2007, You Sure Did A Number On Me.

I saw someone deal drugs Thursday of last week.

I had to have someone arrested (the receiver of the drugs) where I work on Saturday.

I had to sit there and listen to this kid beg me not to, because he was already on probation, had to sit there and listen to him lie to me about having weed and a pipe there. At first I believed him, then I found his hiding spot. My boss made me call, and I agreed, because, well if you knew what I've had to put up with this past month you'd know that something just had to give.

So I called the police and sat there nervously clenching my fists until they arrived. They took the kid to a small room in the back to read him his rights and discuss the problem. Hearing someone say those words outside of a movie was surreal. I sat there in my office staring straight ahead, tears falling down my face until well after they'd left. The other person there with me having to finish up for me.

This whole month has kind of been like that: Surreal. My life this year doesn't really even feel like mine anymore. I've got more of a social life now than I did this time last year, but the only difference is I didn't want or need it last year. Things have been rough with my family, hb, and personally all this month and it's been taking it's toll on me this past few weeks. I don't know if it's just because I'm unaccessible right now, or if there's something genuinely wrong, but it feels crazy. Not like my life at all. I'd trade all the nights watching my friends play cards until they pitch over, drunk (I'm the dd, by the way), all the movies we've watched, and all the PS3 games I've played since we had early Christmas, and anything else I could just for a little bit of my old life back.

I never thought I'd miss it, but God, do I miss being boring. I miss my family, hb, and being normal. Being slightly naive, totally loved, fairly happy, comfortable in my own skin. I miss being me.

Santa

Santa has a blog. Read it here, and check out his 100 Things here.

The Big News

I never really knew much about my father. My parents were divorced when I was a small child. His name was Charles, he was 7 years older than my mom, and I have his nose. Beyond that, I knew basically nothing. I didn't really care, because I'd never known him, was never going to know him, so what did it matter, right?

Wrong.

My mom sat me down a few days ago and started talking about my father. She said that since I'd moved back home I needed to know the "real truth" about him. "CIA?" I asked, joking. She looked out the window and proceeded to inform me that my father was not indeed, from Florida or my father at all. My REAL father was a married local business owner 23 years older than my mother. A skirt chaser. A man I saw nearly every day of my life when I was a kid. They both knew. A Google search told me he died 4 years ago. She only told me because I might come home and date/be friends with a half brother that my father managed to crank out before his demise. According to her though, I'm the youngest and last of the bastard children.

I couldn't help it. I cried. Thinking about it now makes me feeling a little like doing so as well. My mom had a fake marriage certificate made up to give my grandparents with my supposed father's name on it. Once, when I was upset when my Aunt for not finishing out my branch of the family tree, I accused my mom of not really being married to my dad and she whipped that out to show me. When I asked her why she did all that stuff, she said it was because she didn't want her parents to be embarrassed because they were old fashioned.

Apparently no one thought about how this would affect me in later years. It's not good.

Oh, and my last name? Completely fabricated. Nice.

My Heart.

Things have been absolutely irritating this past week. I've talked to people I don't want to, and the people I do want to (one in particular) either want to have nothing to do with me, or are too busy to talk.

Which is probably why my heart exploded on Tuesday.

There I was, at work, thinking about the appointment I was supposed to be at around 3 (apartment interview thing) and I realized I wasn't going to get finished at work on time. I was worried I'd be late so I felt my heart beating a little faster. The I made it out with just enough time to spare only two people I went to High School with stopped me to talk on the way to my car. Each time I had to stop, my heart beat a little faster. I finally made it in and got halfway through the interview process only to be informed that I. Make. Too. Much. Money. to live in the crazy-nice new apartment building I've had my eye on for two months. (Apparently the person I'd been talking to on the phone failed to say "Yes" when I asked "Are these apartments income based?" *Sigh*)

So I leave the hotel conference room, and I feel my heart pounding away in my chest, getting faster with each step I took. While I was waiting for the elevator, I started thinking about all kinds of stuff. Mostly the mess that is my life right now, and the personal business going on this particular week. By the time the elevator had climbed it's way up, I was in tears. By the time I had made it out to my car, I couldn't breathe. I leaned forward and laid my head on my steering wheel until my eyesight got clear again and I could once again see the health department next door. Then I went home.

Since then, I've woken up every morning, evening, whatever with a hard-pounding heart.

The holidays are definitely a stressful time of year!

BFF

Tessa and I bought the exact same pack of Christmas cards this year, with no prior knowledge about the purchase. I suspect Mandy has also done this, but it's too early to tell.

Not only are we BFF, we're psychic.