like a digestive tract that hasn’t gotten enough fiber.

Sorry.

The Ship Maybe Be Sinking

First off, I’ve known for a while that I’m not the kind of friend to some that means I’m on the list of “hey she should know about this”. In fact I’m not on that list of many people in my life. I tend to learn things about people secondhand.

I’ve know this information for a long time, and I’ve decided to not force the issue so as not to bother or annoy anyone, I have also decided I’m not going to dip my toes into a wading pool I’m not invited too. These decisions are made for my mental health so I do not linger where my presence is not requested.

This was all a conscious decision and of my own freewill. But I’d be gosh darned if it doesn’t still hurt a little.

I’m 100% sure that I’m likely just as “at fault” in relationship maintenance as others. The same way that it takes two to tango, it takes two people willing an able to make a bond strong.

I have lost a number of friends in my day, and I’ve had all manner of reactions to it. But no matter how it happens, whether they’ve just disappeared or we’ve drifted apart, I still mourn almost as if there were a death. But the death of what one thought was mutual still stings.

Raising The Kid

After ten months of struggle, and thinking I’d finally reached a plateau, we’re back where we started, basically.

In December of 2021 the hubs and I made the decision that it was time the Kid started sleeping in her own bed. For basically all of her life, she has slept in the bed with me. Now I don’t want to discredit my husband and baby daddy, there were a few nights he took over. But his batting percentage is significantly lower than mine.

The decision was mostly prompted by repeated issues at school resulting in discipline being required. And when you have to punish a kid, allowing said kid to sleep in bed with her mom every night seems a little counterproductive. We made it clear to her that she wasn’t being pushed out because I didn’t want her, she was being guided gently to her own space because it was time to grow up.

Also she’s getting big and a full size bed doesn’t have enough space for the both of us.

She was doing really well. I was doing really well with taking her back to her room at night when she’d wake up. But vacation changed the tune. Because I didn’t have to work every day, I wasn’t making her stay in her room.

So when vacation was over, I couldn’t bring myself to crawl out of bed in the middle of the night and make her go to her room, lay with her until she fell asleep and trudge back to my room. It’s just easier and I get more sleep than all that. Except the rare and glorious occasions when she SLEPT IN HER BED ALL NIGHT.

She hasn’t done that more than a handful of times since my vacation. Waking up this morning after sharing my bed with her for about four hours last night, my hips and joints and head were hurting. I spent most of that time laying in one uncomfortable position to accommodate her and her need to be physically touching (or often on top of) me. Wanting her to sleep in her own bed all night so I could sleep alone makes me feel like a bad mom.

But my lack of willpower to refuse her when she comes stumbling into my room in the middle of the night when I’m drowsy in my own bed makes me feel like a bad mom too. I can’t win for losing.

The Roof The Roof is leaking and it’s becoming a problem.

I’m not even entirely sure at this point how long there has been a leak in the ceiling over my bed. We have lived in this house for thirteen years. There are at least two leaks in the roof over the living room and one over my bed.

Well, it turns out there is one long leak.

Water, while it has no mind of its own, will follow the path of least resistance. That trait, combined with the force of gravity telling it what to do, leads it to create a path of destruction. While your first thought of water might be of something gentle and flowing, water, given enough of it, can begat floods.

While I’ve not had my life flipped over by a flood, I do have the slow and gentle destruction of my sanity by a small leak in the form of a drip, just over my bed. Where my head lays.

I can’t remember when I first started noticing it, but it’s been a problem for a while now.

You see, my whole house, floor to ceiling is wood of some form. The walls and ceiling are the same material, wood slats. And in this wood, like can be found in most wood, are knots. And my leak seeps slowly through a knot.

It’s Knot your problem it’s my problem. That big brown dot turns kinda white when it’s not leaking. It’s been raining. Yay me.

Now, I don’t know why I assumed that it was just dripping straight down onto that knot. And not the actual truth. That the water leaking through the roof has to build up and likely form a puddle for it to leak through.

Because just the other morning, after staying up all night making my kid a costume for Halloween I noticed a wet spot at the foot of my bed. On the bed. At first I thought, oh, I might have laid a wipe there, since I was using them to clean brushes.

After The husband and Kid left for school, I looked into it. Nay, it was not a wipe. In fact it was another drip. The water from the leak in the roof, wherever it is, had built up, and was now slipping through the joints in the slats of wood. It found the quickest and easiest way through and was dripping at the foot of my bed.

I followed the seam of the wood all the way down and it’s right in line with the leak at the head of my bed.

Yay me

Now, I had previously manufactured a temporary solution to having a drip of water on my face every night. It’s what I like to call a hillbilly MacGyver situation. Dollar tree edition. But while temporary meant “until we’re able to fix it”, it decided it was done with my nonsense early this morning.

Now, not only is my pride hurt and I have a red mark and a lump on my forehead, but I had myself a good old fashioned mental breakdown. I cried in bed not just because it hurt, not just because I got slapped awake with a bucket to my noggin, but because eventually this leak is gonna get worse and I’m going to be covered by what’s used to be the upper part of my house.

Ow

Dangerous Combination

Combine all of the above with a constant feeling of failure, feelings of inadequacy, of uselessness. If being broke and depressed, and I am weaving a dangerous web with what the universe keeps throwing at me.

There are an alarming amount of people that would taking having a bucket dropped on your head as a sign. Gravity, after all, was discovered when Newton got sacked on the head by an apple.

But Newton didn’t put the apple on the tree waiting for it to fall. I stuck a bucket to my ceiling in hopes of postponing the inevitable burning down my house in a fit of rage after one too many drops of water interrupted my sleep. So this is all just a sign that I’m a complete idiot.