02 March 2024

Everything did indeed go down today but should be back up by now. When I write these entries sans internet connection and then upload them later, I usually timestamp them 23:59, but I’m actually writing this at nearly 11pm, and I got this sorted out hours ago.

It was a Facebook friend. I put out the call asking if I could borrow $35 from someone on-list. Paying it back this coming week should have been no problem if I can run some food deliveries. Cindy responded and informed me that the $40 she sent is a gift and that I deserve it. I have no idea why I would, but I’m not going to look a gift horse in the mouth. I may plead temporary insanity and repay it anyway. That will depend greatly on how this upcoming week goes. Or I could just take the blessing for what it is and get to work on paying my insurance. Which will be late again — it’s always due on the fifth and they allow me about twenty days overdue before they’ll cut me off — but if I play my cards right it’ll be less than a week late this time, which is much better.

Hey, so next month it could actually be on time! Wow!

Doug is now following my Substack. He has mentioned at least twice since the festivities started last fall that he doesn’t have the whole story on me and Thea, and if that wasn’t a big ol’ hint then I don’t know what is, and I meant to write out the story on the Substack anyway, so two birds with one stone. I guess he finally got around to reading it? I must have sent the link to him two or three weeks ago. I also know he’s busier than a one-legged man in an ass-kicking contest, so no offense taken. Someone in the family could stand to be fucking listening to me by now. No one’s really wanted to up ’til now. Might as well be him. I guess we’ll see how that goes. It will also be fantastically ironic if it goes well. He was always the one getting pissed off and punching me when I ran my mouth when we were kids. Oh well.

Dad wants to go out and buy a small chest freezer tomorrow. I will not be the one driving him, since no way in fuck is that thing going to fit in my car in its original packaging. It might have fit if taken out of said packaging, but no one wants to wrestle with that in a parking lot. We’ve got the spot in the house picked out and everything. I half expected him to stick it in my room, because that’s the room it was in when he had one before, but he owns a shop vac now that he didn’t have last time and probably ruled it out for that reason. Fine with me. It gives me some wiggle room. I’m using that tray table and a folding chair (this is probably the one thousandth time I have mentioned the fucking tray table) as a desk setup now that I can just fold up when done with it and put it out of the way. I could get a real desk at some point, but I dunno. I actually like having the extra space. I don’t feel so hemmed in.

I think every day about how shit my diet is and how I can finangle it around to be better. That’s going to be a work in progress for a while, and mostly in my own head. Maybe having the freezer will help, I don’t know.

I have to talk about this and I haven’t wanted to. One more thing to not stick on the social media. Speaking of food. I don’t know what the fuck’s going on with me. I used to have a decent appetite. Even the last time I was here at Dad’s I had a decent appetite. That is shot now. Kerblam. I can eat, but if I’m not careful I end up feeling stuffed like a tick, and it is not a pleasant feeling, and it doesn’t take much food to get there.

Probably my gallbladder has kicked the bucket. I fit the demographic: fair (if they mean skin), fat, and (over) forty. The nasty feeling seems to most often coincide with higher-fat meals? I need to pay closer attention to that. I certainly get the runs after higher-fat meals, which is another sign. We’re not talking better regularity, we’re talking almost have to tape my ass cheeks together to make it to the bathroom. Not every time, but often enough to be notable. So yeah, could be gallbladder.

It could also be something much, much worse. I’m not in any abdominal pain and other than what looks like rosacea on my face I think my color is okay, so I am not going to try to borrow trouble. Nevertheless. I am aware of possibilities. We’ll leave it at that.

I still miss Ohio. Mostly the missing comes out as clear visual memories of driving around town, or visiting some of my favorite haunts. I am not allowed to want things, and I want to go back there, so that probably means I never will. I certainly can’t do it before I’ve got decent income. And at the rate I’ve gone, if I do go back I might wind up having to buy a house or something. I don’t know if there is some kind of registry landlords use to tattle on tenants the way banks have ChexSystems to tattle on check-bouncers. And is it a real eviction if it happened during the month-to-month period? I never should have taken that fucking apartment. I should have stayed at InTown Suites in Dublin. I don’t know what the fuck I was thinking. If I’d had just a little patience I could have gotten into that place over on Broadmeadows and been paying more than $300 less rent a month. And that would have been my utilities, probably. And no one sticking their nose in my business as long as they got paid timely. It wasn’t like the sticking the nose really helped anything.

Boy that went off on a tangent. I want to go home. The end.

I told Carrie I’d be sticking around. I probably will have to. I can’t see any way this gets better. I’m treading water, and one day I will drown. And everyone will say I was no-account and deserved to drown, and they’ll all get on with their lives like I never existed. What’s the fucking point, anyway? We just get ground under in the end and it makes no fucking difference.

But if I find some way to go back, I probably will. At least there will be more to do. Want to know why rural people get so hateful? They’re fucking bored. There’s work, and it usually sucks, and then there’s nothing at home but crap food and fucktarded TV shows. It’s no wonder drug use is epidemic down here. If you can’t change what you see, hell, change how you see it. But that doesn’t work terribly well. So it’s be ragey at everyone because at least it gives the brain cells something to knock up against. They gossip and backstab for the same reason. It’s really sad. I don’t need to be caught up in this mess for the rest of my life. I want to do actually good and fun things with my life. Thanks anyway.

“Rural people are hateful?” you ask. “I thought Southerners had good manners.” Oh, sure. They are old pros at covering it up. You are better off with a rude New Yorker. He’ll still get your car unstuck from a snowbank in January.

In other news, I’m starting to want to try to date again. God, no. I look like shit and I am completely poor. But I think about it anyway. It does not help that an ex-boyfriend of mine lives down here, probably less than thirty miles away. It’s a good thing he’s married (he met her after we broke up). Incentive to avoid him. Because I think that if I did try to look him up and if he weren’t married, it might actually get somewhere. Just as well. I think if we’d stayed together long enough he would have eventually found me ridiculous and ditched me. They tend to do that.

Not too big a mystery why I’d rather moon after Scotsmen, innit. A whole ocean away and completely inaccessible. Keeps me out of trouble.

Okay. Bedtime.