It’s Been a While…

I’m not entirely certain how long it’s been since my last post. I’ve got my second book coming out soon and I’ve been fairly well focused on that.

The rest of the time I’ve spent arguing with James on and off. He’ll be nice to me for a few days and ask for his mother to transfer me money.

The… fuck?

Then he’ll be mean to me for three days to a week.

This last time started a week ago. He called and started with “a friend died” then started to demand what I felt about that. Uhm…

What?

He and I have been over the emotions things. I feel inappropriate emotions at inappropriate times. Is how I described it to him. The truth of the matter is that I do feel, I feel very strongly. But someone dying?

Who? Do I know them? No? Oh… oh… okay… I’m confused… why do I care? A human just died by his own hand in a first world country.

There are people dying across the world at the hands of madmen and you’re crying because some dumbass whose mommy didn’t love him enough took his own life?

I once woke up in a corner naked and balling my eyes out, supposedly hours after I was undressed, to my mother screaming at the top of her lungs at my father for whatever it is he did to us because they believed I had been sexually assaulted before that moment.

So excuse me if I don’t have sympathy for someone I don’t know, who had all the opportunities in the world and chose to take their own lives rather than stand and face their problems.

He demanded six times over the course of an hour. Never, not once, mentioning how he felt about the matter. Never saying “I’m sad” or crying in the least. He didn’t care how he felt, he only demanded to know how I felt, because I “have to feel about (his) friends dying.”

Uh, then he broke up with me. Then the next day he demanded to know why I wasn’t returning his calls. We talked, then he broke up with me again.

It’s been argument after argument every day. Every single day this week.

On Monday he said, for the sixth time, that he was the only one who contributed anything to the relationship. I said I have contributed things and he agreed, I asked what he thought I had contributed.

“You sent me to jail.”

Today I asked about a court mandated class he was supposed to be taking and he responded civilly. We talked on and off over the course of the day.

And then he asked if he could get someone to send money through me to get to him. Just out of the blue.

I lost my mind. This is the conversation:

James: Hey, someone wanted to email transfer me would you be able to assist? He will send it tonight and I could meet you after your work tomorrow.

Me: …

James: It would be a great help, that way you don’t have to go out of your way.

Me: I would be going out of my way. This is what… the fiftieth time you’ve used me to get money? it won’t even count for anything once you have the money because I’ll just be the mat you wiped your feet on. I am NOT that desperate for attention. And here I thought you were being nice today because you felt bad about being a jerk for the past week.

James: I just made the deal with him tonight, I have no other options, today was genuine. You are not a door mat.

Me: I certainly feel like one. Fine. I’ll get your fucking money. Apparently it’s the only thing I’m good for, even if you won’t remember this the next time you’re talking about “contributions.”

James: I appreciate the help, I really do. My head went some pretty dark places this last week, and for that I am sorry.

Me: Oh no, no, no, you aren’t sorry yet, because I realized I’m good for two things only. Getting you money and spreading my legs and I don’t like feeling like a prostitute.

… Yet still he barely apologized and I am so freaking stupid that I freaking agreed to get him the freaking money! What kind of a stupid am I?

I’ve just sent him a text saying no, that I always say this will be the last time and I was talking to a friend (shhh, you’re my friend if he asks) and realized that I always say that and it never is and so I won’t accept money this time.

I’m not receiving anything for this. I am not going to wake up tomorrow morning and be any richer, I will not be more well defined or feel more loved. I will feel more like a prostitute. He comes over and eats my food, we have sex and he gets money from me that someone sent me, then he’s on the way.

I don’t give a good hot damn how good the sex is. I am not doing that any more. Especially since the last couple rounds haven’t been good and he’s been a jerk before and after. I think he figured out the system, is the problem. I’d jump his bones when I felt like it, but it’s lost its interest.

I have toys, I’m an adult and know how to use them. The toys don’t use me for anything else, don’t make me feel like shit about myself.

Turns out the money was already sent. And of course I am honour bound. Why? Because I have fucking honour. You know the only thing stopping me from taking that money? My honour. But that doesn’t mean a single fucking thing because I can’t punch the gods damned fucker who is putting me in this position and he doesn’t care about how I feel.

As long as he’s in my life, I won’t be okay. So why can’t I find the strength to leave him?

Because his stuff is still here? Because I wasted two years of my life on him? Because I wish people in the real world weren’t like my family?

Because I’m afraid that I’m not careful enough to start over. That if I try I’ll wind up with someone who hits me with his hands instead of his words and that I’ll really lose it, because I don’t put up with that sort of thing, and I’ll hurt someone because of my own stupid decisions.

Because I’m afraid that my father was right and I don’t deserve anything better than the asshole I sometimes sleep with.

Sarcastic Dry Humour and Anger do Odd Things

The past week with James has been rocky. The weekend went well, he came over and I did the cooking and cleaning… wait, I’ve been doing that a great deal more now while he watches tv or plays a game.

I’m also paying for the electricity, that’s my game he’s playing, and my food he’s eating.

This all sort of came to a head yesterday when he volunteered to sweep and wash the floor because his cat had puked on it, and then turned around and said that he’s continually cleaning everything and it’s not even his mess.

If that wasn’t your mess then the second cat is mine. Good, great, get out.

I didn’t see him Monday because he drank, Tuesday because I was pissed at him and he was still rambling like an idiot and Wednesday because I worked a late shift and by the time I got off work he was drunk. So I came home and ate something and had a glass of wine, then I went to bed.

Got up yesterday and it was -20 outside but felt like -30 or something ridiculous like that so I wasn’t going anywhere and I told him as much. He comes over and I can tell he’s still hung over, probably still slightly drunk. We go up to my apartment and he immediately asks when can we go out to my bank so that I can tell them he’s a person so that he can get a bank account? Since, you know, I’m not going out to get my litter anymore.

That cat litter is for both our cats, I cannot emphasize that enough. The food I buy? He eats! Oh, but that’s alright he says, that I’m paying for all the food because he asks if it’s alright each time he eats. I’m not trying to start a fight, I’m just saying that maybe the person who gets food for free from a food bank and brags about how his cupboards are over flowing might want to bring some over and chip in since mine are emptying out!

He tried to bluff me into behaving, demanding to know whether he should go because all he wanted to do was spend time with me. I told him to get out. I didn’t digress into another argument, I didn’t feel it was necessary to say, “get out because…”

He huffed and puffed and then came over to me and gave me a stupid fucking hug that was too long and I know was an attempt to make me want him or something. Then he said, “I apologize.” And I had to really fight back the urge to say, “And I really hope you enjoy fucking yourself.”

He left and called me an hour later and picked another fight over the ridiculousness of it and how he shouldn’t have been made to clean his own blood off the radiator, that it wasn’t blood at all, it was tomato sauce. When I asked how exactly I could have gotten tomato sauce on the radiator, given the fact that he’s never seen me spill anything but milk on the floor and that was when it toppled out of the fridge, he said that he didn’t know and attempted to change the subject.

He started screaming at me over the phone because he was angry, so that’s okay. I responded in a level voice that I too was angry, but I was not shouting and I was not cursing and I was treating him with the same due care I expected to be treated in because I don’t deserve to be shouted at.

And he continued to scream for a bit, then said that he and Jeff were going to Jeff’s mom’s place to cook a nice meal because: “I am going to put some positivity into the world.”

… I’m not stressing the ‘I’ there myself, he did that and drew it out so that it would be noticed. So in my very bad, anti-social manner my response was: “Well, yes, daddy, I do know that I do nothing positive and only ever do anything negative, and I’m just going to hang up now and go kill myself to save the rest of you the trouble.”

And I hung up on him. I’m not proud of that, there are other ways to handle your anger.

He called me back to scream at me because of course I’m not committing suicide, so why would I say that?

I thought my tone of voice made it evident.

There was more screaming and shouting and blah, blah, blah. Don’t bring up the past, why are you angry? Don’t say that, why are you rehashing what happened, that’s in the past, that’s not what’s being asked.

I hate it when people get their panties so much in a bunch and so far up their own asses but not far enough to gag them. If you punch me in the face and see me three days later and ask if I’m still mad? I’m probably going to still be mad. Unless you did it by accident, then it could be water under the bridge.

But if you insult me, call me dirty, lazy, and accuse me of lying and an hour later demand to know what’s bothering me? You should be able to see the dots, and not be so shocked when I fly off the handle and sarcastically (that’s my way of saying you’re a fucktard) say I’m going to do something I’d never do in a million years, but I’ve heard you threaten to get your way.

So now I’ve got two very drunk phone messages on my cell. I do not like these messages, but I have kept them because I’m going to play them back for him and then let him know that when I hear that on the other line, all I want to do is shout at him. Or peg him over the head with a foam bat. No, with a squirt bottle, you know, how you do with cats? Squirt him each time he says something insulting that he thinks is being helpful.

“My cat has lived more than you!”

That one still hurts.

Or the ever fabulous: “This place is a fucking mess.”

To which my response is: “I just cleaned it, get up and do it yourself if you think it’s so bad.”

It would appear that James believes he doesn’t have to cook, clean, or pay for anything. So I’ve forbidden him from coming over until my work and errands are done, and between meals because he’s not eating at my place any longer. If you’re going to be a tit and throw it in my face time and again about how you cook (but you take an odd amount of enjoyment from doing it) and you clean (he literally started arguments to make me sit down because he “should” be cleaning) and I do absolutely nothing, I’m simply going to remove the conditions on which you are attempting to hold over me.

Don’t tell me you don’t like my jeans and then act all surprised when I show up wearing slacks so that you can shut the fuck up about it already.

So I told James I’d call him Sunday if I finished all my chores and work, said bye loudly and hung up. He called me back because how dare I say he can’t see me for two days? So I claimed I’d call him today, but I’ve no intention of doing that. I’ve got work to do.

Last night I wrote three and a half chapters. Though the half chapter is from a different world altogether and James might have broken it after I just got it back up and running. The one book goes to the editor on Monday.

Oh gods. The one book goes to the editor on Monday!

Well, guess James isn’t coming over this weekend. I’ve got more work than I thought I did.

What Just Happened?

James borrowed my cart on… actually I think it was yesterday morning. He promised to bring it back last night, said he was turning over a new leaf after turning twenty-eight.

If I had known that new leaf meant drinking at six in the morning I would have told him no!

He texted last night asking if he could bring it over today instead, saying he would be up at six to help the new roommate move in. A girl he’s now talking about the way he talks about Jeff.

Anyhow. This morning I wake to a phone call and voicemail from him, all confused because he couldn’t recall what he had promised the night before, but he was waiting for the new chick and couldn’t make it out right away. I tell him he said he could.

This is mainly important because I had said I wanted to get moving right off, as soon as I woke in the morning because my joints have been aching. Took a tumble on Monday and things have been hurting worse than normal, like don’t want to get out of bed, worse than normal.

All my joints besides the ones in my feet have been doing the throbbing vibration that almost hurts but doesn’t quite. I’m used to a couple of joints doing it when I abuse them, not all of them all at once. My whole pelvis and lower back have been on fire, these are joints I typically have trouble with. My hips, though normally only the right, and my lower back once a month when my muscles tighten up. Normally I crack them, take a bath, and all is good. But cracking them does nothing and the bath loosened me up for only a little bit.

The other joints have been doing the stiff-don’t-want-to-move thing. I more of shuffle to and from work, and around work. Shuffling is bad, shuffling makes you a target for the nastier types because they think you can’t move. And really, I can’t, but you better bet that if it was between running for my life and shuffling slowly away, I’d be running. But not before I slammed my right knee into a crotch (I’m told no matter the gender, that hurts) and hit that sucker in the throat. One to cause pain, the other to make them fight for breath.

Really, my point is that the world likes to think I’m weak, but in reality I’m paranoid and have ways of escaping and have planned those escapes.

Mainly because I’ve had times for days or months on end where I’ve turned everyone I pass into a serial killer.

I really, really, should just write a murder mystery and get it out of my system.

Anyhow, this ache combined with being woken to be told that we were meeting on his terms, again, that my day would be late getting going because of him, again, brought me to tears on the phone with him. He finally conceded to bringing the cart to a place of my choosing. I said meet me, then I hung up on him and started getting dressed.

He called me back because, “what, weren’t you listening? I’m waiting for new chick. I can’t leave right now, it’ll be like two hours.”

“I need that now, I told you I needed it when I woke up, I told you I’m in pain and the longer I’m up, the more everything hurts and I won’t have the energy then!”

“Well, I’m not walking all the way up there to give you a cart only to be treated like shit!”

“But you just said you can’t leave for several hours! Which means I can’t get my stuff today because I won’t be able to move!”

And then it devolved from there. I’m mean, shouting, shouting, screaming, why am I doing this to him?

I can hear Jeff in the background talking about things he’s going to do to the cart before he returns it to me. James then says he and Jeff will meet me, I say I don’t want to meet up with Jeff. James proceeds to lose his mind, and Jeff is still in the background.

Let me just be clear.

At this point in the conversation, I very clearly state that I want nothing to do with Jeff, nor do I want to see him, because I don’t trust him and he makes me uncomfortable.

It digresses some more, I hang up on him. It’s that rage hang up, where I wish I still lived in the nineties and can bang the damned phone down a few times to make loud noises. Why must we live in a time of delicate communication systems? I want to beat my phone on something to shut it off, let me do that!

He calls me back, calls me crazy, why would I do that, it’s so hurtful, do I know how hurtful it is?

… can’t be worse than my joints, or the feeling I got at the prospect of dragging a twenty-five pound bag of cat litter (for both our cats) for a half hour walk which he was supposed to help with.

Or worse than being called selfish, childish, cunt, bitch, whore.

But you know. This is James. So hanging up on someone rather than calling them a narcissistic psychopathic addict is just. Like. You know. So bad, just… so bad, you know?

Whatever he said, I hung up on him again because pain lowers my tolerance a great deal. I basically have a choice. I can hold myself together for the day, and tomorrow, but I can only do that if I focus my energies on me.

I’m sorry, but I don’t have time to focus on your petty fucking melodrama. This is not about you and I and all of the people. This is me, trying to get through my day without breaking down into a broken mess of tears.

Between you and me, I will choose me always.

At least, between me and an addict who can’t recall the conditions of his parole. At one point, he demanded I read to him the part where he has to be sober in my presence. I was upset, I couldn’t find it, but I have found it.

James finally ceded and said that he would bring my cart to the designated spot in an hour. I agreed.

He then called me and demanded I leave early so that he wasn’t waiting for me. I confirmed again, he would be there with my cart. He said yes.

I left, got there. Looked at a security guard and swore. James was not coming, I knew that. So I left the designated spot and walked towards his place a bit. No one was on the road coming up. I walked back in and it was exactly the time of meeting. I waited another minute, sent James a text that said: You were never coming, were you?

And went to buy myself a new cart.

Later on James would call me and apologise for Jeff not delivering the cart. The one he clearly told me he would be delivering in person and I clearly said could not be delivered by Jeff under any circumstances.

Due to what even I consider mood swings, I grabbed myself a test at the same time. Not pregnant. Which only backs my theory that underlying pain makes me moody and bitchy. The pain has been going on for several weeks now though I didn’t realize it until I as talking to Sally yesterday about my fall.

That was when I remembered that the pain started suddenly when I was talking to my boss, a week before my missed period (I can miss one because I lose count of the days or because of a change of diet). I recall the timing only because when the pain started I gasped, she asked me what was wrong and I said nothing. I did the tally, I was right about the time for my back to start aching.

I know, too much information, but that’s how I was able to gauge just how long I’ve been in pain.

Need to get my medical card so I can get a doctor. It’s my understanding normal arthritis involves a redness and swelling, even a heat in the joints. Which I have experienced with the bad hip before. This is not that.

Little off topic, doesn’t help with the ache in my upper back distracting me.

I got my foodstuffs but not the litter. I’m a get-it-now type of gal, rather than a when-I-need-it type. Plus the weighing of my joints against…

I still have to make breakfast buns today, along with lunches, and do laundry. All of which involve my whole body. It’s good to keep active but… I couldn’t seem to get my hands to work yesterday at work to separate papers someone asked me to sort.

Typing is fine, besides the leaning forward to do so. My hands barely move and the keys are sensitive. They aren’t tiny little things. I find myself loathing to text, though the only one I text is James, so that could be part of the loathing. The joints on my right hand are stiff, but it’s the wrist that does most of the movement for my typing and so far it seems that the wrists are not effected by this. Thank goodness.

Can you imagine my now (possibly) bum wrist affected by this pain? I’d have to quit my job. Or, gods forbid, take the position I had before I took on my current one.

Anyhow, procrastination never achieved anything but for a larger hole and more complaints.

Aren Calls

I’ve tried so many times to describe my writing. It’s not just words to me, it’s not a reality. Well, it kind of is…

I’ve tried explaining to others my need to write. The best I’ve come up with is based on the descriptions of my close friends, who have witness addiction and me at the same time. I am like an addict on writing. I am listless without. I can function either way, but I’m never happy unless I’m writing.

I’m sorry, I should have prefaced that by saying:

I’m supposed to be editing the third book but am writing the fourth instead, because fuck rationality.

Oh, but how to describe this to those who do not understand? I shudder as if touched in a delightful way. I laugh, I stand strong in the face of adversity, not because I believe I am strong.

Because I don’t fucking care.

James came over. It’s his birthday. He claimed to only have had a drink, I could smell it on him, in the air around him, but he was stable when we met and had his sober moments. I put on a movie we would both enjoy and ten minutes in he demanded to know whether or not we were going to do something with our time. I told him to leave. He did, but not before calling me childish and explaining, as he buttoned up his far too formal dress shirt, then his vest, that his anger management councilors all said that his anger issues revolved entirely around me. He snapped his cuffs down as he added that he’d never have known that if I hadn’t turned him in.

Mary Sue, I do believe your bus is here. If not, please exit through the window.

He actually did that.

Actually did that.

Urg! I could write better conflict. I started a conflict today with:

“You do nothing.”

“I do lots of things. Many things. All the things. Important things.”

Which was really amusing for me because the second speaker was desperate and grasping and everyone involved should realise that the first was being entirely honest and the first just really, really, wanted someone to pat him on the head and say that he did a good job for once.

James left, I finished the movie. Mm.

Movies set me off. It’s like foreplay, except for writing. I don’t take their ideas. Most of the time, I get partway into a blockbuster and find myself mildly annoyed. I start toying with a world on the side, you know, because it’s impolite the leave a movie. Recently the movies have gotten really good.

At the foreplay, not at the movie portion of it. Movies are meant as a distraction.

…

That’s me thinking of the last movie I watched start to finish and didn’t delve into my alternates. There was one, magnificent creature. It will come to me. I’m a little distracted right now. It could be, and bear with me, Hancock. I’ve watched that ten times.

Normally I watch a movie once. Then? Done.

Hancock, in particular, I watched the entire thing, but my friends drove me home, knowing that even a distracting movie makes me distracted. Halfway home I slaughtered the gods. It was absolutely glorious, that half-bred bastard should never have ruled. In the remains, in the ashes (and this was years ago) the real gods awoke. Oh my, I’m not even done with that line of thought.

Perhaps sex is a good comparison, but dear reader, that does depend on you having fantastic sex.

My friends have, as I mentioned before, compared it to an addiction. I tried that once with another writer, she took offence. Said that writing to her is like the need to breath.

Between breathing and writing? I’d probably choose writing, it’ll keep me alive longer.

I have certain worlds, alternates. I call them alternates only because I can walk among them. And more than one dick has stabbed me and made me collapse in the real world.

My rational mind works, I believe they call it a psychosomatic response. I also have those!

Basically, my imagination is quite good. I am not limited to one reality. Unless you’re interviewing me for my sanity… then I live in this reality, the real reality, obviously!

I grew up with blurred lines, try not to judge me too harshly.

I have three long-standing worlds. One is high fantasy that I’ve an entire series planned out for, but… ehhhh… It was okay.

Another is my published world. It has existed (as near as it is) since I was eight. Before then the creatures I now call my people, I called attackers. My older brother claims I plagiarised him, but he never played with me. Ever. And… It’s me. At eight, there was a breach of some sort. Attackers became Glendar.

How do you go from “Attacker” to Glendar? The Attackers still existed (yes, as in the word attack with “ers” tacked on) but they were a barbarian race all of a sudden. Ate their own young, raped and murdered.

Let’s not talk about how at eight, I knew what raped and murdered was, okay? At that age, I was still confused as to why rape meant to violate a woman and to clean up the leaves in the yard.

…  I also didn’t know the letter ‘r’ existed… I was bright but in a special sort of way.

Anyhow, obviously I digressed. This world has existed for… three, four million of their years. I only know that because between my eight-year-old self and my sixteen-year-old self two million or three million years passed.

At sixteen, I obliterated the world. They were spread across sixteen worlds, interacting with human and alien alike. Had clawed their way to the top and forced everyone to bow to them.

At eighteen, I began my second world.

This is the world that is fairly widely available for free, if only one knows where to look (and I’m not telling you where) magic, gods, two races. A slight complexity. Except the second world was populated by the first and I let slip at one point. Suddenly people asked about the first…

When I was twenty-four I delved back into the first world. A warrior attracted my attention, he stood atop the palace for almost a month before I gave in and wrote about him. Then he demanded another story be written. Then he demanded again.

The thing with me is that I have a plethora of ideas across… between thirteen and twenty worlds. I haven’t the energy to count at the moment. The ones that keep my attention are not the flashy things.

It’s the one who march up to me after I’ve had a cup of wine and slap me across the face. It’s the warrior across the room who looks up and makes eye contact as I slip into the crowd, seeing me for what I am. It’s the man who pleads with me to say something, anything at all because maybe I can sway the woman he wants.

It’s the woman who goes an entire book worth of writing without a name and at the end of the book, turns to the man beside her and asks him for a name. And he gives her the name I placed there as a holder. And when I demand a change? Because her name has been used for generations past? He puts a dagger to my throat and demands I tell it as it is, or he’ll make my nightmares worse.

My alternates are my life, they are my reality but at the same time I know that the physical reality exists, above all else. Perhaps better than some who obsess over other peoples’ worlds. I can see clear. Yet I can sidestep into another world when someone attempts to talk down to me. In that moment to the side, I can take a breath and find my voice.

I don’t know who I am.

But I know who I am not.

And I am not the shallow woman you believe me to be because I spent nine days tapping away at my keyboard. I am not crazy because when I drink I start talking to someone who isn’t visible. He’s been there since I was eight, guarding my hand, keeping me from falling into addiction (and I know nothing but my own insanity has kept me from my addiction). You have been here six months, a year, two years. What are you to him?

Whispering: Darling, go to bed.

Not because he thinks I’m a darling, but because if I don’t respond to the name he’ll to something I’ll regret in the morning.

No matter what goes on in my mind. I pay my bills, I work my job, never been late. On either of those. No, wait. I was late on one credit payment, thank you, James…

I clean not only myself and my apartment, but also my cats, my workstation and my building. I am a law abiding citizen.

… Most of the time. I still do the “I have read the terms and agreements…” except for publishing, I actually waded through that and tried to translate it.

Point being: crazy? Sure, absolutely. But I pay my taxes. So shut up and leave me alone.

I would, however, prefer the term writer. I would prefer to live among people who understand it when I smile, chuckle to myself, and say, “Aren calls…” and know that I mean them no offense, but that she’s got Av tied to a pole somewhere and is threatening to do either physical harm or naughty things, depending on what she thinks will get my attention quicker, and won’t stop until I start writing.

Changes

When James is over, he’s a distraction. When he’s not over, he’s drunk.

This weekend we had plans set up because it’s his birthday tomorrow and I wanted to do something nice. Now, none of these plans was going to cost me a cent, but when you tell me you’re going to take me out?

You had best fucking take me out.

One of his friends dropped off the map on Friday, saying that she was going to commit suicide. This is not the first time this woman has said this. She needs full on help and has been in the hospital for what I know for a fact have been two suicide attempts and that’s just within the last year.

Yet her family and the medical system have done nothing to help her.

Though she and James are birds of a feather and I’m pretty certain she just does this when she hasn’t heard from James in a while. I’m not even kidding you. When we first started dating, he didn’t talk to anyone for months, I know because I saw the messages and heard the talk once we went to his old city to visit his friends. And she tried it then.

After we left the city and he had a conversation with her, letting her know that he wasn’t moving back to said city, she tried again.

She needs actual help. And James needs to stop melting down every time he hears from her. Not like… he’s allowed to melt down emotionally, but he goes off the deep end and binges until she’s found. That reaction is what she wants and if she doesn’t get that reaction maybe she’ll have a wake-up call and start sorting out her life. She’s almost thirty and pining for someone who only views her as a sister.

So Friday night, instead of having James over and he and I watch a movie and eat some popcorn, I was called a selfish cold hearted bitch and told that I was “so much work and barely worth the effort.” Then he proceeded to go on about how this person took me into her home and treated me so well…

We stayed one night and then she had a meltdown when she saw us sleeping beside one another because her boyfriend was a “goody-goody” and didn’t want to drink or do drugs (I only participated in the drinking and then not that much). We were told to find another place and she resolutely refused to answer any calls or conversations from James until after he left the city.

Just because someone allows you to stay in their home, does not mean that you owe them your life. My father “allowed” me to stay on and off for twenty years. Does that make him a good person?

No, the answer you’re looking for is no.

I hung up on James and turned my ringer off, then unplugged my phone and started playing a game. Right about midnight I heard almost a crackling outside my door. I play with my game turned almost on mute because the sounds irritate me, but I like playing it. I sat in silence as the cats also turned towards the door (indicating to me that I was not crazy from the late hour).

Then there was what I thought sounded like careful footsteps away.

The next morning I stood on the spot just outside my door and shifted my weight from one foot to another.

Someone had been listening at my door for any sounds within.

When I spoke to James yesterday he said to me that he didn’t remember what had happened and he was sorry. I told him I wasn’t having any of it and repeated back the words he had called me. He denied that I was selfish. I pointed out that he didn’t deny that I was “a lot of work.”

He avoided answering.

To make me happy: come over and watch a movie or play a game, don’t make a mess (or clean up the mess you did make). Bam. Done.

You know what you don’t have to do? Contact me every twenty minutes. You don’t have to worry about me trying to jump off a building because you didn’t text me often enough. You don’t have to play some sort of eggshell game when you are here because if you say something insulting, I’ll tell you about it.

And I’m talking, you have to literally call me selfish, in order for me to call you on it.

That kind of pissed me off. He broke walls and it was an eggshell game with him, and he was messy but whining about how messy I was and how I never cleaned, but was never willing to clean himself. He was a lot of energy and still is, but I’m the one who’s being called names?

Then last night he asked about the money his mother sent me, which I was told about while I was at the mall. He knows I have never used my data on my phone. It used to be very little data, now is about double that. I only ever use it for emergencies and the maps so that I can get around, or get the bus schedule. He knows because I told him no on numerous occasions.

But apparently he assumed that I went into my email while at the mall, on data, and retrieved the… no. I’m a paranoid when it comes to that sort of thing. I won’t log into my bank accounts or enter passwords when I’m connected to data or WiFi. It is, it’s absolutely fucking crazy, but you know what I’ve never had? A breach.

So he gets upset with me because he wanted his money. I point out that since I don’t have what he wants, he can leave. He then gets upset because how dare I think that he only came for the money.

Of course not, he also came for the good meal which he tried to “forget” to do the dishes for, as was the deal. It wasn’t until after the meal and after the mall was closed that he asked for the money. Hoping to force me out to the corner store, or better yet, give him my card so that he could go to the corner store.

I’m a paranoid. He didn’t get my card and I didn’t bring it up because I knew. He knew I knew and didn’t bring up the corner store. Unless you make some offering, he won’t bring it up. At least he won’t with me because he knows the moment he makes that suggestion the alarm bells start going off and then he’s not getting anything.

He took ten dollars, which I had laying around, and I’m to take from the forty today. I scoffed angrily at him because now his forty is costing me money because I have to break a twenty for him. He got all uppity and I very nearly told him to get the fuck out and that I didn’t want to see him again.

Are you fucking kidding me? I, at no point, said it was alright for him to get his mother to send me money to give to him. I am not a fucking bank account with a vagina.

Little angry about that.

Little angry about the whole weekend, given the length of that rant…

I was supposed to enjoy my weekend and ask myself about my job.. The company made a mistake and now my area is being all but removed. There will be one position left. Mine. All of my people are losing their jobs (or being “repurposed” into other positions if they accept) and it has been “strongly suggested” that I move to a new location.

When I say a new location, I don’t mean another one. They want me to consider going to an undisclosed location (which is really only important for the bus system) to work at a brand new building which hasn’t opened yet. I would train my own team, I would run a larger team in a larger building.

If they can’t have me? They’re going to try to headhunt my old boss, the one I replaced last year, from her location and then would like me to consider her location. Which makes me shudder. It’s dirty and gross and old and her team are angry old bitties who are so set in their ways I’d end up screaming.

As I almost did when I went in to help them for a few days.

Or. I can stay where I am comfortable, except as the only person on my team. As my position in my area, I know that I am the second best on my team. We were going to lose the best come September anyhow, but it still gave me nine months to train someone else to take over for him. Now… I got nothing. I’ve done the math, I’m pooched.

I can’t sell myself!

Yet at the same time, this was what I had just been mulling over. How to teach myself, to sell myself so that I can make more sales in books and writing.

Dear Universe, that was not what I meant when I said I had to learn to sell myself.

So what do I do? My boss was hoping for an answer by Monday. As in, by tomorrow. If I stay my schedule will change. All days, all the time, but it’s what a normal company would call a mid-shift. Same work days every week, same shifts every week. Two days off in a row, but in the middle of the week. Whenever there is a stat, I will get a three day weekend because my position doesn’t work stats, we cost too much.

But at the cost of my team members, which I can’t save now anyhow. At the cost of my best worker, which I would need to prove to the company that we deserve to have a bigger team. And at the cost of my self-worth because every time someone winces at my work, I want to start crying. Every customer who is upset will be upset with me. Every job that needs doing needs to be done by me. I don’t know if I can do that.

I have a great deal less training than most in my position. I’ve been riding by the skin of my teeth and the knowledge I picked up working the other areas of the company that interacted with my current area. I love my job and my position, but I am deathly afraid that I’m setting myself up for failure because I am a worthless piece of shit.

This could either be really good and I’ll get over myself or it could be really bad and I’ll bomb, losing my job in the process.

Fuck.

Or… And this was only pointed out to me because of my past… I can apply for my old position (but at this location) which has come open. I knew the position was coming open, I knew that they would have to post internally, I knew that given their options and then having me there, with the knowledge I have and the training I’ve given them over my time here, that the position would be “suggested” to me.

They want me in my position, but at two other locations, or in my old position in this location. I don’t want to do my old position. I told my boss that I was happy where I was, then repeated it over several days each time she seemed to be going towards the relying on me and the changes coming up.

I like creating. But I don’t want to create at other locations at a cost of my time. I don’t want to go to another location which will take an hour each way, which eats into my writing time, which means I’m slower and I won’t achieve what I want to achieve, which means I’m working for the same company for thirty years, liking what I do but unable to achieve what I really want because of time constraints.

I could never live like that, I could never settle for that.

I’m so fucked, I don’t know what to do.

Snow Day!

A storm came through last night and this morning, bringing most of the city to a stop with its ten inches of snow. Where I was living in 2013, and for most of my life, ten inches of snow was something to be seen, but it still meant getting up for work.

I never liked getting up for work in ten inches of snow, but I did it because it was expected of me. The trouble really was the fact that I drove a tiny car with clearance for about nine and a half inches, give or take. Meaning there was half an inch being dragged off by my car and usually getting stuck at some point because my roads weren’t plowed or travelled on very often. Once one got off the back country roads the pickups, logging trucks, and SUVs have all but cleared the way, allowing on to travel unencumbered.

And, of course, the plows were working constantly, the people knew how to drive in those conditions and the buildings, hydro, and water have been set up in order to prevent damages from the weather the city expects given their environment.

This city was not created for such weather, which supposedly happens rarely but seems to happen each winter at least once.

So I’m home…

Three chapters left to edit, it would have been two had I actually paid attention during the re-write of one of the previous ones. Urg. But I can get it done, I will get it done. three chapters is just over an hour of work, depending what I’m reworking. Most likely it will be a short time because I already know the plot and how the chapters go. Mainly I need to change the perspective of some chapters. Too many characters who don’t need to be talking from their view.

I mean, really, who needs one chapter and only one chapter?

The morning after my previous post, I blew up on James over text message when he didn’t show up. He doesn’t have voice mail, I couldn’t have called him. I knew he’d get the texts when he woke up. Oh, and text is my preferred method of communication.

I told him that his behaviour was unacceptable, that his parole states he cannot be around me with any alcohol in his system. That this was never to happen again and if it did I would be calling the police.

He called me right before work and tried the same “it’s so hard” thing and when I refused to accept it he straight up called me rude. I became passive aggressive (at least I think that’s what it’s called) and said, “thank you, for calling me rude when all I’m trying to do is protect myself.” and hung up, shut off the phone and went to work.

The next day he was very apologetic. He wanted me to visit the new house and has been almost insisting since then.

Last night he came to visit and then it started snowing. We realized about the storm and I invited him to spend the night, rather than send him out into it because I’m not cruel. It was white out conditions and there were a great deal of reports about how cars were sliding all over.

This morning he left for his court-appointed classes and he discovered they were closed. Instead, he went to his house to shovel out the driveway. He called me just a few minutes ago and at that point he started saying, “we” so maybe Jeff was with him.

Anyhow. They were approached by the neighbour who has a bobcat (in a city? What? In a city that rarely gets snow? Why?) and they were going to try to boost it to get it to work. Apparently said neighbour came over with a thermos and asked if they wanted hot chocolate.

It was not hot chocolate. Or it was, but a lot of it was alcohol.

James claimed he didn’t realize until he took a sip, but only a sip. I know his sense of smell is a bit bad, I know that in the cold a runny nose can make smelling more difficult, but how do you miss the smell of homemade booze?

Whatever, he might be visiting later, but mainly to pick up his items. Right now I’ve got three chapters burning a hole in my ego that have to be dealt with.

The fourth book is almost entirely planned out. I just have to make certain I don’t forget how it goes, like I did with the second while editing the first.

I need milk, preferably pop as well… annnnndddd it’s snowing again. Gah.

Let me Spell it Out For You

Today I received several texts from James on my cell while I was on my lunch break. The texts were from across the day and reminded me of this “friend” from my old city who is just pushy. He likes me, I get it. Shut up, already. I sent back the flowers and the chocolates and I would have sent back the items he sent me when I was here, but I had no ability to.

And now the friend from the other city wants to visit me. “What do you think I should do with my vacation time? Any ideas where I should go?” “Nope.” “Okay,” and then nothing? Like I’m stupid enough to not understand what you were hinting at?

James ended up getting his house because Jeff did some manipulation thing and may have threatened to commit suicide if he didn’t get what he wanted. I wasn’t exactly paying attention because after he came out of the shower my senses prickled.

He was getting slowly drunk. Meaning he had a drink before he came into my home and didn’t tell me.

He ended up attempting to lecture me on how he’s human and I should understand… I think… because after I asked him to please leave and told him I didn’t appreciate him lying to me through omission, I stopped listening to him. I do know that he tried to tell me that he hadn’t lied and lying by omission was not actually lying.

Please. I can lie while telling the truth, don’t try to tell me how one can and cannot lie.

I’ve now got Sally giggling at nearly every word I say because, and I didn’t realize this until she pointed it out, nearly everything I say has a double meaning. Once she learned that I tell the truth while lying, (she calls it playing on words) her amusement grew. It’s nice having someone at work who can keep up with my verbal communication without taking everything as an insult.

I might speak in double meanings, but none of it is necessarily meant to be derogatory. When I get to saying things about people that is mean and yet not at the same time I end up giggling like a moron because I catch it and that’s usually the only time I’ll catch the double meaning as I’m saying it.

Anyhow. James eventually left, but I had about five minutes of concern that I’d have to call the cops again because he wasn’t exactly moving. There he was, standing over me and refusing to budge because I hadn’t given a verbal response.

I made some kind of sound and he nodded as if I were an obedient dog. As if I had learned my place.

You abusive motherfucker.

I thought as I stood and scooted him towards the door.

He tried to kiss me on the lips as he left and made a face when I didn’t respond. I’ve seen that face before. On my mother’s face, when she thought I thought I was too good for the family. On my father’s face when he thought I was pridefully ignoring his “help.” On my brother’s face when I told him to get the fuck out or I’d scream.

It is the look of those who think they are better than others and feel as if they are not being treated as they deserve to be treated. I know that I’ve had that look on my face though never for long because I’m good at making a mask.

I’ve been referred to as the “Lady of Ice” by more than one person.

By more than one person who had nothing to do with the original group who gave me the name.

Not because I’m cold hearted, but because I don’t show the emotions I feel and yet do all at the same time. You have to know me to see it, you have to be around enough to hear me talking to hear the subtle change in my tone.

In my old location, people knew what I was like when I felt things. They skittered out of my way when I picked up the phone for someone calling in sick when I knew for a fact they were out partying as they called me.

Not because they were afraid of me, but because they felt like a predator had suddenly emerged and didn’t know how to de-arm a bomb created by someone else. Of course I don’t need defusing from such a phone call, it just happened I worked here long enough for someone to notice the quirks and to teach them to others.

Back to today.

I managed to lock the door before I said, “fucking moron,” and sat down at my computer. I tried to focus, but I’m still angry about it.

In two days he’s not my problem anymore. Can’t even get into the building. Oh boy. Oh, glorious goodness. I feel as if a weight is lifting off of me.

I’ve been waiting to talk to James about his visits. I don’t feel as if they are being productive for either of us. He’s been drinking more and more and I’ve been sitting here, staring at my bottle of vodka as if I can beat him over the head with it with my mind alone. Except it’s plastic and bendy as if someone thought drunks might attempt to hurt themselves or others with it.

I don’t like that he comes over after having a drink and tries to pass it off as nothing, or tries to tell me that I should just adjust. I feel as if he’s trying to make me adjust, in order to control me.

And I’m not about to have any of it.

Especially when my gut reaction is to snarl at the person who walks up to me drunk.

He’s supposed to be over in the morning, I will have to broach the subject then because I cannot continue like this. I’m so sick of men who don’t get the fucking hint. I’m not attracted to your money, I’m not attracted to your charm, I am turned off by your talking down to me because I chose coffee over tea, or because I decided to play Minecraft instead of whatever game you play.

Sometimes the Hardest Thing in the World is Keeping Silent

I saw James for an hour or so today. Turns out he did drink last night and (according to him) Jeff spent their rent money but James spent not a cent. Yet still managed to get himself drunk enough that when he came over this morning he still stank of it.

When he did come over I went to the bathroom to brush my teeth before leaving for the mall to research toilet paper and coffee prices. It is not a good outlook for me. The coffee I drink is expensive everywhere except Target, I may have to buy them out and stash my the coffee until I can either swallow the larger price point or find a coffee which has the price and the taste I enjoy.

As I came out of the bathroom I heard James on the phone, he had called his mother while I was brushing my teeth.

Let’s see if I can recall it all…

He said what Jeff had done, complained because he didn’t deserve this, no one deserves this, oh, but Jeff should just rot in the street where he belongs and suffer for what he’s done to James. Whined because he’s worked really hard, like really hard and deserves better and should just get peace for once. But he doesn’t believe in all that fate nonsense, you get what you work towards. That’s the way life works.

In my life? I work very, very hard and still end up with an alcoholic sobbing on my couch to his mother as I’m just wanting to move on with my day or my life, or at the very least get off the freaking couch.

My life has me trampled down, has a huge debt for trying to be a responsible adult and hold my own in a new city. It had me, at my darkest, thinking about dropping everything and walking off the face of the earth. It’s had me beaten, abused, and almost raped on more than one occasion.

I’m sorry, I don’t believe life is fair, I certainly don’t believe that just because I’m a good person that I deserve all the good in life. What I’ve got is hard won, hard earned and it was met with many dead ends and crying myself to sleep. Once or twice it involved a bottle of vodka … and the one-time tequila …

I struggled with depression for years because I couldn’t see a way out of the hole I had ended up in, blinded by the rules that my father laid on me and unable to see past them.

But what James is doing? Is really hard. Like, really, really hard. Like, “harder than anything anyone has ever done before. Even you.”

Is what he said to me. And to his mother.

Who attempted suicide because she saw no other way to escape her abusive ex-husband, who finally left the man, taking her three children with no hope of a place to stay and then built one for herself and put herself through university.

But not drinking for one day is really, really hard and anyone who says otherwise simply doesn’t understand how difficult it is to be an alcoholic.

Try being humble. Stop being selfish. Fuck off, fuck you, and the bottle you drank last night.

I can understand feeling down, I felt down, I know his mother felt down. We didn’t, and still don’t, sit around verbally whining about how we don’t deserve this thing that is being done to us. We talk about what was done to us in order to move on from what was done to us.

At no point have the words, “I don’t deserve this,” come from my mouth.

Wait, I have to correct that. I do very poorly with gifts, and have said that when given something I thought extravagant given what I felt about myself at the time.

James ended up sobbing on the phone to his mother, on my couch, because he’s going to be homeless again and he can’t stand that, he doesn’t deserve that. Eventually he stopped crying and hung up on his mother. Apologized to me.

About this time I wanted to be rid of him. I spent half an hour hiding in my bedroom because this crazy alcoholic was sobbing like his mother just died because life is unfair to him.

I can’t stand the self-pity parties that other people throw themselves. I was unsympathetic because he always does this. We make plans, or I ask him to go along with me to do something that I feel I need support for and instead he gets drunk the night before and makes it all about him.

He’s a drama queen.

From the apartment, we went down to the mall and into the pharmacy. No luck on either of the items on my list so I ended up buying an energy drink and two sports drinks. One for James and the second because it was free. I figured I could store it in the fridge for him later but then he made some snotty comment about how I might need it the next morning.

Because I picked up a bottle of vodka.

James assumes that if there is vodka in a place, it must be drank immediately. The reason I bought it was because I like the idea of having the bottle and it going untouched for days and even weeks on end.

I couldn’t have alcohol in the apartment when James was here because he’d drink it and then I’d have all sorts of trouble. Now I can and it just sits there and … is like foreplay for drinking. When I finally do have a drink I sip and enjoy it.

From the pharmacy, James said he “absolutely had” to go to the check cashing place. So he cashed a check from the city, or province, I don’t know. The money was meant for basic needs and rent. He owed me fifty, so he gave me that.

However, while waiting for the folk to be ready for him, he started laughing maniacally to himself. Which is what he does while drunk, which I don’t appreciate him doing in public with me standing right beside him. I confronted him about it and he said he thought it was funny. I said that I didn’t think it was funny.

He does nothing and gets a check almost the size of my paycheck to sit in a dirty apartment drinking with his friends.

I… love my job, I can’t really complain, but I pay taxes and that goes towards his check and darn it.

While welfare and other programs of the like can go towards helping real people with actual problems, I can’t help but feel a majority of those I’ve met who receive money are just dumb morons who are in trouble because of their own actions. And I’m not talking, “didn’t get up early enough for work,” I’m talking “lost three jobs, traded off his girlfriend’s possessions, stole money from her card all the while denouncing welfare as demeaning and yet refusing to look for another job.”

James exploded on me and walked off when I called him on claiming that what he was doing was harder than anything I had ever done in my entire life. I felt he demeaned victims everywhere.

And… people in general…

People in the hospitals struggling to survive. People at war. People in other nations who are not so lucky to have their governments hand them a wad of cash for doing nothing at all.

But no, an alcoholic in a first world country is doing something much more difficult than… anything at all.

After being left in the middle of a crosswalk, I went back into the mall and into the grocery store, ignoring the two items I needed in order to pick up bananas and a few veggies.

Back at home I made banana cream pie? With the banana pudding and banana slices in there and a graham cracker crust. But not before I did the dishes, swept and mopped the floor, washed the entire stove, taking the grease and all off (it’s so white now) along with the outside of the fridge and most of the walls.

As that settled I showered, then made dinner and three lunches for over the weekend. Ate dinner, did more dishes and sat down with an entire pie. Not because I’m lonely and sad, but because I didn’t want to wash any more dishes. Ate a slice worth, put it back in the fridge and then sat down and realized I hadn’t played a game today.

Not what I meant when I said I was ready to not play games… Ah well. The apartment is clean. That’s something.

First One, Then Another

I think the sick is finally passing, I don’t feel like I’m going to throw up all the time, just after I’ve eaten. There was a stomach flu going around work and it seems to be spreading from Sally, who was the first person to get sick and was only sick for a day. Her family and friends are ill just as much as those at work are ill.

When it comes to stomach flus, as some folk call them, I don’t do the vomiting portion of the sickness and it always just sort of sits in my gut and takes longer to leave. The day to day exhaustion has definitely passed. I’m tired now, but for a different reason all together.

Every once in a while I’ll become a bit of an insomniac. I’ll go to bed, I’ll be tired, everything will shut down but I can’t quite take that last step into sleep. I basically spend the entire night laying in one spot thinking, “okay, I’m falling asleep finally…” but never actually fall asleep.

That happened the night before last and I got through my day with many cups of coffee, came home and was a snivelling mess because lack of sleep makes me weepy. I did manage to fall asleep, eventually, last night and since today was my late shift, I also managed to get a few hours of sleep before work.

I have tomorrow off and plan on sleeping, but not napping because that would make things worse.

Because today was my late shift I haven’t seen James for more than an hour. He and I played some Minecraft this morning before I headed to work. The last I heard from him was around three, when Jeff passed out in the hall and James was wondering if he should leave Jeff there or drag him into the apartment. Of course we communicate mainly via text so I was back from break at that time and received the text on my next break. I explained my whoops and didn’t hear back from James.

Not even a phone call, which is a little odd for him.

Whatever, he’ll resurface a hundred to six hundred dollars down and I’ll just be here sipping my beverage (non-alcoholic because I work for the next week straight) and chuckling to myself about how it isn’t my problem.

He and Jeff are out of the building as of Sunday, whether they have a place to stay or not. Which will make me feel a great deal better about these times when he disappears and doesn’t text me. I half expected to find him passed out in my hall.

Once he’s out of the building, however, it will be a great deal harder for him to get in. Even if his friends let him into the building I have many different ways of getting rid of a drunk him without ever involving the cops.

On the writing front nothing has moved. I was ill last week and have been fighting with insomnia, none of which is conducive to editing and re-writing a novel.

I have made small changes around the apartment. Like the framed art now on my wall. Or getting rid of the first puzzle. One of the cats was sick on it… At least it was easier to clean up because it was ontop of a garbage bag to dry after I applied the glue to it.

Or the shelving I now have up. Just little boxes that are meant as floating frames or some such. Two behind my couch on either side of the framed art now hold a few books. Two are in my kitchen for spices. One is in my bathroom as my new toilet paper holder (until I find a replacement for the one James broke a year ago) and one more is going up in my bedroom to hold my cell phone while I sleep, or maybe a light. I haven’t decided yet.

As small as the changes were, and I had to fight myself to get my body to move to do something as simple as placing the no-worry hangers up, James audibly gasped at how much they have changed the feel of the apartment. It is no longer simply a box. Someone lives here and cares about it.

Which really just reminds me that I need to clean the apartment tomorrow.

I moved a fan from in front of the radiator and as it turns out James got blood on it… Way, way back when I started this blog. It’s just I haven’t seen it until tonight. I moved the fan this morning… Tomorrow I’ll have to clean it with rubbing alcohol and gloves on. Just in case it’s something besides blood.

Wonder how hot the radiator is…

Since they did the repair last week the radiators in the building have been pumping out a great deal of heat. Which is great, but at the same time not so much when you’re still burning through an illness. I’d wake drenched in sweat. Last night was the first night that I slept that I didn’t wake up sweaty.

As the day before I hadn’t slept, though I still ended up covered.

Besides cleaning tomorrow, I don’t know what I will do as I don’t need any groceries, oddly. I don’t have to leave the house at all.

At the same time I don’t want to spend all day playing Minecraft or Destiny. Not even the Sims for that matter. This is a good thing, though, typically I have stagnant periods in writing where I do nothing and instead play games, get really obessessed with them and play for days on end. A few days to a month later I sort of snap out of my trance and decide I don’t want to do that right now and then I write for a few months to two years while the games go unplayed.

Rinse, repeat, that is my writing life.

And That, Children, Is Why You Should Own a Dildo

Let me start off with the warning that I have had a few drinks. Drinking and Mine craft. Feck, it’s hard to create a palace.

I’ve had it explode four times from mobs (those are enemy creatures for those who don’t know) and it simply hasn’t expanded from shear lack of boredom. I want to create what I want to create, but darn. Does it take time.

And yes, I meant to say feck.

I met up with James in the mall by pure accident. Now that I think about it he was headed towards the booze store. He was sober when I saw him, I was coming out of the dollar store. Talk about awkward.

I don’t think he fully comprehended the extent of my anger until I pulled away when he tried to kiss me goodbye.

What I did was I came home and drank an energy drink. Did laundry. Started playing a game and when the time came about evening I started drinking. Of course, my preference is vodka so I’ve been having small drinks.

About…. four? James demanded his sister’s ashes and the money he entrusted to me because during a conversation a few minutes before he started talking down to me.

He started drinking shortly after I saw him and started calling me. The calls consisted of him telling me that he’s working really hard. Like. Really hard. Like harder than anyone I’ve ever known. Like. Harder than me.

Whoa.

Just…

Whoa…

The fuck do you think you’re saying? That a failed alcoholic does more work than someone who has worked their way out of multiple abusive relationships?

Just, whoa.

Inside my mind a voice when off saying, “Bitch said what?”

Which is a cultural reference I no longer recall the origin of. But it still amuses me. Imagine the last word drawn out, which I swear is said by a black man in a high pitched voice. I might never know…

When he said that I got angry and hung up. He called me back.

I literally hung up in the middle of the conversation, I’m twenty-seven years old and I’ve never done that before, not even to my own father (who may have sexually abused me) how angry do you think I was?

He called me back and eventually I picked up and told him, yet again, not to talk down to me. He said he was trying to be an adult about this (while drunk) I told him that adults don’t get drunk!

Then hung up and took a nice long bath.

He demanded his sister’s ashes as I bathed, along with the money he gave me. I demanded the money I paid for my visa for his phone bill and heard nothing back for about two hours. When I finally heard back from him I had begun to drink and he ignored the money.

Uhm… I’m holding two hundred (because he took a third of it the day before) of your money and I’m demanding you own up to about one fifteenth of that… If you don’t pay me… well.. Damned be, I could afford a new Xbox!

Then I got a voicemail stating that someone would be by to collect the ashes and the money. That this “co-dependancy” thing wasn’t working. It might be best if…

… He broke up with me over voicemail. Which he had no obligation to do as we weren’t dating. He came over and did dishes in exchange for good food and sometimes we had sex.

I’m sorry, he’s the best sex I ever had while he was drunk. Sober is… oh my… so much better.

But this was one reason why I bought myself a toy as I signed the papers (as is mentioned a few posts ago because they didn’t deliver it properly), in order to resist the temptation of sleeping with James because he is very, very good at the sex.

Which I can only pinpoint as the only reason he managed to carry on a five-year relationship while being the type of alcoholic that he is!

Anyhow, point being that James and I have been having a “fight.”

Jeff came to collect “a bunch of things” but all James had mentioned was the ashes and his money, so that was all I handed over. I did notice, as I was handing them over, that Jeff shook and wasn’t in the present. But I didn’t care and locked the door behind him.

Many hours went by before I was tempted and texted James that he was a dickweed and this was why I had bought the toy. I told him that I wasn’t interested in any sort of a conversation until he was two weeks sober.

He actually texted me back (which he doesn’t do while drunk) that it was inappropriate of me to demand such a thing because he is going through MUCH more than I have ever gone through in my entire life.

A bit of alcoholism does not compare to what I’ve gone through in life.

I challenged his claim and he demanded I submit.

Again.

Bitch said what?

He’s struggled with alcoholism a few weeks. I’ve struggled against abuse my entire life, but I’m sure he’s right. Alcoholism trumps anything that anyone in the history of mankind has ever gone through…