14 May 2024

Late last night I got a notice from Carvana that the payment process was complete. I couldn’t tell from my end when I logged into Chime. Old Me from three years ago might have been furious and panicky. Current Me thought, Well, clearly some signal has not come all the way through yet. Let’s sleep on it.

Good call. The deposit was in this morning.

Tanked up on a couple cups of coffee, then cooked breakfast and while I was doing that, Doug called. It was nice for once to not practically put my head through the window or have to sit outside in the humidity just to continue the conversation. Also, now that I have more of a clue about speakerphone, juggling manual tasks and a phone call is SO much easier. The upshot of the call was:

– My niece should be in baseball (fuck softball)

– Doug and I have both more or less given up on Dad. Even if he were to come around — about anything, really — neither of us would trust it

– Breakthrough. Just about everyone in my life wants to ignore what I write and come ask me the same fucking questions I already answered. The lightbulb has finally gone on for Doug and he realizes it’s there if he wants answers. I don’t know who got a hold of my brother, but I like what’s going on so far. Could they tackle everyone else who knows me, too? That would be fucking fantastic.

It isn’t that I don’t want conversation, it’s the deliberately pretending that I don’t choose that avenue of expression and basically having the position that my words don’t matter unless they get to control how I share those words. Man, just quit doing that. It’s never going to work and it wastes time.

So maybe there’s some hope there. Good timing, I suppose.

He’s heard from Thea again and Thea is pulling this shit of “don’t tell my mom we’re talking.” Doug told her that of course he’s going to let me know how she’s doing, and she just sort of accepted that. I told Doug flat out that I was glad she was doing well but that she acts like this and I haven’t hurt her at all, that my worst offense is not going along with the gender stuff. I opined that it’s probably the anxiety. He agreed that she definitely seems like a super anxious person. But he has also told her that he always has space for her if she ever needs a place to go. WHERE ARE THE ALIENS AND WHAT DID THEY DO TO MY BROTHER

I’d like to get to the point I can offer her that too, but it’s nice to know someone in the family cares.

I had hoped to get at least half my stuff mailed today but apparently L is really super busy. As much as I hated Matt for always dicking me around when I needed to talk with him about things — and at least part of the time, he was dicking me around — I suppose in a weird roundabout way it also taught me patience. The reason I needed to hear from L was I needed her mailing address. Can’t leave til I’ve shipped my stuff. Will not count on anyone else to do it. Lesson fucking learned. Sad part is I honestly think Carrie would have mailed things for me if I had promised to send her the postage and then followed through. But I’d rather not find out and I’m imposing on her enough already. Anyway, toward the afternoon, L and I finally connected. I have to mail the stuff tomorrow, but I know where it’s going. It is in Carrie’s SUV with my luggage-wheelie-cartlike thingie ready to go.

(Want to hear something sad? I used to be a lot more patient. I don’t know what happened. If this is a trend in a better direction, I will endeavor to keep it going. I don’t like me being impatient. It leads nowhere good.)

I did find out something interesting though! There are actually two stops in Lafayette where people can depart on buses. One of them is right north of I-10 at a truck stop. The arrival time in Medford is exactly the same, BUT, that one departs at ten-something in the morning. I wouldn’t be dragging Carrie downtown after sunset. COOL. I will run it by her and then get the damn ticket before it gets crazy high. They will go up to about $500 if you wait too long. If she nopes the morning bus, the evening bus is still an option and then she’s the one who said go in the evening and I’ll feel a lot better about it.

But in the meantime, as I have this additional time, I have run into an interesting quandary. The baggage size limits on Greyhound are stupid. They are actually smaller than for the airlines. I wouldn’t care because I don’t have a huge amount to travel with, but my laptop is half an inch too wide for the carryon, which must be 16″ on its largest dimension. That’s not going to work.

But I have this external hard drive, see. I could move all my shit over to it because hey, it’s got a lot of room, and then I could keep the external drive with me, and I could put the laptop into its carry bag which is really slimline, and then chuck that whole thing into the checked bag. Wrapped in my Sophie blanket, probably. I would be the one putting it on the bus; I don’t think they put any of that shit through x-ray machines. If they do now and they ask, I’ll just tell them the truth. Whatever they “recommend,” I’ve got to pass muster with luggage size. That’s THEIR fault. I don’t acquire my fucking computers based on whether they will fit on a fucking bus. I don’t know anyone who does. Anyway, I’ll use a luggage lock. I had to order a carryon bag from Amazon and I went ahead and got a lock for the checked bag while I was at it. Don’t need to lock the carryon. Though my iPad will be in it. I can’t let both computers out of my sight.

(Isn’t that pathetic? Homeless, mostly broke — that two grand has already been whittled down to Just Under Two Grand — and owns two computers! I wouldn’t be able to get jack shit out of them if I sold them. I wish well-to-do people understood how much the secondary market fucks the poor. Pawn shops are only one part of the problem. I once sold a pair of 14k gold earrings set with amethysts, diamonds, and emeralds to a JEWELRY STORE, not a pawn shop, and made $25. In I think 2000? My god. It immediately went to gas in my car. I miss those earrings.)

Point is, if I really bore down on it, it’d take me a few days to accomplish the file transfer. Good thing I’ve got time to kill.

Okay, I want to take a shower in the morning. Doesn’t mean I will, but I want to, so I should go to bed. I’m running out of steam anyway. ‘Night.

13 May 2024

Got up, showered, found that Brenda had arrived. “Hope I didn’t wake you.” I had thought I’d heard Stanford, but maybe it was her. Wasn’t a big deal, I hadn’t stayed awake for long, so I said no.

Went to Jennings and dropped off the rest of my donations, including the backpack. Observed that they’re open from 1pm to 5pm on Sundays. Oh well. Despite me dragging a little (considering my sleep had been fairly good), I had gotten off to a pretty good start timewise, so no great loss. Went on to Murphy’s and got gas for Car-car (my stupid nickname for the Sonata) for the last time. Just ten bucks because I’m not giving Carvana my fucking gas money.

Went back to Carrie’s and after a bit, she and Brenda climbed into Carrie’s SUV and we all hauled outta there. I had put the car paperwork on the passenger seat when prepping to go to Goodwill, so I had everything. Gasp.

The rep helping me out at Carvana had her just-older-than-newborn baby with her and was pleasant and helpful. Got to see cute baby and also not be dicked around. That was nice. The only slight hitch was she couldn’t scan the barcode under the VIN in the doorframe, but you can get around that by typing it in. And… I’m getting the full $2000. Apparently. She said to give it one to two business days.

I have felt naked and vulnerable all day since. It’s weird knowing I have to ask for rides now. That was so much of my life and I never wanted to be back here again.

We went to Carrie’s sister’s after Carvana because the sister is either in north Broussard or south Lafayette and I think it’s the former. And wasn’t that an enlightening conversation because apparently the sister knows Dad too? And finally it came out because both Carrie and her sister are of the opinion that Dad went to Montana because Carrie got married. It was one of those lightning “I KNEW IT” moments. Carrie talked a little more about it than she had previously. Apparently, at one time, Dad had gotten to the point of trying to control where Carrie could go and what she could do. This was a complaint I heard from Reba at least a couple times, and I bet if I asked Mom I would hear the same thing. Hell, just the other day he was trying to tell me how I was supposed to angle my room fan. Dude, let people fuck up once in a while. Or, don’t just assume they are fucking up, because we don’t all do things the same way. Some questions have definite answers, some don’t.

The sister (I’m sorry I can’t remember her name) feels Dad just wants to be alone to drink himself to death, which is interesting because I’m not sure she ever actually spent that much time around him. But that’s also a thing I hear from multiple people. Will anyone do anything about it? I have mixed feelings about that too. My first impulse is “fuck no, someone intervene so we can fix him,” but no one’s ever figured out how to fix an addict. When they get fixed, they decide they want it for themselves. If you could change a person’s mind, like literally alter their brain, wouldn’t that violate their rights somehow? I don’t know what the right answer is here. I suppose it depends on why he’s an alcoholic. I don’t think even he could honestly answer that question at this point.

Oh and guess what? I’ve been grumbly for a while because he sold his nice old trailer to Rafael? He didn’t sell his trailer to Rafael. He gave it away to him. Signed it away. For free. We’ve been living in that shitbox because he gave away a multi-thousand-dollar home because he didn’t want to watch his best friend be married to someone else.

Right but I make all the shitty decisions in life

And he fucking lied. I’m 99.9 percent positive he told me he SOLD it to Rafael.

And from what Carrie says, he wasn’t taking care of it anyway. The ceiling in the master bath was falling in — that lovely master bath with the Jacuzzi tub — and he wasn’t doing shit about it. That put me in mind of the mushy floor in the master-bathroom shower and the way a tree fell on the other end of the trailer during Hurricane Rita and you could see the water damage through the hallway wall — the plastic wall covering was rippling. I don’t get how someone becomes a Navy senior chief and then does not take care of things, and at that point he still sort of could — if nothing else, he could hire it done. Nada. Fucking… He’d have a decent place to live now. I do not understand that man.

Came back here, got to talking about luggage and Carrie’s got some pieces she doesn’t use and it turned out Stanford had some extra stuff too. So right now it looks like I have the checkable suitcase, which rolls, thank you very much, and also a wallet because I wanted a leather one that zips around and Stanford had bought one that he ended up not liking. I am not sure about the bag they suggested for carryon. Reason: I want to keep my document pouch on my person. We’ll work that out. I still have that gift-card stuff to spend (I am not sure I can take it out of state, so why chance it) and sixty in cash. One bag in the dimensions Greyhound allows won’t be a big deal.

Have been disgruntled because I had hoped that Chime would deposit the Carvana money early, but no such luck. Carvana has told me this evening that they completed the payment process from their end. So it’s tenterhooks time. I need to notify the OMV (Office of Motor Vehicles — Louisiana’s name for it) that I sold the car and I’m a little afraid they will want me to pay them something. As it is, I owe GEICO thirtysomething bucks, prorated for this month. If OMV doesn’t fuck me, that’ll be okay. I just want to get this shit SORTED. The OMV’s tab is staying up on my browser until that money comes through.

Have looked over possibilities for travel AGAIN… like, given where all the stops are, why do I have to go to Medford? I have tried starting in Lafe. and stopping in Sacramento and getting on a different bus to Crescent City and that option’s not available, not even through FlixBus, which does the last leg of my trip to Medford. Make it make fucking sense. So I had best leave it the way it is.

It is looking like I really have to leave here at the evening departure, though, which seems to usually be around 9:15. It’s the only way I will make the transfer to the Crescent City bus in anything like a reasonable amount of time. And if I wait til the day prior to get the tickets, they’ll be closer to $500 than to under $300. It may be that it’ll be as late as Saturday or Sunday before I can take off. Which I have already explained the situation to Carrie, and she’s fine with that. She gets back from Corey’s on Friday afternoon anyway.

But it’s fret fret fret in the meantime. I WANT MY MONEY

I miss my car.

I don’t miss the bills associated with said car, though. Because that’s the other thing that would have sunk me.

Okay. I had to rip this out of myself and you don’t want to know how long it took. Bedtime. Zzzzz.

12 May 2024

Dad did me the favor of taking a nap early enough that I was able to do what I told Carrie I would do in a text to her this morning and get over to her house by early afternoon. The most hair-raising bit was getting my stuff out to my car. The front door was squeaking, you see. I decided it was better for Dad to have to contend with a few flies than for me to have to contend with a big fight if he got up in the midst of my moving-out, and our usual practice with groceries had been to leave the door open until we’d gotten them all inside, so that’s what I did this time too. It helped that once I had the things out the door that screamed OBVIOUSLY MOVING OUT, what I had left was entirely reasonable: the trash bag I was taking out last thing. No problem. I left the note in the previous post on my bed with his housekey and mail key, and I beat feet.

Carrie had advised me that she was visiting her mother but that “you know what to do” — I’ve had a standing invitation to go over to her place whenever I need the internet, which meant using her hidden front door key to get in. She showed me where it was. I had maybe taken her up on it once ever because I feel weird going into people’s houses when they’re not home, but this was a special case. Turned out I didn’t need to unlock anything. Stanford was home and the door was open. He was a little surprised to see me but I explained the situation and then he seemed totally cool about it. I know for a fact he bitches about people behind their backs (I’ve seen/heard him at it) so I am not taking that at face value, but I also don’t plan on being here long enough for it to matter, so I played along.

Got the rest of my parcels in. Made sure everything I needed to donate was in the car. Set up the car paperwork left out where I will see it tomorrow when I go sell the car so that I don’t leave it behind, because that is exactly what I would fucking do and furthermore, I wouldn’t realize it until I’d passed Scott or something. Oh my fucking god.

Nasty storm after I got settled in — it was like it was just waiting for me to get here. Darkened sky, lots of thunder and drama and nonsense, rain blowing HORIZONTALLY and at one point we could not see the trees across the road. Got a little hail too.

Found a page on Greyhound’s site listing the size limits of carryon and checked luggage; found that Matt’s backpack is too large and nothing will make it not too large. Earmarked it to go to Goodwill in the morning. Mixed feelings about that. It’s a good backpack. It did come from Asshole, though. Probably better off rid.

Not sure if Stanford and Carrie are still sleeping in different rooms, meaning him down on my end, so am not showering tonight though, fuck, I fucking need it. This humidity has been fucking killing me; I’m not surprised it led to an almost literal shitstorm. But I mentioned Carrie’s central A/C, I think? It’s nice and comfy in here.

And there is a body pillow on the bed! I will wrap it in my Sophie blanket. That’ll be nice.

Goodbye Dad

Don’t get excited. When I left, he was fine. This is just what I left on my bed for him, with his keys.

And if anyone has any fucking questions, I photographed the fucking thing, too.

12 May 2024

Dad,

Yes, I’m gone.

I wanted to wash the sheets before I went, but the situation didn’t seem to allow it. I did at least remake the bed [with the other set of sheets].

I also wanted to do that trash can swap for you, and then I thought about it. And then I got mad. I don’t want to keep doing and undoing and redoing pointless things for someone who turns around and calls me slow and stupid and doesn’t even like me.

Your words (“I don’t like you”). And no, that wasn’t the B&C [bourbon & Coke] talking. I don’t think I could ever believe you actually liked me. You just happened to say the quiet part out loud that one time.

And now we need to set a few things straight because there won’t be another chance.

I know and understand a lot more than I let on. Two reasons. One, you often get angry for irrational reasons. Two, everything I say you have got to get nasty about it. If I am just going to be told I’m stupid, there is no point. And the actually stupid part is, sometimes you are dead fucking wrong, and I find myself nodding along or yes-sir-ing or saying nothing because there is no point. You will not be persuaded.

I am not stupid. You hate my smarts. You cannot possibly come up with a good excuse for that. I did not force my brain to be like this. It’s like hating me for having two arms. You know, you are no dummy yourself. You need to find better uses for it than putting people down, or slowly poisoning it.

About the job thing: I am not leaving because you wanted me to work. That is an entirely reasonable request. I am leaving because you said “do something” and when I did, suddenly it was “no, not that something.” You literally wanted me to leave for having no job when I had a job. You didn’t say I had to make five hundred a week. When I was last here and said I couldn’t settle for low wages, you thought I got too big for my britches. Now I’m bad for making low pay. You know what? I don’t need this. I am under too much pressure already, and the people who should be in my corner want to take potshots at me. That is bullshit. I never did that to you and trust me, I could have. You gave me lots of material.

You lectured me about your post-Navy working life. Yeah, I had a job right after the Army, too. It lasted two years and then the Army made my husband move. The number of times I lost a job due to a man is not zero and is greater than one. I also had more responsibility for my children than you ever had for yours because women have to pay for someone to mind our kids. You were pretty much constantly employed. I was out of the workforce for 17 years. Do you really think I had the same chances in the job market as you? Based on what?

My situation is worse than you want to believe. I could make $50k a year for the next 17 years, which is how long I have, and it would not be enough. Maybe if I only lived to 70, but not otherwise. Your side of the family might only make it to 70 or so, but Mom’s tends to get into the high 80s.

And I can’t make $50k a year, so there’s that. I’d be lucky to crack $25k.

So, two things are true: (1) I need to retrain into something higher-paying. (2) It needs to be something a sick old lady can do, because I will not get to quit.

And don’t act like this is some special failing on my part. Lots of middle-aged women go through this. The only ones not suffering in this way are some degreed professionals (lots of them are broke too) and women living with a man. That is not “doing well.” That is walking a high wire without a net. These women don’t have money either. Their boyfriends and husbands do.

I should have been able, two years ago, to work through my grief and then figure out a game plan for my situation. Matt was sending me $600 a month. It was the perfect time. You just could not let go of your burning need to boss around the stupid person. You think you’re angry? You have no idea what I have been carrying around for fifty years. I had to burn through resources I should have conserved, like my car, because you got mad every time I looked at a screen. That was not “help,” Dad. That endangered me. If I were half as stupid as you think I am, I would be dead now.

As for your grandchildren, I only “lost” one of them, and you can thank my ex’s family for that one. Would you have helped me get a lawyer? No. I never lost custody of the other, because for once Matt didn’t do the asshole thing. Lazy, I guess. She was almost 17 anyway, which puts me well ahead of you when you ditched D.R. [my brother Doug] in 1992.

How much of your beef with me is just anger at yourself?

Probably a whole fucking lot.

I can’t help you. Only you can, and you won’t.

Enjoy your solitude again. Wear your Life Alert.

-Dana

11 May 2024

Late last night or in the wee (ha ha) hours of this morning, I got up to pee and did my thing with the lights off except for the bathroom nightlight and as I was first lowering the raised seat to pee I thought, “Huh, someone had a hell of a shit… there’s a big skidmark in there.” Then, as I was flushing and starting to lower the lid, I realized the “skidmark” had a particular familiar shape. Oh hell no. Blinked on the light just a couple seconds and… it was a dead tree roach. And here’s the fucking mystery. Did that little shit (see what I did there) fall into the toilet and drown? Did Dad spray it and then drop it into the water? Inquiring minds don’t really want to know. I PEED ON A TREE ROACH, Y’ALL. That’s all that needs said.

This is likely the last full day I’ll be at Dad’s. Not trying to be dramatic (no, really), just giving a heads-up to the grand total of five fucking bots who ever read this. Anyway, I’m within sight of the goal. Given what’s going on around here, I probably won’t be able to do laundry before I walk out, but it would be weird if Carrie didn’t let me use her facilities if I asked. And I have a plan for making sure that pretty much everything gets done and that I won’t be left with dirty clothes in my laundry bag, now that I’ve had to trot that out again — I can travel with some clothes dirty like that, but I really wouldn’t want to.

I have an appointment with Carvana in Broussard (Lake Charles was not even an option) on Monday at 1pm. Had I thought things through a little bit better, I might have gone later in the day, but it is just as well because I-10’s traffic between Lafayette and about… I’m gonna say… Scott? westbound is ridonkulous starting at about 3 or 4pm and it’s not fair to do that to Carrie even if her SUV is more up to the job. I may have actually hit the sweet spot without even trying, because I have a couple things to do before we go over there. I have one more Goodwill dropoff to do if I can’t get it done tomorrow (my bet’s on no), and I really should wash and vacuum the car, which I may or may not get done tomorrow and thus wouldn’t have to do it Monday. But I at least have wiggle room for both on Monday, if need be, if I get my ass moving in the morning.

Back in ’99 after I got Mike arrested and was suddenly homeless (but spare-bedroom- and couch-surfing), I spent a lot of time writing out to-do lists. I find myself doing that again. I’ve done it a few other times between then and now, but always in times of crisis. I write to-do lists in times of crisis for the same reason I hate getting interrupted when I’m working on something: I just fucking KNOW I will forget something important and fuck it all up. Of course, I’ve also had to rewrite said list a few times because I kept realizing I was forgetting important things. I cannot fucking win.

But I’ll do the best I can. I can’t do anything else.

The two things I dread most about this situation are seeing what they actually pay me for the car and then paying to mail a bunch of packages. AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUGH

But I hit the deadline in time for the $2000 quote. I don’t TRUST it, I’m sure they’ll find some fucking reason to drop the offer by about eight hundred fucking bucks, but I think I could even get by on $1200 okay for the next few months if I play my cards right. I’d just rather not have to. I think that if I get paid somewhere between $2000 and $1500, I’ll be okay for a while. If I get the $2000, for sure I will get a bicycle on the other end and then I’ll REALLY be doing well. It can be a Walmart bicycle (yep, they have Walmart in Crescent City). I’m not picky.

I’m not looking forward to paying for the packages, but carrying them in is going to be even less fun. What I might do is just take in two or three at a time to give other people a chance to go through the line. If there is no one else in the line, it won’t matter. If there are people, it’s a win-win situation. Carrie might even be okay if she can sit in her SUV in the air conditioning playing her phone games. I miss having a countertop scale and a printer at home, though. Those may be things I spend money on when I’m earning. Having it ready to go is a huge help when you have a lot to send.

I still haven’t told Dad. I think I have already gone over why I am not telling Dad and even if I haven’t, I’m not in the fucking mood right now. I haven’t been sleeping well. It isn’t even that I feel bad about leaving here; that emotion is more like smoldering aggravation that my one option up til now to not wind up sleeping in my car through an Ohio summer was to move in with a guy who’s a dickhead when he’s drunk and not much better sober. And everyone applauding me for being there for him. The only reason y’all were so damn happy is it didn’t have to be you anymore. There is every chance you know him better than I do. Do you not feel any obligation to look after your neighbors, despite a very clear standard in the Bible that that is exactly what you should be doing? Whyever the fuck not? I mean, I don’t follow the Bible, but most people around here claim to. I’m still waiting for the fucking evidence from like 99 percent of them.

Well, I have some bad news for you. It does have to be you again. Good luck with that.

And, real talk, I know y’all WERE there for him. Maybe not always as often as he needed, I guess, but enough to keep him alive. And thank you for that. But how about not acting like “WHEW I GET TO UNLOAD THIS INCREDIBLE BURDEN ON YOU NOW”bruh, your “incredible burden” involves you walking into his house every once in a while. You haven’t had to put up with his mood changes and irrationality. And drinking. Did I mention the drinking. Y’all had the option of refusing to visit him if you knew he was drinking. Me, I had nowhere else to go.

Until now.

Oops.

I’m not sure whether he’s guessed, though. He hasn’t said as much, but a little while ago he gave me a used prescription bottle full of quarters. Did you know that the normal-sized prescription bottles are just big enough to house ten dollars’ worth of quarters? He was telling me that the other day. The way he gave the bottle to me this evening was weird. He was watching TV, then he got up and shuffled to his room, then next thing I know I’m $10 richer, then he went back to watching TV. Like… does he know? Because ten dollars’ worth of quarters is indeed a useful thing to have when you are traveling by bus. Vending machines, y’know. Even if he thought I would be driving, the same is true of rest areas on the Interstate. I dunno. I have given up trying to figure him out. I am not sure it is actually possible.

I should say, it was more like $9.80 richer. He accidentally put a nickel in with the quarters in the bottle. No skin off my nose. I have several quarters of my own, so I swapped it out. He was definitely right about the ten-dollar capacity, though. That’s cool. Lots easier to handle than a paper roll around a stack of quarters.

Speaking of coins. I really need to see if I can find a Coinstar around here. I hate them because you have to pay a fee, but in a pinch they are highly useful. Unfortunately, I don’t think the Jennings Walmart has one anymore. I wonder if the money services people have a similar machine behind the counter and would be willing to use it for me? It benefits them too. If I even remember, I’ll try to ask. My penny collection has gotten the fuck out of control and that’s just extra weight to carry.

Revising a bit what I said yesterday:

1. Yes, I’ll be leaving some things here after all. Pretty much innocuous. I didn’t want to, but I’m already tired of lugging things around. I’m leaving the document shredder, the purple photo and document boxes I kept pics and memorabilia in (moving the boxes to California is out of the fucking question — I was a more efficient packer tucking their former contents in with other things, and here’s hoping I don’t ruin any photos), and maybe a couple other things. It won’t be like last time, at least.

2. I may get to the end of the gift card balances before I’m done with my last Walmart errand here. I need some kind of rolling luggage with a handle on it, and I need a wallet. I have now shitcanned the purse I got here two and a half years ago because it is fucked, quite frankly, and I also do not feel like juggling three bags when I could just have the two, and only one of those to deal with during the actual trip. My wallet (it was closer to a pocketbook, I guess, in size?) was fucked too. My luck it would have fallen apart or something and anyway, it wouldn’t have fit in my pocket, not even the ones on those cargo pants.

The backpack Matt gave me is fine for a carryon. I’ll double-check the Greyhound site to make sure, but I don’t see why not. Bonus, it has water-bottle pockets. One on each side. I will also stash my laptop and my iPad in there (don’t get excited; I bought it four years ago and it’s one of the original Airs) so I can keep an eye on them.

The funny thing about the purse is that I cleaned it out before I tossed it, and… there was thirty dollars in my fucking purse. Not in the wallet. In the PURSE. In one of the two main compartments. A twenty and two fives. I have no idea how it got there. So I had forty-three in bills (more in change), and then found thirty, so now I have seventy-three. WEIRD. The most likely explanation is I already had that thirty and then forgot it was there. If Dad is being the Money Fairy now, I have no idea why. My bet’s on “no.” Me forgetting things and him being vague are not a good combination. A couple times I’ve jumped right to the conclusion that he stole something, only to discover I’m just a fucking fanny. I’ve been right about him taking something of mine one time. Just once. Found it right where I expected it to be, too. It was absent-mindedness, not larceny. So if I’m usually wrong about him when it comes to things disappearing, I can’t automatically assume he is making things appear.

Ugh. Let me pack the last of the Goodwill shit in that last box and then crash. I really should get things out to the car because he’s in bed now but, real talk, I am not down for any more tree-roach encounters. I will have a bit left to do in the morning, so if he’s up then and I have to wait for him to nap, I’ll have something to occupy my time. That is not a bad thing. Ni ni.