my boring life story

Went and did the scutwork today. A part of it is running to the dump; neither Neighbor nor L seem to use the municipal trash service and, given how far back each is from the road and how difficult it would be for a garbage truck to turn around in either scenario, it’s just as well. Neighbor already showed me the ropes once and we were due to have another session with me driving the pickup, but we had that thing last weekend that got in the way after meat-sorting night came two days late. So it’s two weeks’ worth of stuff, some of it meat wrappers. Yeehaw. But that’s okay. He hasn’t paid me for today yet so I suspect it’ll happen tomorrow. I told him it was more like two items than three because of distribution of things so we’re probably looking at $20 for the week unless he pays me for helping on the trash run too. I won’t push. We’ll see what he says.

Water went off today. It’s well water so this was some mechanism fucking up. Mac fixed it though. It’s nice to know the handyman and not have to go through a landlord.

He also chatted with L about replacing her car. She calls it Enya and I asked her about that today. She said, “Because it’s Caribbean blue.” Ah ha ha ha ha. So we’ll be seeing a vehicle change soon, I imagine.

I miss my car but I don’t miss the repair bills it would have racked up. At least I don’t have four ginormous doggos to transport.

I didn’t mention here, but I cut my hair yesterday. Needed it. I got clippers, one reason I wound up broke again. But I won’t have to pay for a haircut again. I’m sorted. I’ll take it. I look weird with short hair, but I look weird no matter what and I look a hell of a lot worse with my hair hanging down all thin and stringy and half in my face. When this grows out maybe a quarter inch it’ll actually look pretty good. I just have to keep on top of it now.

Neighbor messaged a little while ago. One of the things we get often in the meat sorting is smoked salmon. He and I both like it, so we wind up splitting it. (L also uses it to feed her dogs sometimes, I’ve noticed.) This time around, some of it was warm. He decided to chance it, so that’s what the message was about. He reported that he ate it and felt fine. I said it was probably the being smoked — I mean, that’s why they smoke salmon. Though I realize these days we aren’t using the old-fashioned methods, mostly.

But it’s weird how once in a great while he’ll chat at me randomly like that. Not often enough to get excited about, just the occasional bit of me going “…okay?” in my head. I wish we could have conversations. I realize he’s probably talking to umpty billion people though. L being one of them. But you know me, I don’t go where I’m not wanted or welcome. That way lies misery and I am never doing that again.

Watched Practical Magic this evening for the first time in years. I’m not usually a sucker for the romance genre but I love this film. I better be careful or I’m gonna start going around starry-eyed for no fucking reason whatsoever.

Oh, and side note. Matt’s second wife and I once got into a brief dispute over this movie because I happened to mention that the book story and the film plot are almost two completely different stories. She insisted that no, the film follows the book. What gets me is she’s a college grad with a master’s degree and yet she’s obviously illiterate, senile, or a liar. And this was more than twenty years ago. I wouldn’t be so harsh but she put me through some shit and I’m still a tad bitter about it.

(Another thing, and I can’t remember if it was this week or last week, about Neighbor is that I had to step away to dump some yucky stuff off to the side during the sorting and I came back to find a pack of steelhead in my stuff. He knows I like that too. I’ve said before that I think of him as a kind person. And yet he can seem so indifferent most of the rest of the time. I don’t get it, but I’m probably not meant to get it. Either things will come more clear over time or they won’t. My bet’s on won’t.)

Well, the good news last night was it definitely was not just me and Neighbor, so there was no chance of him asking me about the weekend. I am not sure he would have anyway, but he definitely had no time to do it in that circumstance.

The bad news is there were five fucking people doing the meat-sorting. Me, Neighbor, Mac, and then this woman and man I don’t know. Not that I know any of that bunch, but these were totally new to me. That wasn’t the bad bit. The bad bit was it was constant chatter and chaos, and I’m still learning the ropes. I’m better at sorting than I was when I started and I often don’t need Neighbor’s help to decide where things go, but there are still things I forget or pieces that I’m not sure what to do with. And it was very hard to ask questions with everyone running their fucking mouths randomly.

On top of all that, people kept not asking what boxes were for before putting things into them, and I got the distinct idea someone thought I was misplacing one particular category of sorting-boxes out of stupidity or something. No, hon, it’s not me. I cannot keep track of what YOU are doing if you’re not paying attention either. There’s too much racket and too many fucking moving parts. Period.

But I suspect Neighbor was nearly as overwhelmed as I was. Or possibly more. I haven’t known him long enough to say for sure. There were signs, though.

One of the newbies handed out gloves when we started and seemed hypersensitive to things possibly having gone bad and also spent an inordinate amount of time organizing box halves that are just going to get knocked down again anyway so I have a feeling she might not be back. Fucking hope not. I don’t hate her or anything (I keep feeling like I have to specify this, as people will assign horrifically negative emotions to me that I’m not actually feeling), but she doesn’t get it at all. In fact I’d actually be a little worried she’s gonna blab about the whole situation to the wrong outside party at some point. Probably not, but I have a feeling the risk is not zero. And I hope I’m wrong because if she does blab, ten to one they won’t trace it back to her and they’ll fucking blame me instead. If the timing is all wrong (say, if I’ve just had an argument with L or Neighbor, hypothetically), that’s entirely possible. Not looking forward to it.

Mac had a car full of people and Neighbor got things put up quickly because suddenly he has a ton of freezer space, so Neighbor drove me home. Normally we have some kind of chit-chat. This time not so much. I thought, Well, if he starts a conversation, fine, but I’m not going to make the effort. I can’t do this, y’know? I can’t keep pushing back against polite indifference. Or any sort of indifference, actually.

I’ll say this for him: he does thank me for the help. Rare beastie as far as all that goes. Most people never even notice I’ve done anything, except to the extent they are not yelling at me for NOT doing it. (That was one thing that really pissed me off about Matt three years ago. “You don’t do anything around here,” meanwhile I’m organizing his fucking kitchen. Oh sure, right, those shelving units are INVISIBLE. You fucking clown. God, if you’re not going to notice, don’t TELL me you didn’t notice.)

But the indifference continued today. There was two-thirds as much scutwork available this week as there was last week. He messaged me a little while ago to say he was going to do it. So that’s no money for me this week and I’m in the hole. Not very far — if I need drink mix later this week, I can still get it, as I’ve got four bucks and some change available in SpotMe — but I don’t want to go FARTHER into the hole. If I had known he was going to pull this shit, I would have put off buying certain things this week. I’m angry, and I can’t even tell him I’m angry because he wouldn’t care and I’d be the only one hurt in the end. He’d probably decide I was too crazy to employ any further, or something. I wonder if any of the bozos I’ve known in my life (I am not branding him one yet, but God, he’s tempting me) understand how much I bend over backwards to spare their fucking feelings when they don’t actually deserve it. People look at a woman being outspoken and just assume we’re bitches 24/7/365. Oh no. I pull my punches. I always have. It’s a matter of survival, and I don’t like being an asshole anyway. I know this because every time I’ve been an asshole I spend some inordinate amount of time afterwards trying to justify to myself (and often others) why I had to do it. If I felt good about it I wouldn’t be doing that.

I have an idea for going forward with the scutwork, though. I think I will suggest a price per item and then max it at $100 a week. I think that if I do that, I won’t lose any more work going forward. It seems, also, to be a lot healthier response than just fuming. Hell, he might even be impressed. I’m all about the win-wins. Okay, just sent that to him. We’ll see.

Meanwhile, I have extra time this week to take care of some other possible income sources. I need to do more writing, for one. For another, I need to get the art side of things more sorted than it is… it’s pathetic. I have already put out a call about portrait work. I’m equipped to do smaller portraits that I can actually ship out. I just need to set up the Etsy listing now and I’m good to go. I’m not even going to wait to have something finished to put up. I will just put up examples of my works-in-progress and then we’ll see. And that’ll be another interesting litmus test for “friends.” Will it get a like? Will it get a share? Will I ever hear anything back at all? Dun-dun-DUUUUUNNNNN…

And while I’m at it I suppose I’ll do some paid surveys or something. At least to get out of the hole. That’d be nice.

Some good news: L and I interacted. It was friendly. That’s a relief. I won’t hang too much on it, but I’m not being told to go to hell so I’ll take what I can get.

—

[edit] What do you know. He’s agreed to the new terms. In fact, he only did one item, so I have three left. $30 > zero. I win.

I mean, I actually thought he was being a bit too generous with the $100/week thing. I wasn’t going to argue if he was willing to pay it, but I think he wasn’t expecting to have a slow week on the stuff to process. So this lets us both save face, I guess.

You looking at this, Matt, you asshole? I can fucking negotiate. If you had ever tried that, just ONCE.

Oh well.

I feel a little better than I did. I can’t decide if that’s just being tired of being sad, like your arms getting fatigued when you hold something up for too long, or if I just needed time to sort of unconsciously sort myself out.

I think what really pissed me off about the dinner diss the other day was that there have been zero opportunities for me to hang out with people on a friendly basis without feeling like I am intruding. The dinner would have been a great chance to do that and, hell, even chat with some radfems. L put on this great show when she was insisting I sign up for We The Women of saying that it was a great way to meet radfems. Here was another chance to do that and I was denied it without even any prior consultation. And I have no idea why. If people are too busy during the normal course of the week and then people are shutting me out of social gatherings, what the fuck am I supposed to do?

Making friends at my age is really hard; making friends at my age with my mental limitations, whatever those are, might as well be on the fucking moon. I could try anyway, but another problem I have is the general political situation. It’s not like I know anyone around here enough to trust them to bring them around to visit. For all I know I could pull a secret troon who’s scouting for L and Neighbor so she knows which houses to burn down. It really is that serious. So any socializing I would do would have to be away from the house and probably also in a place that costs money, and even if I had money most of the time, and I don’t, I still wouldn’t feel comfortable doing it because you can’t fucking trust anybody. Even without the potential danger there’s potential High Amounts of Irritation if we have to introduce ourselves with fucking pronouns every time we get together (as in, if I started a Meetup for knitters or something, which has occurred to me).

I mean, I didn’t come here to be ignored. I don’t go anywhere where people are in order to be ignored. It isn’t about status, it’s about just having a normal life again. I wouldn’t care if these two people were complete nobodies; if we were in the same situation but they were blue-collar workers I’d still have certain expectations. Especially as I’m not getting paid for anything but the scutwork job. If this is about not making friends with “the help,” if you’re gonna make me “the help” and nothing else, I want a salary and Social Security taxes. If I’m not gonna get that, take the situation as friends (or at least mutually friendly people) doing nice things for one another and let’s fucking get on with it. One or the other. Shit or get off the pot.

But, hey. If this in-between bullshit is what it is instead, then this is what it is. Additional incentive to get my shit together, I guess: knowing that I’d be able to move somewhere that people actually wanted to have conversations with me. And not just when sorting the meat is boring.

I’m not sure if that place even fucking exists, but I suppose it’s worth a shot.

—

It’s nothing I have to rush unless L decides to kick me out. So far I’m hearing no definite signs that will happen. It occurs to me it would be the epitome of foolishness to throw away this opportunity to get my shit sorted. I don’t believe I am going to have another chance like this unless I cohabit with a man again and that man has a job. The chances of that happening are probably even lower than me getting fucked by Rory McCann. (Which, be fair. I would happily throw away any prospect of future marriage or long-term cohabitation if I could take that man for a tumble. It’s just not going to fucking happen.) So I’ve got to sort it. This is not a bad thing. It will just be a difficult thing. But it’s my own fault. Had I had my shit sorted 30 years ago, hell, I wouldn’t have even married Mike. Might be I’d have found a better guy to marry and actually have an intact family by now. Missed my chance on that. Should not miss the chance for an at least passable retirement. That would just be ridiculous and tragic.

So I still need to play dumb and lay low and also, I need to buckle down. I’ve been lapsing back onto Facebook and there’s really no call for it. They have my fucking contact info if someone really wants to chat with me. If they don’t, I guess I know where I stand. I’ll have a list of names I don’t kick off my friends list when I finally stick my head above the fray for a breather. They’ll be all my recent Messenger conversations. Convenient, that.

(Okay, I’ll make some exceptions. Not many, though.)

I’m just scared, y’know? The other problem with people being inconsiderate flakes is you literally can’t trust anything from them. I can try to make a contingency plan, but it could all go south tomorrow. Thank fuck Doug is just up the road, but even that’s no guarantee of anything; he is also a fucking flake. So… I dunno. Keep putting one foot in front of the other, I guess, and slogging it out and hoping it’s enough.

—

Weight’s down three more pounds. Don’t know if that’s a real drop or just a fucking fluctuation. I’ll try to keep a closer eye on it and we’ll see.

Should test my sugar more often, but I know what it feels like to have it high. I’m pretty much okay from what I can tell. I suppose I could at least do a daily fasting until the strips all run out. I’ve about given up on that high-tech meter. I honestly think it’s too high in error. The control liquid does not prevent that; its “accuracy range” is just too damn wide.

Another metric: I’m noticing deflation in my second chin. I hate to think this means wattles but unfortunately, I think it means wattles. I’ll get that sorted or I won’t — there is nothing wrong with aging, but I’ve looked like shit for years. I want AT LEAST five years where I do not look like shit. Same goes for my body. I’m feeling the deflation there, and there’s going to be loose skin. At MINIMUM it will be where the stretch marks are, and I’ve got plenty. That shit’s got to go. I want five fucking years. I will figure the fuck out how to pay for it.

But first, the actual weight loss. That seems the most pressing thing at present.

Working on it.

—

Well, I guess tonight’s going to be sort of on time? (Meat sorting night.) But it occurs to me I had better get some sort of hands-off lighting for when the days get shorter.

I wonder if I’m going to get questioned about the weekend. If Mac’s there, possibly not. I hope Neighbor’s not expecting some sort of confessional because it’s not happening. I don’t ask him a billion questions about himself. I only really need to ask one right now, and I haven’t even done that. And I won’t. Let me be an old misery and leave me alone, dude… you’ve got what you want, except for your central political cause, but that’s not all up to you anyway.

Oh well. Would you believe it’s taken me all fucking afternoon to write this? Well, it has. So there.

I suspect most of you who read this regularly (hi) already see me on my real-name site and on the social media, so you know what happened between last post and now, but in case you missed something, let me fill in a little bit.

—

So Wednesday was a late night. Called it. Wasn’t all bad, and I don’t mind being at Neighbor’s anyway; one of the reasons we have these weekly get-togethers ended up happening while I was there and I got front-row seats. Then, I was looking at his wall art again and realized that one framed work comprised a grid of tiny squares. Cross-stitch! Not just cross-stitch, a large and really intricate and detailed piece. Expressed my wow and Neighbor said yes, my mother did that, and it took her a year, and such-and-such other pieces on that other wall are hers too. I had looked at the stuff on his walls before, but I had somehow overlooked that. My hat off to her (she has since passed on, and I am not sure when, and in some ways it’s still fresh for him, so I don’t pry). I might manage something that cool one day but I doubt it and anyway, my son wouldn’t exactly show it off to friends years after my death, would he. My daughter certainly wouldn’t. Neighbor’s mom was an awesome woman or Neighbor is just a really loving son. Could be both. Who knows.

I always sound like I am trivializing this shit.

I never said I was a good writer.

I just wish I’d been better. That’s all. Not at writing, I mean. No one gives a shit about that anyway. Well, a few people, but you might say I’m extremely niche. More niche than Neighbor’s writing, and that is saying something. Really though, I wish I’d been a better person, and most of all I wish I’d been a better mom.

—

Thursday L’s two pregnant friends from out of town arrived for the feminist event this weekend. I had been wondering all along whether she’s so distant from me just because she’s introverted, but no… it really depends, doesn’t it. She jumped RIGHT into the role of Devoted Honorary Auntie-To-Be and also talked their ears off. For their part I suppose they seemed nice enough. I’m not sure they knew what to make of me. Fair do’s. I don’t know what to make of me either. No one does. I think I’m just a placeholder if you want to know the truth.

I had had the paid scutwork at Neighbor’s and left from there to go to Walmart because I was nearly out of coffee and drink mix and was circling the drain financially, but I had a few bucks and felt I’d best spend it wisely. While in the store L messaged me wanting to know if I wanted a ride to pick up the pregnant ladies and then (I think this was immediately after) to go to the feminist thing and check in. She was surprised I hadn’t known what time check-in was. Didn’t I get the email? I just looked at it right now, and there isn’t one fucking thing about being there at 4pm, which she seemed to be heavily implying. It all worked out because I had begun walking back when she came the other way and saw me, so I got the ride after all. But I knew it didn’t sound right, the 4pm thing, and now I’m pissed all over again that she’s basically called me stupid for not reading something that wasn’t even in a fucking email. Not so I’d go on a rampage, just one more fucking thing to tally up because shit has just been weird.

—

Yesterday was all right, I guess. I’ve written in more detail about it on my Substack (if you know me, you know where that is; if you don’t, it’s not important) but one thing I didn’t mention is this: I’m tired of every fucking feminist thing being about trans. I GET WHY IT IS, but Jesus Christ, you only need so many of us to be fighting about this 24/7/365 and for the love of fuck, we need SO many other things to be going on AT THE SAME TIME. And the stress from this, from the ridiculousness of having to fight to name our own reality over and over and over in the face of totally unreasonable hostility and violence, is just making us crazy. We’re still not wrong that “trans women” are men. But we’re wrong when we blame leftists for a thoroughly right-wing movement and we are wrong when we say that because “they” are wrong about gender identity then “they” must be wrong about COVID measures or whatever and we are wrong when we say that we need to make friends with Republicans in any real sense. Especially the ones who’ve voted for Trump, like, ever.

And it was like I’d never even interacted with some of the attendees who I’ve been connected with on Facebook for a while. Lynn was the most disappointing. We’ve video-chatted before, goddamn it, and she knows some of what has been going on with me and Thea and, until today, we were still Facebook friends. I don’t need to be worshiped or coddled or centered or anything but the absent-minded “oh hi” shit and then wandering off or not carrying on the conversation like she finds me irritating or something? God. Most of them that I talked to weren’t that bad but none of them wanted to exchange contact info either, and I was half relieved because I’m tired of having to explain over and over how to spell my name. I need TERF business cards or something.

Or not.

L had mentioned at some point that she was going to take some attendees over to Neighbor’s house to meet him; his writing niche is one this movement butts up against and quite a few of the participants are aware of him, because he gives more than half a shit about the welfare of women and girls. Good little mama’s boy, that one, and in a good way (or so it appears; I never take this shit 100% at face value anymore, I always expect to find out they’ve got feet of clay), and so he’s not an unfamiliar name. But when I heard about this I assumed L would just take them over a few at a time and that’d be that.

And then after several times of her disappearing throughout the day, I caught her back on-site when I was getting tired and had been almost dozing off during one seminar (or presentation or whatever they call it) and asked if she was going back to the house. She told me she was taking people to dinner at Neighbor’s but she could drop me off on the way and oh, it would be awkward to turn around with cars behind her so could she drop me at the mailbox intersection in the neighborhood? Sure, I said, going numb. No problem.

By the time she dropped me off at the mailbox with like three cars behind her all going to Neighbor’s having to pause behind her to watch me doing the walk of shame away from her car like the bad little girl who had to go to bed without supper, I was fucking done with everything.

So ensued a pretty bad evening. I got lucky. One of the very few Facebook friends besides Dawn who ever checks up on me happened to get a whiff of something amiss and messaged me directly to invite me to traumadump. I’m always a little suspicious of that sort of thing too but hey, if nobody in my face-to-face life wants to be my friend and I’ve got no therapist because they’re fucking insane and I don’t have insurance anyway, I had to put it somewhere.

She thinks it sounds like either Neighbor didn’t want me there or L didn’t want me there. She seems pretty invested in the idea that L is into Neighbor and came up with it independently of me; she asked me if L maybe knew about my “history of poly” and maybe that bothered her. Well, I’m glad to know I’m not the only one getting vibes off that situation — and this woman’s never even met the people in question. I could just be presenting it weird, I don’t know, but I have a feeling any dispassionate observer would be seeing the same things I’m seeing and that at least one other person is now seeing thirdhand just from the little detail I’ve gone into.

The thing I feel like, in general, and I don’t think I have spelled it out very far until now, is that L has some sort of unrequited thing for Neighbor and doesn’t want to say so because the movement they’re a part of is more important to her and they already lost their co-author from the book that kicked off the whole thing. There’s probably a certain amount of camaraderie involved in co-authoring a book; I don’t know how much it hurt to lose A (he fucked off over the trans issue), but I would imagine quite a lot. If she’s got a thing for Neighbor, and if it didn’t work out, that would be so much worse. I say “unrequited” because as I mentioned in another post: lack of PDA. And Neighbor talking about his testosterone shots weeks ago and about his doc asking him “would you like to ever have sex again,” not “would you like to ruin your sex life by quitting the shots.” Different background assumption for each question; phrasing is important. There’s a disconnect there. L doesn’t fucking like it. Am I making it too obvious that I like Neighbor? Probably. I am probably almost never as subtle as I like to think I am.

And that’s the only reason I can think of that she’d be so cold to me, because she is. Even when we do have conversations — yes, she always uses a nice, light, conversational tone — it feels like she’s holding me out at arm’s length and only saying as much as she has to in hopes the conversation will be over with soon. Over and over I get the vibe that I’m “the help” and I shouldn’t expect anything like friendship because I’m “the help” and I’m not welcome to eat at the same table because I’m “the help” and I don’t get to participate in the fun stuff (like the dinner at Neighbor’s) because I’m “the help.” I never got the impression that she was like this with anyone else. Certainly no one’s warned me about her. But then she hasn’t exactly announced who her “help” is this time around, either, and if I did spell out in a public Facebook post that I was living with her, she’d probably give me grief about it. Hiding me? It could be a security measure because she and Neighbor catch so much shit for their activism work, but… that doesn’t feel right. That’s not all of it. Could be she’s been like this with past “the help” and she doesn’t want them warning me.

This is probably all just bullshit and wild speculation. I’m ugly. I’m a loser. I look like a nightmare with my clothes off. I have absolutely nothing to offer. Hell, L and Neighbor could actually be together and are just conducting their relationship in a highly unusual way. Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve seen that happen. But if I’m right, if I’m mostly hitting it on the fucking nose, let me just say for the record that I am beyond tired of women who are more beautiful than I am (and she is; short silvering hair, no makeup, turning sixty this year, and fucking all) but feel threatened by me. WHAT THE FUCK. Guys NEVER go after the uglier woman because they actually want her. She’s a distraction. She’s a fucksock. That’s it. And those things are all I’ve ever fucking been too.

—

I didn’t go back to the feminist thing today.

I got some good things out of the one full day I went but I knew I did not want to spend one fucking moment in that car with L and her fucking friends who watched her walk-of-shame me the night prior and were now acting like absolutely nothing amiss had occurred. And I didn’t even know who’d been in the three cars behind them, so for all I knew I was going to get stupid questions at some point as well. What do you even say to that. “Uh, well, I’m nobody, just The Help, and L doesn’t want me around Neighbor except to do scut work for him or else he might want to fuck me as a side distraction and we can’t have that, CAN WE.” Land sakes. Fucking no. So it’s just as well.

I will tell you what though, they were insistent. Because that’s not mixed signals at all.

You have two options, L ol’ buddy. You can start treating me like a human being or you can stop playing dumb about why I don’t want to go do recreational shit with you.

There will be no third option.

I must admit, I’m mildly irate. I spent $185 to waste my fucking time and be humiliated. I would rather have that back and get a bicycle with it. I knew it would be nonrefundable and I’m not going to fucking bother about it. I’m just tired. Everyone please just fuck off.

—

The other thing Facebook Friend and I talked about was S. Okay. Given my druthers I’d go for the big man. He’s in Scotland and married and even if he weren’t he can have any damn woman he wants. That was never on the table. As far as men I actually know I’d go for Neighbor instead. Assuming I don’t find out something about him that puts me off my feed. Him being involved with L would do that and basically at this point I’m assuming it’s a done deal just to save my sanity. So Neighbor is off the table. But S has been a bit weird with me all along and I’ve kind of been wondering about him around the edges.

FF says she likes S better. Nice eyes, she says; pleasant face, she says; then random choice remark speculating about something else, etc. Now me, I’m a sucker for a man with a nice voice. S does not have a bad voice. S has quite the acceptable voice. Neighbor has a beautiful voice and big man’s voice makes my underwear elastic suddenly three sizes too large. I don’t need the gorgeous deep voice to make me happy though. It’s just a really nice extra.

Neighbor seems a lot kinder. S seems… a mite self-promotional. I suspect that in the long run I’m going to find he’s a giant walking ego. I also suspect I am not much better than he is, but I’ve seen what happens with men and giant egos; I had better not excuse myself into a bad situation.

I have to wait til next month to even meet him and I’m a mite impatient about it. I don’t even know where that event’s going to be. I know it’s at someone’s house and I doubt it’s at Neighbor’s and that is all. Though with all the bears the invitational flyer is boasting, it could be at Neighbor’s. I kind of hope so, because then I could walk it. I will probably have to, in fact, because by then L will probably be fed up with me.

You know what, though? It might not be a bad idea to flirt a little openly with S while that’s all going on. Because unless he turns out to be utterly repulsive in person, I would probably flirt anyway BUT, it will have the extra added benefit of putting L at ease if she sees it or hears about it. It’s a bit Machiavellian (OH MY GOD I SPELLED THAT RIGHT THE FIRST TIME) to want to maneuver things like this, but I also don’t want to end up homeless, so if I’m not by then, I’d like to push a few buttons to make the situation more secure. Once everything in my fucking life stops redlining and I can get a damn breather, maybe I can re-assess.

I have a feeling it could work out in S’s favor anyway. He’s going to be in Victoria, at least for the fall and winter, I think? Might as well entertain him while he’s here. I doubt he’ll kick up much of a fuss.

I’m assuming an awful lot.

Never mind.

But definitely, paying attention to him during next month’s event is a good idea. Even if the only thing that happens is people think I have a crush on him (and I may well do, by then), that may be enough to take the pressure off me. And maybe he’ll enjoy it. If it looks like he isn’t or like he doesn’t give a shit, of course, I’ll back off.

—

Whatever happens I think it’s safe to say this whole adventure can be chalked up to one gigantic FAIL. I’ll be amazed if it turns out I’m wrong.

Okay. I think L’s in bed; I hope she’s asleep. I need to clean up my supper leavings…

Well I suppose you can chalk me up to being at-risk again. I never completely stopped being there, of course.

Got a message from L saying “please don’t talk about my personal life on Facebook, I need to be out of the public eye.”

The offending post? Mentioned Neighbor coming over and them being in video meetings. No mention of specifics, organizations, purposes, or anything else. I don’t even call them by name in my posts.

Gasp.

If she thought that was an invasion of privacy, then if she sees this, she’ll shit. So, I am going to remove the link from my real-name homepage and play dumb. I’m also going to change my posting nickname here, but it’ll take a while for the Google search propagation to change, so I’ll remain high-risk until it does.

But there is still a risk she’ll find out some other way. So I’m going to play dumb, be business as usual, and then when I get enough money saved up, make plans to leave. I don’t know yet where I will go, but the longer I have until she melts down, the more time I will have to figure it out and the better off I will be.

I like it here, but not enough to put up with people shitting themselves over things I am not actually (effectively) doing. If I had more of an emotional investment, I’d care more, but they’re doing their level best to ensure I never achieve that. Not my problem unless I can’t get my shit together before everything blows up. It is not a whether, it is a when.

It’s like you assholes out there in the universe don’t know I learn from my experiences.

—

Also set my Facebook to totally friends-only. I also added the following to Restricted status, meaning they can see my public shit in their feed but no friends-only posts: L, Neighbor, S, and this lady from Neighbor’s and L’s organization who friended me after I applied to go to next month’s event. I’ll look things over and decide who else to restrict as I go. There will probably be at least a few more “victims.”

Trust is earned. That’s one lesson I haven’t learned up til now. It’s time I did.

—

I suppose that was a kick in the pants I needed. Just rearranged my starting tabs in my Chrome browser. Facebook isn’t even there now; I left a pinned post on my profile set to public that if anyone wants to talk with me, I’m on Messenger; if they want to know what I’m up to, they can visit my real-name homepage. I predict most of them are not going to give two shits and I’ll never hear from them again. They are welcome to prove me wrong. Of course, they won’t.

I had done a course on Coursera, which isn’t saying much because it was a free course and pretty short, but it was the basics of Microsoft Word. That sent a certificate over to my LinkedIn profile. I think what I’ll do for the next little bit is focus on getting the rest of the Office Suite basic courses done, and then I am strongly considering paying $59 a month, if I can avoid getting kicked out of here, to do the health information IT support module. With Neighbor paying me $400 a month to do some scutwork for him (I don’t mind it, even now), I should be able to spare $59. I hope. I’ll just get the module done as quickly as I can, I guess. And I’ll set everything job-search-wise to indicate that I am looking for a related job in the Columbus area. Someone’s got to bite, you would think. I have medical records background already. It may be from a long time ago, but that’s like riding a bike. The module will get me up to speed on EMR and that’s really the last piece I need because I’ve done level-two internet support before too. If I have to go on and try to get some kind of other IT certification after that, so be it, but I’ll hold out and see if some employer will pay for it for me. That seems the wiser route.

I want to go home. Only way I’m going home is if I have a decent job waiting. I’ll happily live in an extended-stay again if it means I can get out of here. I don’t hate it here and I don’t even hate L, but I know how this bullshit ends and I don’t want to be here when it does. And I’m homesick anyway. Let me be somewhere I know. Please. Besides, I know how to protect myself from bugs now. And if I stay in a better extended-stay — say, in Dublin maybe — then there’s less chance of them in the first place.

We’ll see. I have a bad habit of saying I’m-Gonna and then not Doing.

—

Well, let’s at least see if we actually hear from Neighbor tonight. The way things are going, who fucking knows. As it is, I’m not sure how I’m supposed to get in my paid time on the scutwork job this week. I could do it all tomorrow, but L and I are also supposed to check in for the weekend event. I also need to go to Walmart, which I will only be able to do if he actually pays me tonight. No real reason to think he won’t, but these people are (I say this with some amount of affection) fucking flakes and I never know which end is up with them. I still have caffeine for the next few days, at least, so that’s not a problem. But I hope no one was expecting me to give them money at the event if he doesn’t pay, because that’s not happening.

Well, if he pays me, I’ll get over there kind of early tomorrow and get the scutwork done. Normally he likes it spread out over a few days, but I won’t have the few days without transportation, and I don’t even know what that’s going to look like; no one’s talked with me about it. “Oh please go to my event” and then I’m supposed to levitate and fly there? I’m sure the fuck not walking. So unless that’s all been worked out, this week I’m going to do the scutwork all in one day. They will all live. So will I. Whatever. I may not be able to make the run to the dump, but I’m sure that’ll come up in conversation.

As much as he talks to L over text or whatever throughout the day, he could drop me a line once in a while about shit like this instead of saving it all up for Meat Day. He could, but he doesn’t. Fucking flake.

—

I just looked up the house on Sharon Avenue for the first time in months. It sold in January, apparently. I had thought someone was flipping it, because the last person who had bought it put it on the market just as I was leaving. Well, unless flakey cosmetic work looks more sound than it used to, the flooring sucks but a lot of the rest of it is really nice. I love what they did with the bathrooms, except the basement bathroom sink is fugly. And they knocked out the wall between the kitchen extension and the dining room, which I had sometimes thought needed to be done. And no more carpet on the first floor HALLELUJAH. I don’t know why they recarpeted the second floor. Bad call.

It’s just so sad. That was us and now we’re gone. I’ll never forgive that motherfucker for setting everything up the way he did. He should have left me and the girl in that apartment and left us the fuck alone. She and I were a family. It was fine. To hell with him.

I need to press forward and build something new. Can I do that if I go back there or will I be bogged down in everything that makes me sad? But I need to be somewhere familiar. I need to be somewhere I know. And somewhere I’m not likely to run into hostile people. I don’t know how I reconcile this.

Well, we’ll see how the job thing goes. I see from my searches that there are still apartments there which are not insanely expensive, and some of those are even in not-so-scary parts of town. I’ll figure this out or I won’t.

—

It’s after six and Neighbor still hasn’t messaged me that he’s even leaving for pickup. This is going to be a late evening.

Okay, actually, I don’t know if they’re fucking.

One thing I sort of overlooked is the utter lack of PDA. The closest it got was early on after I first got here when L and I first went over to Neighbor’s place and were about to leave, and I saw her scritch his back and then go to hug him. I don’t think I saw the hug; I think I turned away to give them some privacy. But I didn’t see any smooching, not then or later. It could have happened after I turned my head, but there have been plenty of other times I would have expected it and then it didn’t happen. Could be they sneak them when they know for a fact I’m not looking: for instance, when I’ve just walked out of the room. I have no idea. But I’d have seen something, because they don’t read my mind and people change trajectories and go back the other direction all the time. Something. But… nada.

Sorry but if I’m gettin freaky with a guy on the regular, I’m fucking kissing him now and again at other times, too. If he’s not into kissing, I’m not into him. It just is what it is. But they could be completely different people insofar as preferences, I suppose. It happens.

Another possibility is that with their respective chronic illnesses and injuries, it may just be too painful at this point. Though there was that bit a few weeks ago where he talked about his testosterone shots and made it pretty clear he wants a sex life. Unless they have some weird open-relationship arrangement, then, it’s unlikely they’re platonic if they’re emotionally involved.

So I don’t know what I think. I just know what it looks like.

Additional note: If they do have some weird open-relationship arrangement, I will not be participating, should the question arise. (It wouldn’t, but I’ve been surprised before so I’m covering all bases here.) I don’t fucking share anymore. Literally.

—

It may wind up being a moot point.

I’ve been wondering about Out-Of-Town Guy for a while. He has this thing of sometimes leaving likes or “care” reacts when I post my better old pics on Facebook. As in pics of myself. He did it again yesterday, in fact, when I posted an old prom photo of 18yo me in my dress. Then a female FB friend said, “You look lovely,” and Outie liked that comment. Usually when we like a comment in that context it is because we agree with it. Is this dude stealth-telling me I’m pretty? Sure looks like it. He’s also a very nervous fellow, and he’s been through a lot of shit so he may be really leery of coming out and explicitly saying so.

“Outie” is a stupid nickname. I’ll just call him S and pray he never visits here. He’s on an entirely other continent and it’d be pretty obvious if he did.

S, of course, is also the guy who shared one of my Substack articles and recommended his Facebook friends read it. I’m still gobsmacked over that. So that’s another little nudge, I think; I’m nobody, so why would he do that?

(I am not elevating a nobody guy to be better than me just because he’s a guy. This guy is a known politician in his home country and the nephew of an athlete famous in his home country. He’s been political and in politics his whole adult life. And then he goes and points people to me. I did NOT see that coming.)

Then there was the time I posted about reasons I didn’t think I’d do very well dating, and he commented advising me to be careful because everything I’d said about myself sounded awfully like an old-fashioned personals ad and that he found it appealing. I replied with, “You are too fond of peppers. It would never work.” He thought that was funny.

I dunno, I could still be misreading the whole thing. But unless something goes wrong (avert), I’m meeting him in person next month so I guess we will just have to wait and see.

—

There’s still an outside chance that someone’s just taking their time to figure out who the hell I am but is at least nominally interested. I have no idea. I have been alone for a long, long time and I get being scared of people, but I also feel it’s unfair to me to expect me to bear the brunt of that and without any explanation, either. At this point it’s going to come down to who’s willing to be braver. I need more of that. My life was destroyed by cowardice, both mine and that of others.

I’m not ready to be with anyone just yet, anyway. I’m still far too vulnerable.

—

Lots of craziness around here — I say craziness, really it’s just L being busier in the kitchen than normal — getting ready for a thing this weekend. It’s very hush; even now, and I’ve bought a ticket, I still don’t know where it is. I am not likely to talk much about it until I’ve already been to it. Too many assholes ruining things for women.

Suspect other planning is already going on for the thing next month. Although Neighbor coming over here, getting on voice chat with or without L, and doing a lot of talking and so on is fairly normal at least a few days a week.

I wish I could just hang out with people like normal folks sometimes. Seems like either they’re doing political shit, doing organizational shit, or sticking noses in computers. Somehow in the midst of that they manage to interact with other people. I haven’t figured out how that all works yet. And, especially after the psycho roommate I heard about on Saturday, it may be a while. It could be months. It could be longer. I really don’t know. L still seems at least somewhat okay with me, so that’s something.

The dogs like me. Parker got jealous when I petted the terror twins (Stevie and Spot) earlier today. I always have them to hang out with if hoomins have no use for me. So nyeh.

I’m doing the unusual thing and starting this at almost 1am instead of pretending I wrote it the previous day at 23:59 because I’m not blogging any particular day. I might write about stuff that happened from different days. I haven’t decided yet.

Okay. First up. WHO THE FUCK’S COMING HERE FROM DENVER, COLORADO. MATT, IS THAT YOU.

I wouldn’t expect it to be Thea. I don’t think she ever knew about this place and anyway, last I heard she is in Ireland.

The visitor hits in question always say “Sweden, Denver, Colorado,” which is weird, and I suppose it could actually be Sweden, but I think something just parsed an IP not quite right instead (the counter does that with me; it keeps placing me in Canada) or else someone thought they were using a clever IP masker of some sort but it glitched. I know TWO PEOPLE in Colorado (Crys doesn’t count… by her own choice). My site here is nothing anyone would ever search for. So it’s fuckin’ one’a yas.

Oh well. Insert ranty cussy insulting thing here, yawn, I’m done. The trash took itself out. Stay out. We both know you will never tell me if something happens to my daughter. You can’t even tell me about the good stuff. You made your choice, now live with it. The end.

—

I wish people cared half as much when I write about good stuff or important stuff as they seem to care when they want to dig up shit.

I’ve had — count ’em — all of two people, who I am in regular contact with, treat me like a human being about my writing. My brother looks to my writing first when he wants to know what’s going on with me instead of making me repeat myself, and Out-Of-Town Guy shared one of my Substack posts and praised it. I don’t want people praising my stuff if it is crap, but there is no way I can properly convey to him what that did for me. And I’ve never even met the guy, though I will next month. No one else I know does that for me — a few other people I talk to on Facebook are paying for subscriptions to my Substack, though I suspect that’s mostly about the trans stuff. Anyone else? Total strangers might read me; people I know, not so much unless they want to dig up dirt. I’ve never understood why, and the few times I’ve heard excuses, they fell far short on accuracy. I get the distinct impression most of them would rather see me miserable than happy. I’ve never understood that either.

I sometimes hear the argument that when people act like this towards you, it’s because they feel threatened by whatever talent they think you have. I don’t know why that would apply in my case. I’ve always thought of myself as a Rising Tides Float All Boats kinda gal in that, if my tide were to rise, for sure I would want to lift other people’s boats. If I’ve seemed penurious over the course of my adult life, it’s been because I was fucking broke. I still found ways to boost other people when I thought I could do it. Stands to reason that if the people calling themselves my “friends” had gotten their own egos out of the way, they’d have benefited too. It really is cutting off one’s nose to spite one’s face.

And if I’m not all that talented at whatever, then there’s no harm in just leaving me to it without mucking it up with dramatic bullshit. Christ knows I’ve seen any number of people engaged in creative work be fawned over by their friends when, if you looked at what they were producing, it wasn’t all that good. I feel like the world’s biggest snot saying that. And, it’s unfair because at least they bother producing. Me? I keep choking on my own self-doubt. I’m lame.

But still. When I do produce it, whether you like it or not? If you know me, stop fucking weaponizing it against me. Especially if we’re not even living in the same state anymore, like… how does that even make sense? Grow up.

—

Apparently, I have a lot to live up to. Or actually not.

Not the previous housemate but I think the one before that, or maybe a little farther back, L had one who turned out to be a raving psycho. Like actual psycho. Like either went off her meds or they stopped working and it got to the point of rape threats against both L and Neighbor and just nasty stuff in general. Yes this was a woman. No I don’t get it either. Neighbor told me about it this most recent Saturday (so, the 13th). Prefaced it with “L told you about this already, right?” Well… maybe? I got a lot of info in the beginning but I always have Stoopid Brain with new information and I need it repeated a few times. She might have touched on it. I’m not sure. And so, he told me.

The thing is I could question this and be like “why are you telling me this, is there a reason? Should I hotly deny that I would ever do a thing like that?” But, and maybe it’s a writer thing, he already sort of overshares and that’s probably all it was. I almost did say something like that, and then I thought it might be protesting too much and that I might be better off making sympathetic noises (not fake; I really did sympathize) but not saying anything specific. Because, what do you say.

What amazes me is that L tried again at all after that, which I know she’s done at least twice more, because I had a predecessor who wasn’t the raving rapey loony. But I will tell you what: the tale had a possibly unintended effect, because prior to hearing it I’d been getting paranoid that I might be annoying or something but after hearing that story, I know I’m actually a lot more on the right track than I had previously thought.

Whew.

—

I will not say everything is bucolic because, well, it’s me.

I feel like I am invading a special little world that will never belong to me. And I want my own little world like that and I can’t have it. Much less anyone to share it with.

It would help if I knew just a little more about the situation. It would make things easier. No one explains it. I don’t want to ask because that’s nosy.

(He doesn’t overshare THAT much.)

Sigh.

—

I have a sort of a job. Kind of. Will not give specifics, will say it’s not weed or anything illegal (weed is legal in California, I’m just saying). Also am not getting paid much but the important thing is I’m getting paid enough right now. Or will be, next time it’s payday. I’m guessing that might be Wednesday since the relevant work has been delayed two days. (The cycle normally begins on Monday evenings.)

It’s nothing glamorous, and would probably horrify my daughter, and it’s definitely physical. And I’m glad to do it for my own selfish reasons, and not just the money either.

No one ever said I was fucking noble.

—

I have bad news for the dudes of Dudedom: We’ve never dated and Neighbor is already raising the bar for what I expect from other men from here on out.

He has an online reputation for being prickly. He still can be in person, but mostly what comes across is simple kindness.

Not the desperate “let me buy you things to make you like me” shit Matt used to pull. Kindness. Like, basically the polar opposite of my dad, kindness. (I think Dad was motivated similarly to Matt in his “generosity,” if you want to know the truth.) Not a sucker, not a wimp, just… treats people like human beings. That’s so rare anymore. I have to sort of just stop and bask in it.

Aaand then he turns right back to L and they’re back in their own little world that I am outside of.

Man, they are totally fucking. I’m TELLING you. If I wind up in the hospital with a fucking stroke it’ll probably be because both of them told me they’re just platonic friends. But I could almost bet money. Almost. I just about would.

Maybe after this Wednesday. 🤡🤡🤡

—

(I’m not betting any fucking money on Neighbor. If I bet anything it’ll be three dollars on a Powerball ticket.)

—

I am so stuck and so frustrated on everything, generally. Up til recently I was stuck on art but not stuck on writing. Now I’m stuck on writing. I hate this so much. I want to DO something, and it’s like I’m not even all here. Oh God, something knock me loose. I don’t mean literally, I don’t want to get hit by a car or something (I walk everywhere, after all), but GOD.

—

Ugh. I’ve run dry now. Well, I’ll probably natter in here again soon. About what, I have no idea.

I wish someone would just talk with me. Like, regularly. Like, not Facebook or trans bullshit. Maybe? Hopefully? At some point?

Meh.

It’s hard for me to update anymore.

It’s not that I don’t want to. If not wanting to write were all it was, I’d just stop blogging. Even with wanting to, I often forget because other things grab my attention.

But it’s just the situation. I have to admit, I’ve got a visitor tracker on this thing. It just tells me IP addresses, which will parse to city and state/province and country and nothing more detailed than that. But I see visitors to here from California who are definitely not me, and I have to admit at least one of them’s suspicious. There’s nothing particular that I’ve been able to identify that sets off my paranoia (I don’t think it’s a condition, per se, so much as just an emotional response), but close to three decades on the internet has sharpened my ability to catch patterns. I swear to fuck, for instance, that one time I was supposedly talking to the girlfriend of a guy friend over ICQ and it “sounded” JUST like him, like he was pretending to be his girlfriend. There are tells. There shouldn’t be tells for visitor hits but hey, maybe there are and I just haven’t learned exactly what they are but am catching them subconsciously. Brains are weird.

I’m not exactly saying anything bad here when I speak of my local situation. In fact, there’s stuff I keep quiet because, well, lunatics, and I feel a mite protective of myself and other people. It really has gotten to the point where you can get into trouble for I-shit-you-not NO WRONGDOING WHATSOEVER. No bueno. So I find myself self-censoring.

But it isn’t even just about anti-lunatic measures. It’s about me having feelings and not wanting other people to weaponize them. And not wanting to make things awkward or uncomfortable. And not wanting people to think I want to take things away from them.

It’s maddening, because my life really is interesting now, at least sometimes — and in a good way, too. I’d love to leave some kind of record of it.

I don’t know if I can figure out how to do that.

Some of this is PTSD, too. I got harassed a lot the last time around. I’m terrified of shit happening again.

I hope, wherever my former tormentors are, they’re fucking proud of themselves. Know why I only seem to ever bitch about politics? You assholes wouldn’t let me talk about anything the fuck else. Stop saying you want something when all you ever do is work against it happening. Jesus fucking fuck.

All that aside…

…I’m getting very, very fond of someone.

I’ll say no more than that. You know the phrase “slow your roll”… this is me rolling real slow so I have time to figure out the situation first. Given my track record, there’s a 90% or better chance that I am misreading said situation.

Because that’s something else the assholes did to me. Made me doubt everything I thought I knew.

I’m better, but I can’t say I’ve forgiven. I probably never will.

Facebook doesn’t like it when we post the addresses of Supreme Court justices.

Oh well! Shame they don’t control my blog.

Go fuck yourselves, Facebook. Mwah.

32 years since I went into the Army. Shit has never stopped being weird and scary.

Same old Monday night thing again. Mac was there this time and had some younger woman along with him. I don’t know who she was to him but apparently she’s been there a couple times before (I am pretty sure I remember one of those times) and Neighbor remarked after they’d left that this was the third time she’d come over and she’d seemed angry all three times. I didn’t really think so, but I have shit instincts about people so I’m probably the wrong one to ask.

Learned a little more about how Neighbor’s life goes — there was this woman he and L kept mentioning and I asked about her tonight because he mentioned her again. Turns out she cleans his house. With L cooking some meals for him it makes me wonder who else he’s got on staff, ha ha. Also learned he spent about fifteen years growing pot, “but you knew that, right?” Yes, I know you wrote a book about pot but no, I’ve not read it yet. I haven’t read most of his bibliography. I keep meaning to get a particular one done via library ebook loan on Kindle but I have a sinking feeling I’m not going to finish it before the due date. Again. I just can’t fucking focus anymore. I have a feeling I sort of get where he’s coming from anyway, given what he usually writes about.

Out-Of-Town Guy went a little weird a while back and hasn’t stopped being weird… for him, anyway. Supposed to meet him when he’s in town for the thing next month and now I’m not sure I will actually care. But we’ll see. He’s moving to Victoria, meaning he’ll be on Canada’s west coast and not THAT far north of me that he couldn’t stop in once in a while. It is amazingly easy for Canadians to come here anyway. I am just gonna lay low when he’s here, though. If he wants a conversation he’s going to have to push for one. I doubt he will.

I really would like more people to chat with though. Is there a point in adulthood when that stops happening? There must be and I’m well past it. And Facebook and DMs and texting really don’t cut it.

Got a new keyboard and mouse for the laptop. The O key has been a problem on the laptop for a while (I had to superglue it back on) and now other keys feel looser and the clicker buttons on the trackpad have lost their goddamn tiny minds. The keyboard and mouse I just bought connect to the laptop by way of a USB dongle. I hate that word, it brings out my inner thirteen-year-old boy, but that’s what the tech nerds call them. Am using it in a USB port that I never use for anything else anyway. Only real drawback is the keys are noisier. I should push my bedtime back so I can limit this to more of L’s awake hours. I don’t know how well she can hear it now.

Got a “no” on MediCAL. Ten to one the cow didn’t check the document-upload whatsit. Accordingly, I have written back to ask her if she has. I will be very surprised if I hear back from her, but if I don’t I’ll just hang on until whenever open enrollment is and just try to save up enough money for urgent care for in the meantime.

Because that’s the other thing. Neighbor needs additional help related to the meat thing on Monday nights. I’ve said I will do it. That’s $100 a week. I’m supposed to go over there Wednesday and find out what’s involved and be shown how to do it. So, sort of a job. It’ll at least keep me going for a bit. Certainly no worse than fucking Uber Eats; I’ll be able to keep more of what I get.

Okay, I need to take care of dishes/leftovers and then get something to drink and then get my ass to bed. Sigh.