Month: December 2023

Note from 14 February 2024: I left this on the odd little table or whatever-it-is in the living room of the apartment my landlady evicted me from. I wasn’t going to be a problem as I was vacating, but I wasn’t going to leave without a last word, either.

I ended up neither texting nor emailing her because in the end, it didn’t matter. I figured by the time I was going to get anything important in the mail, I’d have a post office box to forward it to. Turned out I moved back in with my father several days later, so I had a real address. Same deal.

—

Elizabeth-

I wanted to clean up more for you, but you took three hours off my prep time. I was afraid that if I left to get a storage locker you might renege again and I’d come back to my property damaged or worse. Can’t have that.

So I’m actually out early but you’ll need to do a little cleaning. U-Haul closes at 7. I need the locker more than I need to make you happy.

For the record: I am neither a criminal nor a drug addict. I can’t otherwise explain your attitude beyond the rent situation. I do understand the rent situation. But things you have said make me wonder if you are afraid of me. So let’s clear that up now. You’re wrong about me. The end.

Yes I left the laser printer on purpose. I am tired of moving that thing. It works but may need maintenance. Or sell it or donate it. I don’t care.

Whatever housewares I left are yours. What would I do with them in a car?

Your relative downstairs [in the downstairs apartment] smokes weed.

I will text you once with my P.O. box and then block you. Will also email you, ditto. Whatever comes after that, that’s that.

Thank you for giving me a safe place for half a year. Not really giving, I paid for it, but you know what I mean.

Dana

I’m not posting about this separately on Facebook, though I will link to this there, and don’t count on me doing much replying right now.

I got a visit from Elizabeth today. I have been informed that my sitting up here not bothering anyone is taking up too much of her energy. I could count on one hand how many times we’ve interacted in the past month. That’s right, month, not just the past two weeks but anyway, that seemed to be the most important thing to her, even more important than the rent, which I had only managed half of. I had hoped to be able to give her something for the third week by the end of this weekend. Maybe I should have told her that days ago but we’ve seen I can’t trust people already and I had no reason to believe this was any different.

So I have until midnight tonight to vacate.

9pm. I can’t even have that last three hours. I can do it, but I won’t like it as well. More later.

I have basically no money. I have to rent a locker again or I will not be able to sleep in my car. I’m going to sell a couple things today and maybe I could get a room from that but I won’t hold my breath. I would be better served bearing down and getting a weekly room somehow. It won’t be InTown Suites. They refuse to book anyone until the beginning of next year. Already checked the site. All three locations.

So it was, “you are taking up too much of my energy” and “your actions affect people around you, you know.” She reminded me a bit of Dad there. Not so much his words as his attitude. Acting like my mere existence, not bothering them, not doing anything to them was somehow the worst possible offense ever. Look, I get it. Half rent is no good and I’m no longer on a lease anyway. That bit right there would have been sufficient reason to say “please leave,” though in her shoes I might have said “you have until Monday” given that IT’S THE WEEKEND. “I’ve been in your shoes” You got rescued by a man who sells real estate, lady. Don’t talk to me about shoes.

I said it though, didn’t I. This is the sort of woman who starts out all kind and affectionate and then turns on you. Saw it coming miles off.

I hate the way most of society ignores people like me in my particular situation but it beats being told someone cares about you only to have the games played. I’ll say it again: we have not interacted all that much. There were times I’d even ask her reasonable questions about things, and this was back when I had the Quantum job, and she wouldn’t answer. Pat was still alive at that point and that was what took up her energy. Not me. I make a great scapegoat. It never ends.

I feel like I want to ramble on about this but it will eat into my time. Storage place closes at 7pm. What a joke: it’s the one near where I used to live. Good thing I know I can handle being near the old house. It’s half the price of the Worthington unit. Wherever I end up, as long as I pay they won’t care.

Oh and if she thinks she’s ever going to come after me for my part of the electric bill, nope. She can go crying to my credit report. I literally live across the driveway from her, and not once has she said “okay I have the information together, come get it” or “can I come over with the bill, are you home.” It was “I don’t have your email address.” Well, you had it at one point. You must not have cared enough, then. Nothing I can do for you. Sorry.

I’m thinking about talking to the shelter in Delaware. It was implied I could do that after 30 days. It’s been well more than 30 days. I don’t want to be there again, but there are worse outcomes.

I also wonder if she’s the reason I got booted from the rehousing program. Which could have gotten me out of this mess. I won’t ask, though.

Anyway. Onward.

Got in a more full day today. It was still only low $100s. But Fridays have been iffy for a while.

Was around Polaris/Worthington/Westerville and there’s this one spot with this church, I’m trying to think, maybe Worthington-Galena Road and Sancus? Anyway, sometime last year there was this black guy out in front of the church holding up a sign encouraging passing drivers to smile. As I passed that same church today I thought, “This is where that smile guy was.” Glanced to my right and THERE HE WAS. He just seemed so joyful and I smiled and waved as I passed him and suddenly I was blinking back tears.

If I avoid people a lot right now, that’s got to be one reason. It’s easy enough to talk about shit with a keyboard and usually I don’t get too emotional but if I’m face to face with a person I’m too vulnerable and, well, we see where that got me.

I have to say this because I’m not sure Thea even knows about this blog but I want her to know something. Dawn tells me about you. Not a lot. Mostly she shares pictures you’ve posted. You two have been Instagram friends for years. I told her I would not be surprised if you remember she’s there and this is your way of telling me you’re okay. In case I’m right and you peek in to see if I’ve noticed, there you go. I’ve noticed.

I know about the voice change too. If you do read this I’d like to request that you stop the testosterone now. See, the voice change is permanent. I hope that’s what you really wanted, because you will never get rid of it now. Look up detransitioners on YouTube and you will see what I mean. They can only detransition so far. I’m not even asking for that. Whatever you get up to, you get up to but to continue to take T is self-harm. It already was, and it will only get worse from here.

I will warn you that if you heed my advice you are going to possibly go through hell for a while, because one of the side-effects of upping testosterone levels is elevated mood, and one of the side-effects of stopping it is depression. So don’t do it until you have proper support. The fucking clowns around you right now mindlessly cheering you on because they will believe any stupid bullshit a hippie tells them do not know about these issues. See if you can get in to see an endocrinologist. Ask to be monitored. Get your therapist involved too. If they’re a gender clinic therapist, fire them and get a real one. Your dad no doubt still has good health coverage. He wouldn’t have settled for anything less, what with his health issues. Take advantage of it while you still can. It ends at age 26 for you. But yeah. Get off the T with an endocrinologist and your therapist monitoring you CLOSELY. Maybe take a gap semester and do it so you don’t fuck up your grades.

I’m serious. You broke up with Willow because you want kids. Silly reason. You could have used a sperm bank, but if you don’t want to do that, that’s fine. But the point is you’re going to fuck up your uterus now. If you want your own kids, don’t do that. And don’t say “I’ll use a surrogate,” either. That’s fucking evil. Never use another woman as your brood mare. Never ever ever. That goes for adoption too. You don’t have to like all women and you don’t have to believe women are perfect. I don’t like all women and I don’t believe women are perfect. But don’t reproductively abuse women, either.

I’m half convinced that’s what your dad wanted out of me all along. It certainly fits the evidence. I think he had a vague notion he would knock me up, win custody from me in court, and then give you to his then-wife. (Marti, called Vivien when I knew her, goes by Kit and pretends to not be a woman now. Perhaps you’ve gotten acquainted; all of a sudden she wants to be friends with your dad again.) If I’m right, he fucked up his own plans by lying to her, which prompted her to divorce him. This was very early in your life and he hadn’t had time to make a court case yet. Joke was on him. And in the end she was able to have her own baby anyway. Hadn’t convinced herself she was an It yet, so could still manage it.

Anyway, don’t be like your dad. Not in that way. There are some traits he has that I wouldn’t mind seeing in you, but that’s not one of them. Don’t be a user.

Tonight I was at Meijer to pick up a little food — it is always a little at a time with me, money being what it is — and this woman parked next to me with her little girls and I thought, Enjoy it while it lasts. They’ll be gone in a blink, got out of my car, turned around to go into the store, and the car parked behind me had Stitch on their dash.

I can never see Stitch without thinking of Lilo and how much you loved that movie. And you have always been a little Lilo to me.

Stitch not fluffy. Stitch very sad.

It’s really early morning, nearly 2am, but I probably won’t write later today, so I don’t care. If I change my mind I’ll just tack more onto the end of this post. Okay? Okay.

I keep running into the same old nonsense with trying to catch up the month as I ran into trying to be on time for the month in the first place. There is a strong possibility I will be back in an extended-stay suite by January. I don’t know for sure, but if it happens, don’t be surprised. I won’t be.

For example, we saw that I was dealing with heavy-period garbage, and then on top of that things have been crappy pay-wise when I did manage to get out and about, and on top of that on Tuesday I wanted to get out and do some driving and… the driveway was blocked because one of Elizabeth’s helpers was moving firewood from the far side of the lot up closer to her house. There is one driveway, it’s single-wide, and if I can’t get down it with the car then I’m not getting out of here with the car. I could have asked to get past them but I don’t want to draw attention to myself because I’m not sure how much Elizabeth has noticed because last she knew I had a new temp thing going on. Right. I haven’t talked with her about that. I didn’t see the point if I have to vacate the premises at the end of January anyway. If we were looking at the potential to renew the lease it would be a different matter. That’s not going to happen, so right now I’m in hypervigilant mode and trying to stay out of her way.

At least if I leave early the worst she’ll be able to say is I didn’t give notice but the lease is no longer active, so that hardly matters. What’s she going to do, tell some future landlord of mine that I didn’t give notice on a month-to-month? Come on. And that’s if I use her as a reference in the first place. I probably won’t.

Anyway I was going to go on. I wasn’t done. So the period thing, the driveway, and then I’ve had two bills hit in the past week. Both minor, neither more than $50 (and under $75 both together), but that’s the razor-thin margins I’m working with right now. I have no wiggle room. I might even have negative wiggle room. I really don’t know. But I’ve got another one coming up in the next day or so that’s another $11, and then on the 18th or maybe 19th I will owe insurance which will be another $100. Then Christmas is coming and that will be enforced downtime for at least a day and a half (early closings Christmas Eve). That screaming you hear is my brain trying to claw its way out of my skull. I am so tired of this shit.

I know. I bought it by quitting Quantum. I am well aware of that. I don’t have to find this shit fun just because I do stupid things. Even if it’s written somewhere that I have to, it’s written lots of places that men who like wearing lipstick are women and that’s not fucking true either. I’m not going to find this situation fun. Ever. You can just fucking cope.

I’ve given it some thought and I have sort of a game plan for at least securing employment. It won’t matter whether I keep this place if I can pay for the extended-stay suite without driving six damn days a week for at least six hours a day, or at least not in my own vehicle. So. One possibility in Delaware. One possibility along the High Street corridor not far from where I’d live there if I could. A couple possibilities here in Dublin.

I need to get those applied for by the end of the week. At least one ought to bite. You would think.

And from there, maybe we’ll see.

God knows that no one is yet supporting me in my preferred endeavors except one lady on Substack. That was a nice surprise. I need to write more there. But there are many things I want to write about and then I get in front of my laptop and I get a mental block. I’ve been talking for a long time without people bothering to listen. I’m mentally exhausted by it at this point. People were not listening before I left Matt’s two years ago either. But it feels more real now because with people still around it was easy to assume that my thoughts and feelings were incorporated into sort of the fabric of our lives and people were aware of them. Even though there was no reason for me to feel that way. It was an illusion. Dispelled now.

(Whatever Matt tells you about “feelings” he had for me, one reason I never trusted him again after all the shit from 2004 to 2007 was that he never engaged with me on social media again. To have written me off and not bother looking at anything I had to say, that was a pretty clear sign he’d washed his hands of me from way back. So much of the ill will between us could have been prevented had he told the truth and listened to my side of things. Not just recorded my words in his head to parrot back at me, but actually comprehended them. He didn’t do either, so here we are. And remember, he got mad at me for rolling my eyes when he’d interrupt whatever I was doing or reading to talk about his workday. Actually interrupt. Not even a “can we talk, let me know when you get to a stopping place.” Just immediate blah blah blah like I had nothing better to do but change gears immediately for him.)

But it isn’t just writing I want to do. I need to list more bracelets, make more jewelry, and start a regular drawing practice. At this point it’s too late for anything but priority and express mail if I do happen to sell anything in time for Christmas, and that’s not likely to happen. At least the listings are cheap and last about three or four months. I just feel a bit put out that people were going “ooh” on Facebook but nothing’s nibbled. Well, I’m going to list more anyway, and they can bite me. At some point, someone will nibble. That’ll be a nice little windfall. Certainly a better outcome than trying to just sell the beads.

God. It’s 3am already. (I took forever to write this little bit. Like I said. Block.) Another fun thing I had to deal with was waking up with the shits when I wasn’t done sleeping. Hopefully it’ll go better this time. Off to bed.

I mentioned in the previous post that when Shark Week rolls around, there are two or three days where it gets really heavy and I can’t predict which days those will be anymore. It used to be just the first two or three days. In the past several months it’s mixed things up so that I might be okay the first three or four days and then suddenly, BAM. So I never know what I’m getting ahead of time, I just sort of know roughly when Shark Week’s going to happen. (Lately it’s been pretty much the first week of the month.)

Well, this time around the first couple days were just sort of boring and then after I fucked up that prospective temp job, BAM. I did get in a day delivering and was pretty happy about that, and then almost had a massive accident here at home. So I’ve been laying low hoping it will calm down. It’s a good thing I did fuck up the temp job. I’m trying to imagine asking to run to the restroom often enough to prevent massive leak and it would have been a nightmare. I have a whole system down for slowing down the deluge, but even with that I go through a super tampon in an hour, if I’m lucky. (Needless to say, I keep iron supplements in stock at home.) After that I’m on borrowed time. It would have gotten ugly.

I still mean to do a whole breakdown of why employment is difficult for me. There are a whole lot of factors, only some of which having to do with my actual personal shortcomings that I might have a prayer of any control over whatsoever. I am just not in the headspace to do justice to it right now. This situation here is a big part of it though. It’s a catch-22 because menstruation is not a disability or a disease, BUT, when things go wrong with female plumbing it can go in that direction, AND, gynecological care is seriously fucking lacking worldwide and disgracefully low-quality for a first-world country (the United States). If they just go in and yank the babymaker they will fuck me up on at least two levels. Then I need recovery time. I am completely alone now and that’s not fucking happening. So I need to just stop my periods if I can but (1) birth control might not work well with me because I’m too fat and (2) even if I sign up for ACA health coverage in time, and that’s debatable considering how my life’s gone, that doesn’t kick in until January. ARGH.

I have a thing going if anyone fucking cares. God, it could actually get me ahead. You’re not going to get it in time for Christmas, but you’d do me a big favor. Look! Not asking for free money! How ’bout dat!

Okay. On to bed.

I got through the day okay, even got a decent amount of sleep though it had to happen earlier than I’d hoped, because about 5am or so I just couldn’t stay awake anymore. But I got laundry done, some dishes done, etc., and got out the door with plenty of time.

I get there and at first I’m not sure what I’m seeing. It’s not the main Carrier facility — it’s a special “postal mail solutions” outfit, and it’s in a building shared with another company.

The parking lot was TINY. There was literally nowhere to park. All spaces were filled. Cars spilled out into the access road and lined the FIRE LANE. Where you are not supposed to park, ever.

I was early, but not terribly early and I thought, What the fuck? I mean, clearly people found parking because all the spaces were taken. I had gotten no instructions on where to go if there were no spaces left, however. I didn’t want towed, I didn’t want vandalized, I didn’t want my car hit by some idiot who couldn’t navigate a parking lot. Some of the cars looked quite the worse for wear as it was.

I was already having second thoughts with all the having to prepare because there was most of nothing we could take inside and my period is starting. (For those just joining us: mine gets really heavy two or three days out of the week and at this point I can’t predict when those days will be, only guesstimate when the week will happen. I have fibroids, which are the main cause of the problem. Actually diagnosed. Seen on an ultrasound two Decembers ago.) I was already not sure they would even let me in with the cargo pockets on my pants. Stuff they said to me in orientation made me wonder about that, but I had nothing else in which to stash a spare pad and a few wipes. And now no place to put my car.

After my previous experiences with this agency and the app, my overall impression is “they have no fucking idea what they’re doing and I’m sure to be a casualty when something else goes wrong.” I noped out of there. I will figure out something else.

—–

The one good thing that came out of it was there were these room-darkening curtains in one of the cabinets in the dining room, and I set those up in the bedroom. Not properly; I don’t really have good tools for putting up the curtain rod, not if I value my hands. (They like to swell up if I have to use a lot of torque with them. I have no idea why, but this has been a problem for literal decades.) But there was also duct tape or some similar kind of tape in the cabinet, so I used that. Will I have to clean the curtains later? Probably. Do I care? No. This was the darkest I’d been able to get a sleeping place in almost two years. It’s really nice.

Did I mention there are also glow-in-the-dark stars on my bedroom ceiling? That’s always kind of cheery when I go to bed.

When Thea was little I used to fantasize about taking some glow-in-the-dark paint and painting stars on her ceiling as little dots and doing the actual constellations. She had a ceiling fan and I had a feeling I’d get started, do about a quarter of the job, get tired and quit, so it never happened.

It’s just as well because that’d be one more thing I was bitter about now. “I wore out my fucking shoulders for you and you just throw me away?” I mean, I was the reason she had anything resembling her own bedroom too but NEVER MIND.

—–

I wonder if I’ll ever be able to just love again. I don’t even mean a romance, though that too. Like, at all. Ever.

Okay. I have taken care of the issue with my rent. Or I am in the process of taking care of it. After much anxiety and stalling, I texted Elizabeth and asked if I could come over (she lives literally right across the driveway), and she was cool with that, so we had a nice long chat. The upshot of it is I’ve given her the $500, she’s fine with me catching up the other half plus late fee, and I showed her my informational flyer for the temp job starting late tomorrow night. And she has something of a therapist or therapist-like background and we got into a little nitty-gritty which, she’s been wanting to chat more with me about my situation for months, but Pat’s final downward turn obviously took precedence.

And she teared up a couple times about that, but she was remarkably calm overall, considering.

I wasn’t so much. I’ve had trouble crying for most of the past two years but for some reason, it wouldn’t leave me alone in that living room. I suspect a lot of it is being tired. I’ve been trying to push my sleep forward and failing miserably at it. I have a blackout curtain in one of the cabinets in the dining room and I’m thinking about taking it out and duct-taping it to my bedroom window. (I have tools, but nothing that would make installing a curtain rod easier, and my hands don’t respond well to that particular type of manual effort, which is weird since I use my hands so much. They swell up. It’s a whole thing.) The light is the likely culprit. That’s a very nice west-facing window and if the walls weren’t painted very dark teal and very dark purple, that room would be very fucking bright during the day. Probably a big reason Elizabeth’s daughter painted the room those colors, is my guess.

Anyway. I seem to be becoming some sort of special project. Elizabeth and Pat have/had both been homeless before so I suppose that’s some experience I can draw from. I don’t know where all that will end up but for now I’m supposed to come up with three goals and also watch some Brené Brown stuff.

If it keeps a roof over my head and doesn’t ask me to give up my dignity, I’m somewhat willing to give it a shot.

The goals, if I understood correctly, are supposed to be about Me Stuff. Not mere survival but steps I want to take for myself to do more than survive. I will ask her again when I’m reasonably sure she’s awake just to make sure we’re on the same page.

I also need to remember to ask my temp-agency onsite reps about that payment card they gave me and how to make it into an instant pay situation. If I can do that, it’ll make everything a lot easier. I think all employers should use an instant pay system. Let the employee choose whether to get same-day payouts, but let it be an option. It was a huge help to me when I first started at Quantum and the Salvation Army was playing games and I would have wound up sleeping in my car again for a week before I finally signed the lease. No danger of that yet here — at worst, I’ve bought myself two weeks’ shelter with that half a grand I paid Elizabeth today — but let’s not even get to that point. Also I’ll want more food-shopping Very Soon Now.

—–

Did I mention here a while back that I would hear funny noises outside at night, or was that on Facebook?

Finally figured it out. It’s the frigging American flag outside my main living-room window. It’s made of substantial fabric and so when the wind kicks up, it really whips around.

I will say this for the folks here: they replace flags when they get ratty. Some local businesses could take a page.

—–

I did some driving today, but started much later in the day than I’d hoped to, and then got tired sooner than I’d have preferred, and on top of everything else lost my motherfucking mind and went to Delaware. So then I had to drive back from that. Tired. I will have to try to stay up until noon if I can. That will give me eight hours if I get up at 8pm. I have one source telling me to show up by 11:15 (shift starts at 11:30pm) and another saying show up at 10:45 and I do believe I will go with the latter because it seems a safer bet. But I need to do laundry anyway, so that is an excellent excuse to not go to bed for a while. I got some more Splenda and I have a decent supply of coffee, cinnamon, and half-and-half so if I need caffeinated in the next few hours, I’m solid.

—–

Car notes: I need an oil change soon and I also need to get some power-steering fluid and this other stuff that goes in the same reservoir which helps condition seals and things in the power-steering system. The steering has gotten pretty loose. You can drive a car that has a power-steering system if the PS goes out, it’s just more of a pain in the ass. I also don’t want to actually damage the system, so there’s that. If all it needs is a fluid top-up, sorted. If it’s still fucked up after I top it up, we know it’s something else, so still sorted. Sort of. Halfway.

I could also seriously use new wiper blades. “Oh sure, give me the cheap ones,” I told Take 5. The cheap ones are never actually cheap from a mechanic anyway, and I’m getting better ones next time and putting them on myself. Sorted. Just like the cabin air and engine air filters a few months ago. You want HOW much to do that for me? Around $150 for the both together? Nah bruh. Fuck off. My delicate little ladybrain handles both just fine, thanks. So, more importantly, does my budget. Thus it will be with wiper blades. Alleluia, amen.

—–

I hate being tired. Oh well. Laundry!

I have middlin’ news and I have good news.

The meh, so-so news is that I only have half my rent sorted. Remember that it’s $1000 a month. Which is really good for where I’m located but terrible for my situation, but it was accept the apartment or possibly not get housed. Considering my “rehousing program” dropped me without warning afterwards, that’s probably best. But! I’ve had a bad month. So. Half. Almost there, anyway. I have to go into the red first thing tomorrow to get the money order up. Then I have to have a conversation with my landlady. When I was still on the lease you were allowed to run late and then pay a late fee, but I’m not on the lease, I’m month to month. I FEEL like she will be cool, but it would have helped had I kept her updated. But I didn’t want to keep her updated until I knew for sure how things would go, because I don’t know her and if she had decided to fly into a panic I’d have been fucked.

(I can slightly sympathize with Matt’s apparent attitude of how one feels obliged to lie when one feels like the outcome of telling the truth will be worse. I think he’s a weak piece of shit for believing anything I would have done had he told me the truth from the off would have been worse than the gigantic tantrum I threw when I found out he was sneaking around and lying AGAIN… but I can’t help him. He’s stuck with himself. Too bad. This woman has the literal power of housed vs homeless over me. I had no equivalent power over Matt. If he ever tells you otherwise, make him spell out what he means. Then laugh rudely at him, because he won’t have a good answer.)

ANYWAY. I have to do a bit more running around tomorrow but I’m only $20 short on that $500. Won’t take long.

The good news, which I intend to inform my landlady about as well, is that I got all that mess with the flex shift app (see previous post) sorted out and I start Monday night. I have some misgivings, but I need to work on my own brain for that one. I don’t know how well I will do, but I think the key will be to keep reminding myself that this is temporary. I mean it says it right on the tin. I’m not a permanent employee. This will just keep me sorted til I can find something else. Or at least get into a cheaper apartment and possibly get work done on the car.

It is a thing I can show her right in the app and go “Hey look! This is when I start,” and then we can talk about when I pay her the rest. And I will pay her the late fee unless she says otherwise. It’s fifty bucks. I’m already in the hole, so fifty more bucks won’t really matter.

—–

I’m generally just angry at everything and the main foci seem to be asshole drivers, the situation with Matt, and the situation with Dad. I’m fed up with all you fuckers and I really wish you would back the fuck off. I’m about to start putting rude bumper stickers on my car for Problem One, but the rest of it can’t be solved with stickers.

—–

I will come right out and say it. Matt isn’t safe coming back here. He wouldn’t have had to worry about worse than me being bitchy at him had he stayed in town and I’d run into him with the missus somewhere, but even that isn’t terribly likely; the last time we interacted in person was this past January or early February (I don’t even fucking know now), and we had a conversation like regular folks. Even before that, I could have stopped by the house and harassed him any time I wanted. I knew where he was. I didn’t do it. I didn’t bother Thea either, and I had a strong feeling that just trying to make a peace offering in person would have bothered her. So I stayed out of things except when something stupid happened and I’d email or text one of them. It wasn’t because I wanted to be two-faced. It was because I’m not a fucking monster. But in that last in-person meeting, all he did was just pretend nothing was wrong and if I said anything that even touched on the situation between us he’d just go silent and stonewall. He doesn’t want a rational conversation about this. He doesn’t want any conversation about this. He wants to just shit on me and walk away. Same as everyone ever does. Only he thinks it’s okay because he spent money on me. I told him once in one of my not-so-nice moments — and in email or DM, not in person — that I feel like he’s discovered this novel form of prostitution where he thinks he can treat a woman like shit if he’s paid her. Only it’s not novel; I just had never seen it for what it was before. And unfortunately his fucking friends and most of society agree with him; society thinks all women, and especially “inferior” women, are whores. There are days I think the Christians have a point about essential evil. Unlike them, I don’t think there’s a cure for it.

But the sneaky move to Colorado after the complete radio silence about my daughter’s life, even things he knows I’d want to know about, even though she and I were in touch in the first few months after I left, was the absolute last fucking straw. I carry pepper spray anyway, and he’s asthmatic. I can even get creative. Stay the fuck out west, m’man. Don’t even bother with CodeMash anymore. Forever.

Oh, and as to your first impulse to respond to me? You know what I hear when someone utters the words you’re going to prison? Four different words: “Free room and board.” Worst case scenario I lose everything I own in this world. That will include all my kids’ old photographs, my grandparents’ wedding photo, and similar things. I know that won’t bother you. It might bother our daughter. What do you think?

Yeah. Stay there. I never want to see you again.

—–

Now to the situation with Dad. Carrie tried to contact me through a different account not long ago. I said I was done with that life-insurance shit and I meant it. Literally, I have nothing else to say or do about the situation. I can’t go see him because I would have to haul every fucking thing I own into that fucking car or else risk not being able to come back for it, and the car would not survive the trip. I wouldn’t have anywhere to stay when I got down there even if the car did survive. Mom’s latest husband gives me the creeps even if she were an option. She’s fucking not. I will not be sharing a household with my father ever again, either. That shit back two Januaries ago was the last fucking time he gets to disrespect me. I tried to be there for him, I tried to help him, but because I wasn’t making the choices he would have made which were actually far more fucking available to him because he’s a fucking man then I’m not even worth speaking to like I’m a fucking adult. I danced around this for close to two years and I’m not fucking dancing anymore. That’s what it is. Fuck that shit. All you people ever want to do is treat me like a criminal before I’ve even fucking done anything wrong. Fuck you. Go work out your fucking anger issues on one another. I’m fucking done. So he’s just going to have to keep thinking I’m shit, and the rest of you can think it too. I can’t be fucked to care. You would have thought I was shit for showing up and staying for three nights instead of four, or four nights instead of three, or for parking my car not quite right. Piss on your stupid head games.

(YEAH. The rest of you wonder where I fucking get this shit! And I actually got a dose of compassion capacity from Mom. Even with that, this is me. THANKS, DAD.)

Anyway… Why do people think all I need is one windfall and I’m sorted as long as I get a part-time minimum-wage job and live in a $600 a month shit shack in the Iota woods? Because those are my options. You like ’em? I fucking don’t. How many fucking years have I been trying to make a go of something so I could earn on my own and not be enslaved by my car or by crazy bitches on power trips anymore? Every time I came out with a “hey look at this cool shit I did, wanna buy it?” and people just ignored it? I wasn’t even expecting friends and family to all spend money on my shit. I did hope for them to help get the word out. Crickets. Even these days when it takes maybe three clicks with one thumb at most. Zero effort. Zero. Then I’m the lazy asshole who doesn’t work. Then I need a windfall. HOW ABOUT FUCKING CHRISTING HELPING ME GET SOMETHING OFF THE GROUND SO I DON’T HAVE ALL MY ECONOMIC EGGS IN ONE FUCKING BASKET AND SO I MIGHT HAVE A PRAYER OF BEING A WORKING ARTIST SOMEDAY. FUCK YOUR FUCKING LIFE INSURANCE PAYOUTS AND ***HELP. ME.***

Is that fucking clear enough yet? For all of you? Did I use any big words you don’t understand? No? FUCKING GOOD.

But you won’t help me, either, and we alllll fucking know it, so STOP FUCKING BOTHERING ME.

Good talk.

—–

I was dancing around something else that for once wasn’t about family or the fucking wastes of skin and oxygen I call my exes (okay, not all of you… Matt’s definitely on that list though), and it’s something I never really wanted to look at because it was this huge source of anxiety for me. Anxiety hides in plain sight for me. I more trip over it and fall on my face than work out that it’s happening at the time.

A lot of my choices about employment over the years are a result of my early bad experiences at work.

I can’t get into it now because I’m tired and I don’t organize my thoughts well when in that state but briefly, I just have this face that says “please overreact to everything I do and abuse me for not being perfect” and believe me, I notice that thought process going on in other people, and it freaks me the fuck out. One big reason I go around criticizing all of you is because you get away with shit that I can’t even think about doing. Like, either become better people or let me be a fuckup. Those are your options. You do not get a third option. If you want to know how to stop the war, that is where you begin.

We’re not even talking major fuckup. We’re talking just being an awkward human being. Jesus Christ.

But anyway. Early mishaps at work led to disproportionate consequences which then freaked me the fuck out which then led to me fucking up again and things would just get worse and worse. And so later on, in subsequent employment, I’d think I saw signs of things going south and… I’d just bail. And that made things even worse. And lather, rinse, repeat.

It really came to a head back two Octobers ago after I recovered from COVID and was temping in Grandview and was still suffering aftereffects of the virus on my ability to physically process stress, and then was expected to pick up a fast enough production pace before I’d even been there a week. I would have been anxious anyway, but my body beat me to it; I almost fucking fainted a few times, and y’all who have known me a long time know I don’t fucking do that. Hide, yes. Faint, no. Are you kidding???

I can’t cope with people constantly judging me. (NAW, REALLY?) I know intellectually that they will do it anyway. Human beings are shit. But it’s hard to deal with, and particularly from people who know me and ought to know better. I am not here to make anyone’s life hell. I am just here to live life. Meanwhile people who really do behave like garbage get all the friends, popularity, and money. Y’all some fuckups. I’m tired of it.

I was going to sum up and go to bed and I started babbling instead. Well, let’s just leave it there. I have to pee anyway. ‘Night.