Not a rant for once...well, kinda.
I have never felt so trapped in my life.
This house, the people in it, the state of their relationships with each other...I'm at the breaking point and I can't stand it. I have to get out of here. Somehow. Otherwise I'll have to end my relationship with Michael, and goddamn I don't want to do that. But these circumstances are making me think about ending it just to get out of here. It's driving a wedge between us and it hurts to think that it's not something he did, but what his family is like that's scaring me away.
His mother is a drunk. Plain and simple. All she does when she gets home from work is go straight to her bedroom and drink herself into oblivion. Drink and smoke. When she exhales, you're lucky if you don't get drunk on the fumes from her breath. Her weekends are nothing but a huge binge drinking and chain smoking fest. It eats up a huge portion of her weekly paycheck. Maybe like $500. $500 a weekend. I've tried coaxing her out with board games, gardening, so many things I can't even count. But she just stays in her room, and then complains that she doesn't have her house the way she wants it. Cleaning is only done when she's so drunk she gets pissed off at the mess that she herself made, and blames it on "lazy people" (meaning me and Michael). Thing is? We do most of the cleaning ourselves. She and Michael's sister are the ones who completely trash whatever we've cleaned the next day.
The sister isn't as bad in some ways, worse in others. She dumps her laundry on the living room floor expecting others to do it for her. She leaves plates, bowls, cups, and trash in her room, on the coffee table, on the computer desk, on the counters. Half-eaten food still inside them. She never does any laundry unless she wants to wear something. She never cleans anything unless she's forced--and then she whines and complains about it. She throws clean laundry on the laundry room floor, for no other reason except that it isn't hers. Where the dog door is. So when the dogs walk in they track dirt on laundry that was cleaned not more than thirty minutes before and it has to be washed again. She treats her own mother like trash, telling her to shut up and fuck off. And her mom allows it, thinking that if she enforces any kind of discipline she'll be arrested for child abuse.
The house, as a result, is a fucking pigsty. Every time we try to do any cleaning the pigsty comes back worse than before. And the dogs. Two aren't so bad, except the little one has a tendency to get out of the fence on a regular basis, but godDAMN the poodle. Pisses on everything. Shits on the bathroom floor. I'm tired of picking up dog shit every morning.
Today though, there was an argument that finally convinced Michael that we need to move out (thank God. I know that's horrible to say, but THANK FUCKING WHATEVER GODS EXIST that this happened). The only problem is, we have so little money that we can't even afford an apartment. Stupid fucking Alaska. Fuck you and your horrible housing prices. So we're stuck here until we find a decently priced one in a decent neighborhood. Yeah, we're going to need all the luck we can get.
I've never wanted to go back to Arizona so bad.
This house, the people in it, the state of their relationships with each other...I'm at the breaking point and I can't stand it. I have to get out of here. Somehow. Otherwise I'll have to end my relationship with Michael, and goddamn I don't want to do that. But these circumstances are making me think about ending it just to get out of here. It's driving a wedge between us and it hurts to think that it's not something he did, but what his family is like that's scaring me away.
His mother is a drunk. Plain and simple. All she does when she gets home from work is go straight to her bedroom and drink herself into oblivion. Drink and smoke. When she exhales, you're lucky if you don't get drunk on the fumes from her breath. Her weekends are nothing but a huge binge drinking and chain smoking fest. It eats up a huge portion of her weekly paycheck. Maybe like $500. $500 a weekend. I've tried coaxing her out with board games, gardening, so many things I can't even count. But she just stays in her room, and then complains that she doesn't have her house the way she wants it. Cleaning is only done when she's so drunk she gets pissed off at the mess that she herself made, and blames it on "lazy people" (meaning me and Michael). Thing is? We do most of the cleaning ourselves. She and Michael's sister are the ones who completely trash whatever we've cleaned the next day.
The sister isn't as bad in some ways, worse in others. She dumps her laundry on the living room floor expecting others to do it for her. She leaves plates, bowls, cups, and trash in her room, on the coffee table, on the computer desk, on the counters. Half-eaten food still inside them. She never does any laundry unless she wants to wear something. She never cleans anything unless she's forced--and then she whines and complains about it. She throws clean laundry on the laundry room floor, for no other reason except that it isn't hers. Where the dog door is. So when the dogs walk in they track dirt on laundry that was cleaned not more than thirty minutes before and it has to be washed again. She treats her own mother like trash, telling her to shut up and fuck off. And her mom allows it, thinking that if she enforces any kind of discipline she'll be arrested for child abuse.
The house, as a result, is a fucking pigsty. Every time we try to do any cleaning the pigsty comes back worse than before. And the dogs. Two aren't so bad, except the little one has a tendency to get out of the fence on a regular basis, but godDAMN the poodle. Pisses on everything. Shits on the bathroom floor. I'm tired of picking up dog shit every morning.
Today though, there was an argument that finally convinced Michael that we need to move out (thank God. I know that's horrible to say, but THANK FUCKING WHATEVER GODS EXIST that this happened). The only problem is, we have so little money that we can't even afford an apartment. Stupid fucking Alaska. Fuck you and your horrible housing prices. So we're stuck here until we find a decently priced one in a decent neighborhood. Yeah, we're going to need all the luck we can get.
I've never wanted to go back to Arizona so bad.