There Ain't No Devil, It's Just God When He's Drunk

I know everyone has one of those days when they just don't want to get out of bed. But for me, its seriously become a 'why even get out of bed- there's nothing to get up for' kind of depression. And I hate it. I wish wish wish I had something to get up for. Because waking up for something denotes a purpose, and at the moment, I have no purpose!

Every fracking day is the same: I get up when I force myself to, spend all day online looking for jobs, filling out applications, and sending off CVs and cover letters. Sometimes, the only time I leave the house is when Scottie gets home and we go out to buy groceries. Sad, super sad, I know. I have been trying to make use of the clear weather to get some walking and exercise in, but lately, the Arctic winds of death are driving invisible ice shrapnel into my blood stream, while a deluge of grit and dirt make a bee line for my eyes. At the moment, being outside walking about is so not the place I want to be.

Today was one of those days that I wish I just never left the house, much less my bed. In order to be somewhat productive and do something with my life that isn't moping around the house, I've been tossing around the idea of joining a gym. My friend Zonko has been getting on my case about it and said that it would at least perk me up and give me something to do. I'm not so sure about that perking up thing, because the last time I went with her to the gym I came home and had a emotional meltdown- talk about total endorphin fail- but at least she is right about it giving me something to do.

So today I had a meeting with someone from Virgin Active to get a tour of the gym there. Nice, I suppose, and the lady gave me a free pass to use tomorrow, so we shall see if I survive that, but then came the payment details. £46 off peak. WTF?!? Being unemployed as I am, I was really in hoping for something under 40 quid. I mean, it was a nice gym and all, but soooooooooo not worth £46. Especially since I wouldn't be able to attend any of the classes I was interested in.

After hicking it back from Virgin, I then left to trek over to the opposite side of Edinburgh to the Barcelo gym found in the Carlton Hotel. They had offered to give me a free 3 day pass starting next week, and are £37 a month. They are a very small gym, but have all the bits and bobs I suppose you would need. However, they only offer 6 or 12 month contracts. Since I may not be in Edinburgh in 6 months, I don't really want to commit to that. After treking back from the Carlton, I went on line to do some more job searching and found one for a cafe in Cannongate, posted on the 23rd. It said to drop in your CV, and because I'm desperate for a job, back across the city I went. To be told they had already filled the position. In less than 3 days.

This right here is a VERY SAD PANDA.So basically, today I walked a total of (and I totally just calculted it on Google Maps) 5.5 miles today FOR NOTHING. The job was a bust, the gyms as waaaaaaay too expensive for someone unemployed, and all the while, it was FREEZING, it was WINDY and after and hour of being camped out in front of the heater, I am still cold inside.

Bllllllllllllerrrrrrrrrrrrrg.

Seriously! Ever since I came back to the US, I have seen a correlation between the amount of time I spend with Grandma and the amount of alcoholic beverages I consume. And there it is- the reason why I never really drink the UK is because there is no grandma there to drive me towards daily inebriation.

This happened the last time I had to return from the UK to 'look' after grandma. My 6 month student work visa had expired, my family (grandma included) was moving to a new house, and someone needed to play chauffeur whilst my mom and dad made weekly trip to the 'ranch' 3 hours away with all our worldly belongings.

Now, to the outside viewer, grandma is a lovely, sweet, adorable little bundle, similar to a baby bunny. And every where I go with her, I always get comments from people like the hairdresser, the lady at the sandwich shop, the dental receptionist, going on about just how adorable and sweet grandma is. But luckily for them, they don't have to live with her.

It starts and builds slowly. First come the demands. "Fill this cup," "make me an egg," "put this on a shelf," "when you're done planting my azaleas, get me more toilet paper". No "please," no "thank you," just an endless list of demands that slowly wear down you patience as they eat away at your soul like acid. I called her on it once during that 3 month moving process when I first got back from the UK and she started crying, saying that she loved me so much she thought she didn't need to be polite because it was inherent in her demands...or some crap like that, but said through the tears of a granny. Oh aren't I horrible for even asking her for some polite recognition because really it's accusing her of not loving me!

Which brings me to no.2- the passive aggressiveness.
My grandma is the queen of being passive aggressive. If she wants something done, somehow the facts that (1) she's old, (2) she's a nuisance in your life, (3) she used to take care of you as a baby, (4) she would do it if she could, and (5) she loves you more than you love her will come up during the hour, day, week that she needs something done. And it is always over something amazingly trivial. You could be bleeding from a gaping flesh wound caused by man-eating rabid cows, and as you desperately dial 911, grandma will come in and say 'Well when you're done, doing that, don't forget to come in my room and put new staples in my stapler!"
"Right, well, trying not to die over here!"
"I know, but- oh, my arthritis is just acting up so, and I would do it if I could, but I just don't know how."
"AH! I think I am fainting from lack of blood! Can it wait until tomorrow?"
"Oh, I'm so sorry I am such a burden! You know, I never complained when I had to do things for you when you were a baby. I enjoyed looking after you so much" Que tears.
Later, as you lie in the hospital bed, grandma will come in and say "Hey, I bet you forgot about my stapler, so I brought it for you do to right now."
Oh, thank you so much for reminding me about your stapler. I know it was an emergancy that a paper clip could just never fix, and I know just how many important documents you have laying around that are in desperate need of being stapled.

Mhhh, smell that guilt! And after making you feel like a horrible person for making her wait for 3 hours for her stapler to get filled so that she could put it away in her desk, she tries to trap you into admitting it.

True story: I knit a hat for my mom. It was the first hat I ever knit and I was just trying to use up some alpaca/wool blend I had. Mom showed it to grandma. That night, when I went to take grandma her hot chocolate in bed (because granny gets a cup of hot coco EVERY night in bed, heavily laced with brandy), she pounced on me. "Say, that's a really great hat you made! Am I special enough to get one too?" And what do you say to that? Plus, grandma HATES hats. They mess up her hair. I have only seen grandma wear a hat once, and that was to a neighbours pool to keep the sun off her face. And I like the things I make to serve a function and be used. So yes, granny, I will eventually knit you a really crappy hat just to shut you up, and you will put it in a drawer and never look at it again. Thanks for making me waste my time.

Lastly, it's the constant interruptions. Naturally you're at fault for her having to interrupt you because she's just so lonely, and if you made constant trips down to hall to visit her, she wouldn't have to come in a pester you will 2,000 questions. And the things that get me the most is her use of the words "now what," said as though you are at fault for having different activities, all of them blatantly obvious.
-I'm pouring hot water from a kettle into a cup.
"Now what are are you doing?"
"Making tea, grandma"

-I am on the couch knitting the SAME thing I've been working on for a week
"Now what are you making?"
"A shawl, grandma"
"You mean the same one"
"Yes, grandma"

-I am on the couch watching TV
"Now what are you doing?"
"Watching TV, grandma."

-I am on the couch with an open book in my hands
"Now what are you doing?"
"Reading"
"Oh, what's that, a book?"
'Yes"
"Oh, what's the title?"
"It's a book Brother gave me for Christmas, you wouldn't know it- it's science fiction"
"Who's the author?"
"You wouldn't know him. Orson Scott Card. "
"Oh, I've never heard of him."
"I know! Can I read now?
"Oh, I'm just so interested in your life! Sorry for being such a nosy nuisance, but I get so lonely with no one to talk to. I'll go back to my room now since no one wants to talk to me"

And ALL of these events happen EVERY DAY, SEVERAL TIMES A DAY! I could handle it well when I first got home because I had been away for so long. Plus, having Scottie there made it easier to run away/avoid grandma/have him calm me down. But now, with it just being me, my mom and my dad here, the diluted version of grandma has turned into super concentrate.

And thus, enter the drink. Why hello there, you sexy bottle of Merlot! Drown my frustration in you? Why I just think I might!