Yesterday was headache day apparently, and I should have gone out later when I felt a bit better but I also hadn’t gotten enough sleep due to being awakened by the headache. I don’t like driving when I’ve not had enough sleep; I like driving in the dark when I’ve not had enough sleep even less, and sunset comes early now. So I got out there earlier today to try to get ahead a bit. I’m not ahead nearly enough for my comfort. It went pretty well today, considering nearly all my runs were midrange or stinkers. If I get about $1 per mile gross, that’s pretty good. I surpassed that goal.
I didn’t mention but I applied, or sent in sort of a pre-application actually, on a local employer’s website Friday night. So obviously, I’m not going to hear back until tomorrow at the earliest. It is possible I may not hear back at all. If I do hear back and they actually hire me full-time, it’ll be decent wages, at least. They’re based in Dublin, so if I got the full-time hours I could either find a way to stay in Dublin or I could move southeast to Clintonville, or at least to north Clintonville/ south Worthington. Hard to believe with prices doing what they’re doing but there are still some affordable units out there. Mind you, they’re normally in older buildings. As long as the neighborhood isn’t a war zone and someone’s staying on top of the bugs and repairs, I’m good.
But that’s me getting ahead of myself, which I am wont to do. I don’t know what I get so excited about. I will undoubtedly fuck it up again.
Doug called while I was on a run. Picture it: Sicily, 1922. I’m in this neighborhood I’ve got little experience with (some, not a lot). Uber’s GPS has fucked up and sent me turning down a side street when I should have gone straight. I’m trying to pull up Google Maps, because it’s usually more accurate. Customer has started texting me to explain how to get to her place. At the same time, Doug’s trying to call. All on the same screen at the same time. Doug rang twice in less than a minute, mind you (or so it seemed: new phone quirks?). Being noped once wasn’t enough, apparently. Fortunately my course correction was very short and Doug finally gave up, or I might have veered straight into a meltdown.
The timing of his call versus my post yesterday is a bit too convenient to ignore. Well, in one sense. Was quite happy to ignore it in the other sense.
I have had plenty of time to go over all sorts of past shit in my mind over the past two years. A lot of it’s been about Matt and Thea but face it, a lot’s been about my general family situation too. I want to talk about it here but I can’t get up the arsed-enough-to-bother right now. If I had to sum it up in as few words as possible — and for me you know that’s a monumental task — it would be “when it comes to dealing with me, nearly everyone I know insists on snatching defeat from the jaws of victory.” I’m so fucking easy. (Hell, I used to be easy in that way, but of course that’s not applicable in this context.) I really am. Sit the fuck back and chill, don’t talk like an asshole, don’t lie to me, don’t make promises you won’t (not can’t) keep, don’t assume stupid things about me that aren’t true, don’t tell me I’m bad for the most minimal shit. I’m so tired of this. Why do I ever have to explain this? I’m NOT a princess. I’m NOT high-maintenance. You fuckers are all just high-damage. Could you stop it? Fucking finally? Just go away? You won’t stop being human bulldozers, so go bulldoze somewhere else. I’m fucking tired. Enough already.
I don’t get how I’m the one looking for drama where there isn’t any. I would not even be in this mess had anyone ever, at any point in my life, been fucking capable of accepting me as I am. Even Doug. He wanted this perfect big sister who always entertained him and kicked larger boys’ asses for picking fights with him. Someone he could kick around in turn when his life was shitty, with zero consequences to him. How dare I have any issues with that whatsoever. I should have just shut up and done what I was told. You know what? Pay me back the money you fucking owe me and apologize, SINCERELY, for all that shit. It was still going on when you were old enough to be tried as an adult for murder. Don’t “we were just kids” me, fucker. And my parents? My being so quiet at three years old that their friends didn’t know they had a kid was a PROBLEM for some reason. I was basically Dream Kid, with a few weird habits and aversions thrown in. I remember Reba beating me once for waving goodbye to her as she left for work (after lunch?) when I was supposed to be taking a nap. No way of knowing I wouldn’t have laid right back down — I remember that day. I was still actually in my bed. They always assume the worst. They have from day one. Or they’d lash out and I’d be the punching bag. Dad once left a bruise on my arm about the diameter of a baseball. My memory may be exaggerating but I don’t think so. I remember it turning green as it healed. I’m still scared of him now. I could probably knock him flat now without half thinking about it, and his anger still sets me on edge. That is so fucked up. Oh sure. Cry about what a terrible daughter I am. Fuck off.
I said I didn’t want to talk about it. This isn’t really talking about it. This is grousing. But I’m gonna leave the rest aside for now or I’m really gonna get ugly. I already look ugly. I don’t need to help it any farther along. In a nutshell: Fuck all y’all.
Maybe not Mom. She’s trying. More like I’m curious to see if she really will send the guitar. I lost the blanket Chaise’s grandmother made me. I’d like something else of his. But I don’t have much faith it will happen. I wouldn’t ghost her over it, but I’m also not assuming nothing else will happen that I would ghost her over. Like I said. Snatching defeat from the jaws of victory. Nobody knows how to just be normal with me. I don’t get it. It’s always got to be the bullshit sooner or later.
I don’t know what I did the other day but I was trying to update the homepage and I lost like one-third of it. I need to go back and fix that, which I will do when I get done here.
 Never mind — I’ll get to it when I get to it. [/edit]
I have these weird moments. Like brain glitches. I’m pretty sure I had one the night I fell on my face in July. There was no reason I should have tripped that hard, but I did. Not long before that I was having major issues trying to park in front of my place. It was like the lights were not all on in my head. This isn’t a regular thing, but it’s got me skittish anticipating it getting worse. I’m not sure if my brain glitched with the website or just fat-fingered something. That’s a technical term, by the way. I am not sure if it’s actually possible to do it with a physical keyboard, or even if that’s how it happened. Could be I mishandled the trackpad. But the maddening thing is not knowing.
It makes it so much worse when people are being shit with me and then notice me glitching and take advantage of that. Went through something like that when I left Mike and lost Sean. Which is one reason I’m not panicking about it happening now. It is just my brain refusing to cope with the reality, I guess, or just me not having enough spoons to keep all cylinders firing because I’m using up too many by freaking out. But I hate my brain being like that. I don’t want the glitches. I want things to work right. It’s one more reason I get so angry when bullshit starts.
I think I’m coming down with a cold. Grumble. I hope it’s a cold. Flu’s going around and COVID never completely went away.
I’m still going to deliver, incidentally, because I have no other choice. And as I wouldn’t have caught this thing if you sick fuckers would stay the fuck home, I don’t give a single shit if that bothers you. Don’t want to deal with plague rats? Don’t be a fucking plague rat. Good talk.