31 January 2024

I think I have hit upon an accidental solution to always having to wear those annoying reading glasses when I am writing on my computer. I don’t have a desk anymore (haven’t in ages; even in Elizabeth’s apartment I had no additional furniture to what was already there) and so my laptop usually lives up to its name. Well, if I’m on my bed or in one of Dad’s recliners, the screen’s farther away from me than when I used to sit in “my” chair at Matt’s house

(I wonder what happened to that chair? I suppose he might have moved his furniture to Colorado, but it’s equally likely he got rid of it and started over)

and so it falls within my field of Reasonably Good Vision and suddenly I can see what I’m doing again without strain.

It won’t last, of course.

(Nobody tell me I can set my monitor for large text. I don’t want to be old yet.)

I’m not on the internet as I write this but I’m pretty sure I mentioned already that my phone’s back on but if I didn’t, it is. I need to transfer some money to my Credit Builder card again for the hosting service and then after that I have to fret about the auto insurance but after that, things cool down for a while. Shan’t be resting on my laurels. People have been incredibly kind versus what any of them owe me, which is precisely nothing, but I only sold something on Etsy because I cried about my brokeness and a friend came through for me. I need to treat that more like a job. It’s hard to do without the constant internet connection. I will have to figure it out. I can draw and that’s awesome, but each work is one and done. I need to do some things that can repeat on auto-pilot. That’s why I also set up the Cafe Press site. I always wanted to have a little tshirt and bumper sticker shop anyhow. I’ve dipped my toe into that possibility several times over the years but it never took off. Maybe now it will. I have to be persistent.

I wish I could do delivery to fill in until I can work out the rest, and if I get really desperate I will probably try it for the next couple weeks once I get the car sorted, but it’d be taking a huge chance since minimum coverage is so expensive for me here and Uber only insures if I have comprehensive and collision. I dunno. I could probably fudge it for a little bit. Not an ideal situation. I probably won’t try it. I would if Lafayette were closer.

Speaking of insurance, Liberty Mutual was one of the companies that rejected me when I was searching for coverage here. I got a letter from them recently. Know why they ixnayed? I’m not enough into debt and I’m not making payments on a car. I hope Limu Emu eats Doug. Fuck that guy.

Oh you know what though? If I get the car sorted enough I might go over to Major Pizza Chain in Redacted Town. I keep pondering that and I keep forgetting again. That might not be so bad. I know it would be with my car instead of a company car, and that’s not ideal, but a pizza restaurant also usually has a territory, unlike Uber. So I wouldn’t be doing a hundred miles and more per day. They also pay an hourly rate before tips, unlike Uber. And if shit was really slow I’d probably be helping in the kitchen, and that’s food service experience. Not a bad thing to have.

This is idle speculation. If I do it it’ll be out of desperation to show Dad I’m trying, also out of desperation to keep my few bills paid and put some money aside. If I don’t have to do this specific thing I will not do it. It’s not my first choice.

A Facebook friend, who I think is Irish, upon seeing some of my work recently, asked me why I don’t quit fannying about (her words) and just be an artist for a living. My mind had already been going in those circles pretty hard given everything I’ve gone through in the past couple years. People think I’m a fucking joke and not worth the respect there ought to be between an employer and an employee. It’s not a special vendetta; they are like this with everyone. They are just worse with older people, I suspect. It’s too late for me to build any sort of Muggle career anyway. Whatever skills I pick up from here will have to be used unconventionally. It is what it is. If they’re just going to fuck me about and I’ll be poor even with a job then I might as well be poor without one as long as I’m still earning income. It is easier to fire a bad customer than it is to fire a bad boss, in terms of outcomes.

We’ll see what happens. It’ll be as much a surprise to me as it will be to all of you.

I can’t remember every item in my complaint litany about my health but right now, it seems like my left knee has improved and that weird pain in my shin is gone. Considering the weird swelling in my left ankle I had had before that, I am more than a little concerned about traveling blood clots but I’m waiting for my primary care provider to change in Humana’s system before I go trying to chase all that shit down. And the heart palpitations come and go and sometimes I wake up feeling like shit, and I did this morning. Period is still going too. Not heavy but just has never quit this month. It has literally been going for almost a month now. The one mercy in all this is I’m not getting severe headaches. In the first year after I moved out of Matt’s place I got those from time to time. Based on circumstances I suspect it was more magnesium deficiency than stress, though the stress didn’t help. I have been very consistent in my supplementation since I got back here and I swear it’s helping. I don’t care if it’s placebo effect. It works. I need magnesium anyway so really it’s a win-win situation.

Now if I could sort the rest of it out. Another reason to make more money, job or not. I could feed myself and stop with this junk nonsense. Some of it I could quit right now but there would still be junk in my main meals and that I can’t control so much. Maybe if I show Dad my horrible lab numbers when I get back to the doctor, that will drive the point home. “Yes I’m buying my food. Here’s why. Quit bugging me.” He will be so confused, because healthy isn’t what everyone’s telling him it is, or he’s got entirely the wrong idea about it. I don’t know which and I do not care.

I wish I could figure out what the fuck is up with this O key. (Letter, not zero.) It has not broken off. I can tell. Or else something is broken that I am unfamiliar with, but I see nothing indicating a break. I can snap it back on. Problem is it keeps coming loose again. None of the other keys do this. It has been a longstanding problem. I thought at first I’d gotten food caught in there. This was back at Matt’s. THAT far back. I’m curious whether I can replace the keyboard and it would actually work. I have my doubts, but I’ll look into it. I tried that with my last computer and it was a dismal failure. That was a cheap piece of shit, though, not a Dell.


Lake Charles tomorrow. I was supposed to come up with someplace I wanted to go and eat for a belated birthday lunch. I have no idea what is in Lake Charles. I guess they mean pick a chain restaurant? Apparently Dad usually wants Golden Corral when Carrie takes him there, and I’ll probably just ask for that. Everybody can get something they like and no fuss.

I had hoped to go to Bridge Park for my birthday. That is just a leetle out of our way.

Maybe I should make a list of stuff I wish I could do. It’d be something to aim for.

29 January 2024

Phone is back on.

Stuff is still coming through and I should be able to rescue my hosting service as well. Looking forward to it.

I should be able to get a whole lot of bracelets photographed tomorrow. Dad will think I’ve lost my mind. The weather this week is pretty though and I’m a moron if I don’t take advantage.

Okay. Need to update WordPress. Then got to git. This was a little bit of a weird day but at least I’m not completely cut off from the world.

28 January 2024

You’ve probably seen updates by now. I’m being more productive with writing in general, actually. Which still isn’t very productive, but it’s a lot more than I was doing. I’ll take it.

Anyway, some of the updates were here in the blog and some were elsewhere on the site. I’ve started telling ex stories. Not “story” like “making it all up,” but you know what I mean. Unless you are an ex reading this who is in severe denial. That’s fine. You just sit in your wrongness and be wrong. Not for the first time.

I’ll get around to Matt eventually but I’m dreading it because anyone who’s wasted twenty years of your life is also going to hand you metric fucktons of material. I’m thinking I may just go with major highlights, but I know my tendency to run away with myself when complaining about something so I’m just going to have to tinker with that one for a while. See what I come up with. See if it’s enough. The others should be pretty easy though. Even Eddy was, and he fucking died.

At this point, actually, we’re up to two extinguished old flames that I know of, one an ex-boyfriend. I wonder why I refuse to label Eddy as a boyfriend? I wasn’t any closer to Wayne than I was to him. Well, it also matters what the guy thinks, and Eddy never even told me he loved me. I’m not sure Wayne did either, but I know I was meant to think of us as An Item. I don’t remember how I know, but I know. So there it is.

And hell, I’m getting older. The actual body count, not just me joking about body counts, is only going to grow. I’m kind of stunned Marc is still alive, now that I mention it. That likely won’t last much longer.

Some people may be curious why I’m writing about any of them. I just want to. It really doesn’t go any deeper than that.

I suppose on some level maybe I hope that if some Prospective Dude comes along and sees I’m a tattletale (grasser), and he’s an asshole LARPing as a decent guy, my blabbing might be enough to scare him off. Maybe not for the really psychotic ones, but everyone else in that category probably. Fine by me.

It’s probably also going to scare off the good guys who are very private, though. I suppose that’s a mixed blessing. I don’t want something like this to be why a relationship lands on the rocks. Why do I have to accept a guy who’s bad with money or drinks way too much or has no social skills or fucks around but he doesn’t have to accept me writing about my life? Who comes up with these bullshit rules anyway?

Seriously, men need to develop some basic self-awareness. You’re not fucking prizes either. I once was eating at a McDonald’s where Jennifer Hudson was singing on the flatscreens and this greasy-haired guy in a trucker cap who was sitting closer to the TV yells “LOSE SOME WEIGHT!” and stood up and turned… and I swear to fucking god he looked like he was carrying twins. And she did lose weight later. And I guarantee you he’s still a fucking troll. “Oh, Dana talks too much.” You watch furry porn at 3am and turn your undershorts inside-out for another wear, Brentley. You studmuffin, you.

(Matt, for that matter, looks like a haggis on an upside-down muffin cup when he’s in a kilt. After years of not wearing his, he suddenly took an interest in it again after I got obsessed with Rory McCann. Yeah, absolutely no one can tell what’s going on there, sport. God only knows why. He didn’t even really like me.)

Heard from Doug today. I don’t know if he told Dad my phone’s off, and I don’t know how much he’s followed on social media, but he definitely tried to call my number and failed to get through for obvious reasons. We commiserated about living being too fucking expensive (did you know it’s more “convenient” to drive 45 minutes to the nearest Cricket store to pay your bill than it is to just get the fuck online and pay your bill? Me neither, but Cricket charges a $5 convenience fee for that 45-minute trip) and basically shot the shit. I have no idea how either of us ever got this far. He probably doesn’t know either.

I’ve had weird shit going on. I don’t get the left lower quadrant abdominal pain as often now as I did there for a while, but I got it yesterday. I don’t know if it really is diverticulitis, but I’m pretty sure constipation plays a role. And then I had this weird pain in my left shin yesterday and it still twinges off and on. And last night I actually had trouble standing upright and ambulating. I don’t think it was bad enough for Dad to notice. I finally decided I was probably just sleepy. I think I was right? I have no idea, but the dizziness or whatever was gone this morning. I don’t know if I mentioned the odd swelling in my left outer ankle several days ago (a couple weeks?) but the itchy bit I scratched isn’t all the way healed. It’s also not infected, so I’m counting my blessings. Endless left-ear problem that’s probably mild psoriasis, given my luck. Random persistent itchiness in random other places that’s probably fungal. I fight it when it pops up. Thank you, Lotrimin. And then there are my weak-ass hips, almost literally. Last time I was here Dad was all about blaming that on my obesity. No, but my lack of exercise is definitely the central problem unless I’ve got some unrelated disease process going on. My hip hinges are out of shape, and being fat and being out of shape are not quite the same thing. My hips would have wound up just as weak had I never gone fat but had been inactive like I have. I don’t know what it’s going to take to beat this into people’s thick skulls, but I find most people don’t want to think in any great detail and I can think of better ways to exercise my HIPS than to wear out my RIGHT ARM administering corrective IQ points. I’m so fucking tired of people.

(No, sex is not a good way to exercise them. But exercising them might safeguard any future sex life I might ever have. A very good reason to sort this shit out once and for all.)

I have to remember I have bracelets to mail. Things are kind of messed up insofar as my Etsy pay because I remembered, belatedly, that if I let it deposit to my Chime account then it would go into my overdraft black hole. So I switched it to my PayPal, which also functions as a bank account now, but that’s going to take a hot minute for the account to verify with Etsy. (Or Stripe actually. Confused yet? Just smile and nod along.) So that’s not going to be available for postage even though payday is Monday. But I still have postage stamps. It will probably still mail at first-class rate. I figure I will go into the post office, ask them whether they can weigh it for me (unless there is already a scale in the lobby, in which case I will skip that second step), and then stick on enough stamps to cover the postage. Not difficult. I wasn’t using those things anyway. This is a Facebook friend so as long as she tells me if it does NOT get to her, I figure we will be okay. This friend goes way back. She actually started following blogs of people I knew in Ohio when those people were in North Carolina — so, about 2000 I guess? — and then somehow followed things around and found me in that first couple years. We’ve been friendly ever since. I suppose it helps she wasn’t caught up in that fractured and fucked up community, just a spectator of it. Lucky.

Another Facebook friend paid for an annual subscription to my Substack. That runs five bucks a month if you go month-to-month and $50 a year if you pay ahead for a year, which is two free months. The problem is that last I looked, yesterday (Saturday), the payment hadn’t hit and isn’t even in my account over there. Substack just has her listed as an annual paid subscriber in my subscriber list. I don’t know what will happen or what’s going on. I guess I will just have to wait and see. Depending on what’s going on with Etsy payments, if that hits my Chime account tomorrow then at least I’ll be halfway out of my hole and maybe, since a payment will have hit, Chime won’t shut me down. Stranger things have happened. Even if it hits PayPal instead, I’ll send it over to my Chime because I will have paid for postage for my Etsy sale and that won’t be a problem. If everything hits at once — Substack and Etsy — I’ll be happier than a pig in shit, obviously.

I have to go to Carrie’s more often in any case because I need to check to see if I’ve heard from anyone. Even if I can’t get my phone turned back on right now, I’ve started using my Google Voice number on applications. I need to see if there are any important messages. Even after I get my phone turned back on (or new service started — I have some options), I need to apply more often for work anyway.

But I can only do that for just so long in a day. I need to do a portrait, too. If I can get a portrait knocked out, I can do a listing on my Etsy shop for pencil portraits. Could you imagine if I started bringing in income for that? Oh hey, guess I don’t need a job then. I could get set up as a proper business and then just do self-employment and income taxes quarterly. With not having to make a car payment, not using my car as my primary income tool, and not having to pay rent (for now), I would have time to get earning.

Not just with portraits. Which reminds me. I need to design some bumper stickers and a mug or two for my Cafe Press. Heh heh heh.

26 January 2024

I posted on Instagram the other day about my letter-O key cap falling off my keyboard. It’s been going loose for ages and it finally popped off. I saved it because I was at Carrie’s and honestly could not tell if it had broken off or merely come loose. Well, today I finally took a close look at it and it looks to me like it has just come loose. So I popped it back on and we’ll see how things go. If it falls off again I will likely attempt to glue it on. I’m afraid to do that because if I fiddle where I should have faddled, it may stick on too well and then I won’t be able to use the fucking key. A new laptop computer is not remotely in the budget at this time. I’ll be typing all my O’s with zeroes. It’ll be nice and humiliating.

(It’ll also be funny. So I’ll do it anyway. It’ll be a laugh. The only real problem I can potentially see is if I have to type in a password somewhere. There are at least two workarounds for that.)

(By the way, it is grammatically correct to pluralize single letters using an apostrophe and an S. That is the only time it is grammatically correct to pluralize using apostrophe-S. Bet you can’t guess why.)

So as I write this, we are in the final hours of my phone connectivity. I actually do not know when it’ll be shut down. It could be tomorrow morning. It could be tomorrow evening. Both have occurred in the past. Obviously, I’m hoping for evening, but I have no control over this.

But a visit to Carrie’s is hardcore on the agenda because her husband Stanford came home the other day while I was there and out and out offered to fix my problem with the license plate. He’d already looked at it and had an idea how to proceed. I have tools and I’m not afraid to use them but I don’t have enough tools and haven’t encountered this problem before, and it touches on a legal issue — proper identification of my vehicle — so this is not something I want to dick around with and risk the plate falling off. I also do not want to find myself back in the exact same fucking place in a year with more bolts falling apart or out or whatever. So I’m of a mind to get it the fuck right the first time. If Stanford can help me with that, fantastic.

And also because I need to check up on what’s going on. I found out I have an annual subscriber on my Substack all of a sudden. She’s on my Facebook friends list and so she saw me talking about my fiscal issues the other day. Problem is the money is not coming through. It won’t be enough to pay the phone bill because I am nearly thirty dollars overdrawn, but even after fees I think it’ll get me out of the hole. But I need to see if it’s actually coming through. If my phone’s cut off first thing in the morning then I’ll only be able to answer that question on a wifi connection. Woo fucking hoo.

I have a GoFundMe up also but I doubt that’ll go anywhere. I had a marvelous stroke of luck when I set one up a year ago due to my car problems: I had a $300 donation almost immediately, and then I think a $20 or $25 donation a day or two later. I did a second one to try to keep my apartment late last year (August or so? Maybe later? Not sure?) and was utterly ignored. This could go either way. It’s only for three hundred anyhow so I can make sure my car insurance won’t lapse early in February. If the Substack subscription comes through, though, even if someone only drops me fifty bucks on GoFundMe then that’s my phone bill probably sorted. I need that for job-hunting, so that is not a bad thing.

Unless my hosting bill hits. And that went from almost $20 to almost $25 to almost $35 a month in two fucking years. There’s no fucking reason for that. I don’t think they even sent me notice they would do it and I haven’t exactly been a problem customer. I’m trying very hard not to bail, but if it goes up again in the next five years they’re going to lose me. The other irritating thing they do is bill my credit card several days before the actual due date, hence my having to worry about this hitting tomorrow. At least if I get the phone paid before the hosting hits, they can sit and stew for a few more days and hopefully I will have something figured out by then. Or I’ll lose my hosting in a few more days. Either way.

In other news: I’m about to build a FUCKING ARK. Fuck this rain. FUCK IT. I am DONE. HOW MANY FUCKING WEEKS OF HEAVY RAIN NOW. Two? Three? It’s fucking pouring again RIGHT FUCKING NOW.

It was too much of a drought in Ohio last year. It wasn’t much better the year before. So I am not used to this shit in Louisiana at all, and the ground’s too flat with too high a water table. I suspect the only reason this fucking shitbox hasn’t fucking floated the fuck away already is because the drought left the ground with some capacity to soak some of that rain up. It’s not happening fast enough, but it’s better than nothing.

The trailer annoys me because it’s $575 a month for two bedrooms, one bathroom, everything old and superficially “renovated” — not really, it’s all old as hell and shabby as hell and the one clever thing I can see is the living-room/kitchen flooring, which was salvaged from a basketball court — and no central A/C in goddamn USDA agricultural zone fucking nine. Roaches. Mice. Now probably mold. And $575 a month, did I mention. Utilities NOT included. What the fucking hell.

And Dad’s letting things be damaged and not reporting them. I am unclear on whether he glitched and forgot about the leak near the bathroom or whether he doesn’t give a shit or whether he’s scared to say anything. I mention the latter because he just got done telling me the other day that he would rent from Carrie’s son Corey, who is becoming quite the young property owner around here, except Jodi (his landlady) has been a real friend to him especially following his brain event. So it’s like he likes staying here, I guess, so doesn’t that mean he actually cares? And surely he isn’t missing that the floor’s fucked up, so the only option that leaves is “scared to say anything because what if he has to move suddenly.” It’s not like he can’t get into a different place. He’s got the savings for deposit and first month. I don’t know what the fuck’s going on there. He might not even have to leave the trailer park. Corey owns a trailer here now and will be leasing it. Assuming someone hasn’t snapped it up already.

I will say something after the rain lets up, as no one’s going to want to go under this shitbox until all the mini-lakes and baby swamps recede anyway. I realize I’m taking a huge risk if the floor damage is severe enough that we have to vacate. If worse comes to worst I will see if Doug’s okay with me selling the fucking car, getting a small U-Haul (maybe a van), driving cross-country, and moving in with him. He already invited me to come stay with him, with Dad along of course. Even if that car is only $3k I should be able to keep up with my bills for at least a little bit. It should give me time to build up income of my own somehow, too. It’s a risky idea, and I fucking hate what Oregon has become, but it’ll be my Hail Mary if something goes horribly wrong. But it beats Jodi suing Dad’s estate or something. Dad has a place to go even if the trailer park’s a no-go; he’s reserved a spot at the veterans’ retirement home not ten miles from here. Dad is just too stubborn to go there, but he could if he had to. I’m the one who’d be fucked.

In the meantime I am way too warm because he wants it 74 to 80 degrees F inside when it’s sixty degrees F and up outside. There’s a wall A/C unit in the living room but it’s unplugged. There’s another wall A/C in Dad’s bedroom — what was my bedroom last time I was here — but hell will freeze over before he turns that thing on, and then HE WILL TURN ON THE HEAT because hell’s too cold. I am going to be one suffering motherfucker by the time June gets here. Probably not even that long. I already find myself on the back porch being eaten alive because the air’s fresh but the mosquitoes like all the free food I take out there.

And Dad chain-smokes and watches TV way too loud. The TV I can sort of deal with. Maybe. The smoke tends to drive me outside in the daytime. At night there’s really nowhere to go. Nighttimes here are unpleasant, and that’s being kind.

There were a few reasons I wept when I realized I’d have to come back here.

But unless a Hail Mary situation comes up I cannot make any more relocation decisions off-the-cuff. I need to get my ass to a doctor and get some things sorted out or at least Officially Diagnosed. I need to work harder at establishing independent income. If I can get that car fixed appropriate to its mileage and amount of wear, I’ll be in a better position to sell it if need be. I could probably stand to get that fucking proofreading course done too, but given my track record so far (four years since enrollment! no time limit, at least), I don’t hold out much hope for that one.

I probably should start chatting up local relatives about building our family tree, too. I took the first step last time I was at Carrie’s. I finally installed Family Tree Maker again. Booyah.

Wish all my problems were that easy to sort out.

24 January 2024

I’ve got three days left of phone service unless something changes for the better very quickly.

I do have the option of asking Dad for money. I don’t know that he would go for it but it is an option. I’m trying very hard not to do that. I am already causing greater expense in his budget just by being here.

I’ve been realizing lately just how fucked this whole situation is. I feel like maybe some employers won’t bother with me because I have an Ohio phone number. I can’t see why they can’t just write off phone bills on their taxes, but who knows. But even if I apply for a specific job through Indeed and not through an employer site, which means they could contact me through the Indeed app, that app does not work even when I have a connection (apparently the connection is too weak) and I’ll only know I heard from anyone when I get email notifications. I don’t get those very often at Dad’s house because the signal is so bad. Trying to do anything else by phone is iffy too. If I can’t pick up cell signal I can’t get phone calls.

Landline is not an option. That rotted a long time ago and the phone company did not bother replacing it. I hate this fucking country. Throw everything away, throw people away, then complain no one wants to buy into this shit anymore. Why should we? We’re just thrown away.

I need to draw a sample portrait and advertise for drawing portraits but (1) Dad will probably get on my case about it and (2) probably no one will bite. I’ve been showing off stuff I’ve done and made for fucking months, and no one cares. I’m supposed to follow everyone’s Facebook pages, join everyone’s fucking groups, buy everyone’s stuff, and almost no one will so much as share my shit. But they’ll sit there and tell me they like it. Sometimes. When they’re even paying attention.

I’m going to do it anyway, but I’m fully prepared for my efforts to be for nothing. As they so often are.

I’m so tired.

Aha. Here’s one for ya. If any of you were offended by my Shit Laundry story from a while back, I’ll humiliate myself now. So I woke up this morning with a headache and having to pee, and then realized I had to fart, and you know how you can usually tell whether it’s a dangerous fart and should be held in til you get to a toilet? This one did not feel like that. Until I was already in the middle of it and then thought, Actually, I dunno… It ended without incident… and then I leaked. It wasn’t even a wet fart, it was a dry fart and then a leak.

Air serving as an asshole cork. Who knew?

My period’s been going for two fucking weeks and good thing, too. The pad caught most of my fart aftershock and the little bit that escaped did not soak through. Luckily because I’m on my last pair of clean indoor pants. (Not underwear. American pants.)

I am not sure what’s going on with any of this. I’m going to go with: I have been eating like shit — not eating shit, eating LIKE shit — for two fucking years now. I already wasn’t in the greatest shape from a health standpoint. I’m actively surprised I don’t have twice-weekly migraines, it’s been THAT bad. I suspect I missed out on that only because I started supplementing magnesium. I started supplementing magnesium more than two years ago because after I moved in with Dad in late ’21, I started getting insane muscle cramps. It isn’t the water. I’m pretty sure he doesn’t use water softener since the trailer park went to city water. (That happened back in 2000, another time I was living with him.) It’s all the fucking junk depleting my magnesium. Which I already wasn’t eating enough of in my food. And I’ve got gut stuff going on. I suspect my gallbladder has given up the ghost, just going on symptoms. I also fit the profile. Not that fair, but white and definitely fat and well over forty. My core muscles are fucking trashed. I probably have rosacea. And my knee has been acting up since I fell on concrete at Elizabeth’s place. I can sit on my knees and be no more uncomfortable than usual, I can walk okay, but trying to straighten my left leg from a seated position makes that knee crackle, and sometimes it hurts when I walk. I don’t dare check my blood sugar — the strips are expired anyway but I know I won’t like what I see and I can’t do anything about it. Mister Multiple Decade Diabetic In Kidney Failure refuses to clean up his diet, opting only to eat less of it, and his doctors mislead him on what cleaning it up means in any case. Like, this isn’t 1980 anymore. The science does not agree with you. Quit feeding us bullshit. But him making bad choices means I have to eat bad choices. I’m not the one buying the food. I could be working full-time right now and he’d still fuss at me if I bought the food. I’m supposed to be saving all my money. For retirement, apparently. In something like seventeen years. On shit wages.

I said I was tired, right

Confirmed something I have suspected since I came back here. Deborah is here doing her biweekly cleaning, and she asked me if Dad had ever told Jodi about the leak. Leak? Either the washing machine or the toilet, she says. She can tell it’s been soaking into the floor. I knew the floor was different from when I was last here, but it never occurred to me Dad might not have reported it. Dad had told Deborah a while back when she first alerted him that he would let Jodi know about it and from what it sounds like, the floor’s gotten worse even since then. So I get to go talk with Jodi. Dad isn’t exactly demented, but his thinking’s gone a little funny around the edges (even for Dad) since October, and he will forget things you wouldn’t expect to forget. I’m concerned. I don’t know if Jodi will need us to vacate while this is getting fixed. If the floor still seems solid enough, and it kind of does, maybe she’ll just need to get the leak fixed for now. If she decides to redo the floor too, who knows what’s going to happen.

Won’t fucking happen this week probably. It’s raining to beat the band. There’s some standing water in the trailer park already, and this is just day one. We’re in for at least two or three more days of this nonsense. If it were normal rain, we have skirting and it’d still be dry under the trailer but that’s probably not the case right now.

One thing I absolutely hate about Louisiana or anywhere in the Deep South is the everfucking tree roaches. They at least do not normally take up residence. They just sneak in from outside to look for snacks. But they’re big and they’re horrifying and they give me the heebie-jeebies every time I see one. Well, I’ve seen three in this place since I got here. First one was ON MY BEDROOM WALL. To be fair, I had just moved into the room not a week before, and either it had been in there a bit with no one bothering it and then freaked out when it realized I was there, or it just happened to sneak into the house and that’s where it ended up. Dad keeps roach spray around. The stuff works. I almost feel bad because they don’t die quickly, but I can’t have that running over me when I’m sleeping or crawling onto me in the living room or whatever. It’s irrational but there it is.

We also have mice. I haven’t seen them, but at the same time I was freaking out over Roach One, I could hear movement in my room in the closet area that really couldn’t have been anything else. I think I’ve scared them out of there, but now there are mouseturds in the oven drawer. You know, the one below the actual oven where you keep baking sheets and like that? Yeah. Dad keeps some pots and pans down there and Mousie has taken several dumps in one of the skillets. I have to take everything out of that fucking drawer and set traps if I want this to stop. I have to wash pots now before I use them just to be on the safe side. If they’re pooping, they’re peeing. Unsanitary all around.

I’ve been in sort of a mode of wanting to cry about my general economic situation again. You’ve seen some of that in this post. I know some things I can do to maybe move in the right direction but have been dragging my feet. Here are two things I definitely need to do:

1. Get the goddamn car in to a mechanic. I have the number, Carrie has helped me confirm it is the right one (she’s got his wife in her contact list), and so now I just need to get the ball rolling.

2. Get on a reliable internet connection a lot more often than I do. Whether that is at the Iota library or whether it is at Carrie’s place. Either way. I need to apply to jobs regularly, and I need to hype up my stuff for sale regularly.

I just feel like this is all going to be for nothing.

It’s like I stopped existing and no one’s ever going to see me again.

As a weird postscript, yesterday Dad and I did some running around. We stopped at Walmart for some groceries and Dad’s Social Security has already come in, so he did the thing he does sometimes near payday and got a bit generous, and asked me if I still like to read. We were passing the media section. He pointed at the books and suggested I find one or two. At first I wasn’t sure I’d see anything I wanted but as I was walking back to the end of the aisle I had started on, I noticed a new Stephen King novel, Holly (meaning part of the same series and universe as Mr. Mercedes), and Mark Manson’s The Subtle Art of Not Giving A Fuck. Oh, what the hell. I’m still peeved at King for capitulating to the genderdorks but Dad was paying for it, not me, and I’d gotten Manson’s book at the library ages ago and thought it looked interesting but had never gotten around to finishing it. It seems to contain some useful (and realistic) pointers for reconfiguring my stinkin’ thinkin’, so I picked it up.

King’s an ethical wuss (also probably eating-disordered with some weird prejudices toward meat-eating people, which is odd as I’m pretty sure he’s not vegetarian) but has always been a good storyteller, and I got through Holly in an evening. In one chapter, the wife of a man Holly is interviewing is reading the same Manson book I had just acquired. In another chapter, it is mentioned that Holly owns a Columbus Clippers hat. Columbus as in Ohio. The story does not take place in Ohio. Pretty sure it’s in Illinois. (I’ll look that up one of these days if I’m online and remember.)

So, like, what the fuck was that about. I don’t know why stuff like this happens. It’s not often, but it’s always weird when it does.

I still think my time here’s temporary.

I have no idea what that means yet.