reason for a change

My grandma, bless her lovely soul, is a worrier – a really big worrier. And because of this, I don’t tell her things that she’ll worry about – more specifically right now, I didn’t tell her about my whole without a job thing. The times I’ve had a car accident, there are details that aren’t passed on to her, because really – things are fine and I don’t want her not sleeping or having the Pentecostal Church of God praying for me, because I had a little fender bender. I’d rather her worry about things like what to make for lunch and what kind of vegetables to plant in her garden this spring.

Somehow, through some grapevine, she found out I’m not working. I don’t know when she found out or how she found out, but she knows. She also knows I’m getting unemployment and pretty much anything and everything else that I’ve written… oh wait, right here on this blog.

So, when your sweet, sweet grandma calls you long distance once a week to see if you have a job yet, it starts to wear on you. Her calling doesn’t wear on me; it’s the fact that someone, and I have my suspicions who, went against my specific wishes of not telling her about my employment situation. I honestly love that my grandma calls me, but I’d rather her call me for other things – not because I know she’s constantly concerned on how I’m paying bills or buying food.

She called just now and the only reason she called was to see if I’ve found anything for work.

And now that I know I can’t write anything here without escaping the fear that it’s going to travel to my gramma’s non-computer using ears, you’ll probably notice an even bigger decrease in personal crap I feel the need to share here.

It sucks, because I’m going through a lot of things emotionally and a few things personally right now, and if you’ve read things here before, you know the best way I deal with shit like that is posting. And now, that’s just not an option. I haven’t decided if I’ll just post here even more sparsely or wind up blocking IP addresses so I don’t feel like I have to self-censor. I’m 30 years old. I shouldn’t have to be worried about what I write getting back to my gramma, ya know?

3 Comments

  1. The thing is, she always knows. I’m still trying to figure out how she knows about my tattoo nearly ten years after the fact.

  2. Chaely

    My mom is the same way. I can’t tell her anything. For example, I mentioned once that since I’m only taking an online class this semester but still only working 3 days a week until May, I could theoretically get another part time job. Now I’ve been getting anywhere from 1 to 13 e-mails EACH DAY from her where she’s forwarding job opportunities from craigslist & careerbuilder – most of which require that I quit my current job, babysit brats, sign on to some sort of get rich quick scheme, model (she sent me a few that I’m pretty sure were castings for porn models), or go into a field that I have no experience in.

    I appreciate her good intentions but I could do without hearing “HAVE YOU FOUND ANOTHER JOB YET?” and “DID YOU EVER FILL THAT PRESCRIPTION?” or “DID YOU REMEMBER TO MAIL YOUR CREDIT CARD PAYMENT?” every time I pick up the phone. I’m pretty sure she thinks that I just sit here doing nothing until she calls and reminds me to brush my teeth.

    Crazy ass families.

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