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So there's this guy that I know that sometimes talks to me. This morning I woke up and laid in bed for a while, tired because I stayed up late talking to my sister who dropped off my niece. She told me a lot of things about myself and others. We went over to the condo and I found out that the barstools I bought didn't work in the space I had for them. We walked around talking about what I could do and what she would do if it was her space. She sat down with us and helped us go through the things that we needed to discuss. How much money I would get, who would get which holidays with the girls, and how our possessions would be divided after we were divorced. My sister has an apartment, but she can't do what she wants to with it. I don't know what I'm feeling today. I set up the mail station and read more in my book. ADD is an anxiety based disorder that I frequently hear being dismissed. As I turn pages and read about David's garage and Jane's spare bedroom, I can empathize with his wife who is troubled by the four flashlights he has, but she couldn't find so she went out and bought another one. I read about Ted who works for a think tank and I thought about other people I know who are so committed to their jobs that their sleep, friendships, and families suffer. I read about the woman who wants to send her son to camp and is so bogged down with the brochures she doesn't make a decision at all. Then I think about the projects we have gathered information on in the past and realize that we are no closer to new windows today than we were back in 1999 when we first started shopping for them.

Some people with ADD don't mind the clutter and the chaos. Organizing seems rigid and prescriptive to them, they fear that they will lose creativity and be less themselves without their turbulent accumulations and collections. For others it creates feelings of instability and insecurity. Reading this book is horrifying. I didn't understand it. I tried to fight it. The tactics I used didn't work. He doesn't see the way that he is as problematic. Others must accept him and who he is. He doesn't like the towels I bought so he keeps using the old ones. This makes me angry, furious even because I want to be accepted for who I am and walking into a bathroom with three matching towels and a mismatched one feels like a deliberate attempt to fuck with my mind. He has the highest standards, the finest things for himself, but the rest of us should be the most frugal and economical beings possible, living on whatever is left over after his hobbies and interests and bills have taken the lion's share of the income. I agreed to pay the utility bills at the condo. He plugged in the fridge. I would leave it unplugged and find ways around using that energy, but right now I don't have a job. My sister told me about a guy that I know I know from somewhere who goes into companies and tells tehm how to become more efficient. It's a class I can take at a local community college. I would be great at this and I know that. I could go back to school to become a paralegal. I would also be good at that. Today my oldest has therapy. We've been better about meals. That helps everyone.

Last night we made hamburgers and fries. I almost never buy prepackaged fries, but my niece was over and it was convenient. We had fruit and vegetables, baked beans and lemonade. Today I had the girls help me with breakfast. We had eggs, fruit, bacon, and my youngest was served the last sausage since she's not a huge bacon fan. Neither am I. I'm getting better at seeing how trying to be too perfect and nutritious with meals led to resentment and a refusal to eat what was out on the table. The book suggests ten very simply meals of no more than two items. Veggies and fruit can be kept on hand for sides. I can live with the girls eating burgers, fries, baked beans, and cut up veggies once a week. Leftovers can go into the fridge for a grab and go meal with additions like a bag of chips and a piece of fruit. My daughter still has the bad cough. I need vitamins. I'm getting a routine for those and it helps. I shouldn't have stayed up so late last night. I don't really regret that. I need summer clothes. I applied for health insurance yesterday. I'm taking over some of the things he's controlled in the past. I'm leaving the terror of never knowing how much we have or what I'm going to get the cold shoulder treatment for next. My sister explained people who are manipulative. I'm not so I don't see it for what it is. I feel stupid when she explains this to me and wonder if I'll ever be able to recognize it and find ways to protect myself. I need anchors in my life. Something solid to cling to in the emotional storms that are raging around me. 

My sister told me that when people are nitpicking and giving me advice that's a way for them to show their love. My family has bad boundaries and I'd rather not read that book, but I need the information in there. I'm getting better about understanding myself. My next youngest sister called and caught me off guard. I said yes to something I didn't mean to agree to because I don't remember to tell people that I need to check my calendar before I agree to anything. I sent her a text asking if we could plan for my oldest to visit her at a later date. She said the summer was very busy. I have a feeling she wants some free babysitting and that's why I was called. She will move heaven and earth to get what she wants. It destroys her relationships with others. She can't see it for what it is. I see this in myself and my other sisters. We're compulsive, driven to obtain or do whatever it is this time. It makes me sad for me and my siblings. There's a theme that ties the men in our lives together. I can feel it, but I can't quantify it. There's something in us that puts up walls instead of letting others see our vulnerability. We have issues of our own, but we blame them. Sometimes it's us, sometimes it's them, sometimes nobody is right and everyone is wrong. I don't think these marriages will last since the people in them don't have solutions to the problems. We brush them off as not being as bad as they really are. We think we know what's wrong. We're smart girls, therapy is expensive. There are too many excuses and not enough ownership. Beyond ownership is the request for help. I need it. I'm setting aside my pride to get it. It's a priority in my life. 

My new plan is to get a shelf for under my calendar at the condo. My sister doesn't think that we need four desks for two people at the condo. He has an office. I don't know why. I think it fills some void in his life. I told my sister that the different desks help me. Later on I told her that they take me back to my first job where I was thin, efficient, and respected. The desks aren't going to help me with any of those things. I can consolidate everything into one desk and simplify my life. She sees the desks as chaotic. I think she's right. I can't share a desk with him. I don't want to get rid of the desk by the laundry area. It's not very practical, but it has cubbies and I like them for stamps and my checkbook. While we were sitting at the table I knew he was fucking his girlfriend. I haven't respected myself in the past. I can't do anything about him. I can only help myself and set a good example for the girls. If I put a bed over at the condo for him and his girlfriend, I might be able to keep her out of the house. I don't know for sure if it will work like that. Sex is a powerful force in a man's life. Steve Harvey describes it as loyalty, support, and the cookie. I view all men differently now. It's not all bad. It's not all good. My therapist tells me I can trust myself. I don't know if I can. I'd like a job, I'm afraid to go out and get the wrong one. It occurs to me that I could be a professional organizer and work with people who have ADD. I don't know if this is a viable career option for me since I don't tend to be very good at marketing myself. I don't know, I know a lot of things, facts seem useless, emotions are more important to me now. I thought I could write about the guy and his suicide attempts. Maybe another time

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