turning the thermostat up higher does not make it get warmer faster. it just makes the heater stay on longer. is this such a difficult concept? i mean fuck.
Recently in i'd sooner chew my leg off Category
breakfast = string cheese, cookies, yogurt, naproxen, erythromycin, beer. *urp* may be able to keep computer hooked up here till (tomorrow) morning, maybe not. really tired of this constant highpitched ringing in the ear near the tooth.
not exactly sure where i'm going.
aside from that everything's peachy.
a while back this stopped being a choice i made and turned into, as my son put it yesterday, "me and daddy are moving to a new house, and you're moving somewhere else. do you know why?" and i said why and he said "because of this mess!" (pointing at my computer table) "look what you've done to this house".
so yeah, it's alllllll worth it isn't it? leaving a situation that *felt* grim, for one that actually, materially, physically *is* grim. dunno, if i did still have a choice, i'd have to go with the life of quiet desperation in a house having luxuries like a phone than the one i'm headed out into right now.
on the plus side, it does make the bit about 'i'd sooner chew my leg off' hardly an exaggeration at all.
fuzzy math: in the course of the bitching out this morning he accused me of "spending at least five hundred dollars" on clothes in the past couple months. let's see - an average $7 at the 99ยข rack, times maybe 6 times i shopped -- hey! that's why i'm broke! it's not because he took all my income last month! oh yeah, and this is on "things i don't wear" (except that they are all i have to wear, my old clothes didn't fit).
still. what's worse? living with an idiot in a house, or ... not?
you need to be in front of your son's school at two twenty pm on the dot. you need to leave work at one thirty to allow for shit to happen because shit happens, but since you were over an hour late this morning because the person who informed you you would be changing your schedule from now on, purposely did not wake you up on his way out because he's all about tearing you down with told you so when you fail, and your lack of failure lately has got to be wearing on him. so your boss is not happy and your coworker wants these details seen to and since you were late you do not insist upon leaving when you need to. you are in the car 14 minutes after you should have been. you are dead flat on empty. it is hot, you are thirsty. you do the digging for change on the bottom of your purse on the way to the gas station, collecting some $4.25, out of which you splurge $0.75 on a diet coke. you pay with a handful of sticky hairy quarters, pump your gallon and a half and go. it is hot, you get shitty gas mileage, you wonder which is worse, bad aerodynamics or the air conditioner, you pick the aerodynamics and you sweat. you make the best time you can considering the fact neither your tires nor your brakes are actually safety features anymore. you do 80, 85 as long as you can, thinking rather ruefully about that four star safety rating, knowing the chances are a horrendous wreck would fail to kill you and just leave you maimed. the drive gives you time to reflect on your life. for the longest time you have been allowing your ex to tell you "well you just have to pay it" when there was no money, and you played the cashflow like a maestro until this month when he brought that crashing down. perhaps 'i'll hold you down and fuck you in the ass till you give me the money' was an idle threat, perhaps not; it's not like it hasn't happened before, and whether or not it's still in him to do that the words just the words took you threw you back a half decade and if you remeber correctly it really pisses him off when you scream and cry in pain, and these are the excuses the bottom line is you gave him the money you gave him more or less all of it and the checking account the whole cashflow juggling thing came crashing down and is most likely beyond rescue at this point and you allowed this, you did. and in two weeks you'll be free of this but this is small comfort in the face of total financial ruin, and it is two fourteen, and you have six minutes, and the traffic in front of you comes to a dead stop. you begin to freak just a little, your cell phone has been turned off, you are going to be late, and incidentally let's not forget the bit about life being in the toilet, not even for a moment. the coming to a stop you manage with practiced skill, many's the car you've nursed through needing work. the stupid bitch behind you whose car is not even old enough to need replacement tires or brakes has to swerve onto the shoulder to avoid hitting you and you think well at least i'm not stupid, it could be worse. the traffic the traffic the fucking traffic and your cell phone is off and it is two nineteen you are at least ten minutes out and the traffic and you think of your son standing outside the school waiting worrying and you start seriously crying like freakout crying. the traffic is constant until almost the exit, no particular reason for it except that people are fucking stupid and can't merge. off at the exit two twenty six still several traffic lights to get through, you pull up in front of the school at two twenty nine and where is your son? you creep slowly along, looking, an idiot motherfucking excursion driving bitch damn near backs into you fucking look before you back the truck up you stupid yuppie cunt and there he is, poor kid's been out there waiting, he gets in the car mommy why are you crying i said i was in terrible traffic and i was worried you would be scared.
i didn't mention any of the rest of it.
so. the duplex i live in went on the market, what was that a week ago? and it sold, sight unseen, for five hundred fifty thousand dollars. the new owners are coming for a walk through in an hour.
direct quote from whatsisname "well at least i cleaned the refrigerator". um, huh? i guess that's like, really important on his planet.
i, um ... life is wonderful. no problem. none whatsoever.
... because severely phobic people are just so entertaining.
yesterday, napping on the couch, he comes home. he says, hold out your hand. and i do. and he puts the thing in it. my eyes are blurry can't make out what it is, so i ask ...
it's a bug.
scream. fling bug. scream again. cry. sit there feeling the afterimage of the feeling of the bug in my hand, for a good twenty mintues afterward. fixing up those pictures, had me at least half as freaked as the incident itself -- it was in my hand. in my hand. that thing. my hand.
this is my opinion, & my opinion only. it's also very whiny. i'm not very comfortable with this side of myself.
there's more to the wise click would have been delete.
did you know, that if you delete an entry from MT, that it leaves the file on the server? so what i do, when i want to really delete something, is clear the text boxes, & save it empty before i delete it.
as to this one? i can do better.
which stands as evidence of the week that was. & then there were a few hours of work & then a few minutes of yelling & being yelled at & being told not to use the word fuck in the house & well just don't be a fucking asshole, & i won't have to will i? what else is there to say with that heat traveling up the back of the scalp? it burns. which happens when the yelling is pent-up days-weeks-months-years, there's no discussing these things, for that some validity would have to be assigned where no amount of discussion has ever resulted in its assignment. there are hopeless cases, this is one.
& there are things i need to throw. & can't. & things that could do with some breaking. can't. if comfort exists anywhere in this helpless rage it's that this won't last forever. things will break, & not the dishes. as satisfying as that would be.
there will be demolition soon enough. something like it anyway. more like i'll chew my leg off. whatever. so, decision: for the amount of times i said i don't care (& meant it) do i obey anyway? there will be venomous remarks if i don't, i don't care. but do i want to hear it? i hate it. how can i not care and hate? well, i can.
[this is where a listing of the bitterest sort of grievances was before i selected it with the mouse & typed this instead.]
because it truly does not matter. nothing does, right? however there is scant comfort in nihilistic rhetoric when there are forty five mintues maybe left, & things go straight back to shit.
fourteen hours of sleep & i'm still exhausted.
some days shake me. literally i mean vibrating, approximately 65 maybe 70 khz, not quite entirely steady to the eye, though most of them are averted before they know it, it's misdirection, i do it, & i'm good; well, i manage i ... [this is the part where i nearly really screamed - if i had actually screamed, you'd have heard, oh yes & you'd be shaken too] why?
there's more to i see dead insects. moving..
