I really don't. Perhaps you aren't what I thought you were. And I do owe you an apology. This is going up on the blog because I know all of you guys read this, and so it's going on here because it's simply faster than anything else I could think of. I talked to Colleen last night. She isn't...quite what I was expecting. She was...nice. Like, nicer than Trinette nice. I would be exceedingly hard-pressed to dislike her if I hadn't had quite so many pre-conceived notions about her.
And I owe her an apology, for January. Evidently, some of the things that happened in January weren't...quite the way I had had portrayed to me. And as she was pretty forthright about what happened, I'm fairly inclined to believe her. She wasn't portraying herself in a particularly lovely light, and that counts very highly with me. There was no "oh, all him, none of it me" in the way she portrayed herself. I'm inclined to believe what she said...and that being said...I owed her an apology for some of the things that have been said about her by me, and by my friends about her.
Leave her alone on my behalf for the things that took place then.
What's gone on now? How things have gone down, with Phil, and the mess now? Anything else that needs to be handled, or anything else that may or may not come up? Either she and I will reach some kind of understanding, or not. But it's over now.
There's been enough damage. He's lied, to everyone. To her, to me, to everyone. What happens now? I can't do anything about any of it anymore.
I've been hurt enough now. I will say, straight out, that if she reads past this point, below here there are details. And those details? Those are all of the truths that he hides. As I said last night. I don't lie. While my verbal speech is unsteady, my written speech doesn't have that problem. And what's written below was written before I spoke with you. But I don't lie. I know you love him. But I also know that the person you think he is, he's not. He isn't the honorable, loving, kind, generous man that you believe him to be. I wish that he could be, but he isn't.
I've always accepted that about him. I haven't tried to change it, because it's not something about him that can be changed. He is who and what he is, and that person is a manipulator. He does what he wants, and he takes what he wants. That's simply a part of who he is. And when he starts to feel bad about it? He moves on, and buries the parts that don't work out. And he plays a semantics game, and generally tries to work things out in his favor, to make it all balance in the end. And he's very, very good at it.
He's going to try, as hard as he can, the best that he can, to make things work. Because he desperately wants to make it work. But in the end, it will most likely fail. Because the person he wants to be? And the person he is, they aren't the same. If they were, he wouldn't keep cheating. He wouldn't have been comfortable living the lie. He wouldn't have ignored the phone, and kept telling the lies, until he had no other options. He was and is comfortable with the lies. Over and over again. Until he's caught.
If you have to tell him a list of people he can't be trusted with? Then it probably isn't going to work out. How can you say that he has to have no friends, and no life and no one to talk to? And I understand that you don't want that for him. But in the end, he'll be lonely and alone...and then what will happen? It might not be me, but it will be someone. Because he'll need *someone*. He can't stand to be alone all the time. And you have a life back there, you can't be there for him all the time.
As I said. What he tells you are lies he's comfortable with. It's very easy for him, to lie to you. It would be easy for me, to learn to like you. Strange, but true. Kind of creepy, actually. I'll have to ponder that some more. This is probably the strangest blog I've written in a while. And I'll most likely be getting calls from all over tomorrow after people read this.
Good luck tomorrow. Let me know how it went. If you want the truth, read below. It will give you more insight to how insidiously he can twist his truth if he wants. If you prefer to not know what you're dealing with, only read current posts of mine. Either way is fine.
G'nite.
Wednesday, April 30, 2008
Tuesday, April 29, 2008
my personal curiosity about the truth he told
I honestly wonder how much truth got told. Which is more or less making me kind of bitchy. I wonder if I have the right to be pissy? I don't know. I'm not sure I care.
He has a bad habit of only telling parts of the truth, especially if he figures it will hurt his cause. For instance, during his "confession", did he tell her how that possible pregnancy scare came to be? That four days *before* the Vegas tryst he was in my bed having sex with me? Did that come up? That was why he got sent away in the first place. He was oh, so angry, because I sent him away. But the fact was that he came over that Monday night, and I was loaded up on my painkiller and migraine meds, naked in my bed...and he let himself into the apartment, climbed in naked to join me, and somehow, with me high, and him sober, the two of us had sex. Four days before he joined her in Vegas. And even though I all but begged him to tell her, he didn't want to. He flat out refused to, and I had promised that I wouldn't spill the beans. So I told him to go, and not come back. And he was angry. Furious at me, for sending him away. And all of this, because he flat-out refused to tell the truth about having sex with me.
And when all my symptoms started showing up, symptoms I'm *still* having, for being pregnant, and I flipped out, and we both didn't know what to do...he didn't breathe a word of anything to his girlfriend. His solution? Head in the sand, until we got some kind of concrete results. Although not entirely in the sand. We fell back into bed together, within twenty-four hours of him being back in my apartment visiting me. It's almost like a sick, twisted disease. I'll give him credit about the possible pregnancy. He held me, told me everything would be all right, no matter what. And then promptly went to bed with me. Where he stayed, pretty much nonstop, for the rest of the month. Up to and including the week *after* the results came back. Until someone *else* told his girlfriend that there was something going on, he would never have said anything at all.
And what puzzles me the most about the entire fucking situation? He was here, for what, the fifth until the twenty-sixth? So twenty days? And he talked to her, on the phone, like five times, for a couple hours each time. On the days he'd run home to get clothes, or whatever. Because the entire rest of that time, he was here. He spent all of those nights here. And somehow, she bought whatever story he fed her.
It doesn't add up. The weekend in January when he cheated on me with her, when I couldn't reach him, because he was avoiding me. I *knew* something was up, because he was avoiding me, and not taking the calls. And that was two days. So during the course of twenty days, when he ignored the phone, didn't pick it up, and didn't return calls? And she wasn't livid, and leaving screaming voicemails? And I know he was ignoring the phone, because he was here. I watched him do it. Something smells fishy.
She either doesn't or didn't care, and was doing something else back home, and so didn't notice his inattention, or worse. I have my own theories on it. So do a few other people, but that's on their blogs. I got a kick out of reading their theories, actually, even though they called me a moron for caring about him in any fashion at this point.
And he's told me for months, and stated very clearly in January that he would *never* let any woman dictate who he could and could not spend his time with. That he would never, under any circumstances abandon me, because I was too important and valuable to him as a friend. I had been too close, and helped him through too much to just abandon me because he was ordered to, no matter who was asking. So imagine my surprise when I got a call telling me that he'd been told by her that she could "get past everything", as long as he cut me from his life...and that he was indeed considering it.
And I was apparently supposed to not be livid that it was under consideration. And he seems so puzzled that I wasn't just going to roll over and pretend everything was fine while he made up his mind.
My personal opinion is that she was fully expecting him to tell her that wasn't an option, and walk. That makes her the victim in the entire situation. Yes, he cheated. Yes, I'm sure it sucks. It probably sucks even more if she knows all the sordid details. It's not the first time he's "slipped".
There was a phone call in December saying he had to break things off, he'd chosen me instead? He "slipped" then too. He slips a lot. I can see why she doesn't want him anywhere near me.
But on the other hand. It's pretty shitty of him to just drop me, when I've been nothing but good to him, and deserve much better than this. You don't drop your friends, even for a girlfriend. Especially for a girlfriend who is 2000 miles away, with no impending chance of showing up in reality, anytime soon. You actually show value and appreciation for the friends who have stood by you, and held you up when you got screwed over. The ones you helped you out and bailed you out, and have done everything under the sun to prove their loyalty to you...in ways that that quasi-long-distance girlfriend *hasn't*.
If someone is going to tell the truth? They should 'fess up to all of it. Not just the selective parts, the ones that will make them look the least bad. It's a shame more people can't learn to tell the entire truth, whether it makes them look bad or not.
I sure as shit don't come off looking particularly shiny and clear in this mess. But I'm not ashamed of what I do with Phillip, and I'm not ashamed to admit the truth of things. If she wants to know the truth, I'll talk to her and tell her anything she wants to know, to her face. Which is more than I can say for him. I always would have, but he's always forbid me to talk to her. I gather that it was a similar thing for her, he didn't want her communicating with me in any way. Something about if I contacted her online, be the bigger person, and just ignore it and walk away. He did a good job at it, keeping it separate.
And now everything is fucked. I've been telling him for quite a while that everything would blow up in his face. His roommates knew he wasn't at the house. He lied to them too, about where he was. Because he knew they might tell her where he'd gone. My roommate knows he was here, and won't lie to cover his ass. She wouldn't go out of her way to tell anyone anything, but she won't lie to cover anyone either.
He spent weeks here, in front of everyone, and thought it wouldn't ever get back to his girlfriend? *sigh* I just don't get it.
And now, I'm just supposed to...what? Not be angry? Not care? Sit, and wait patiently, while he makes up his mind about what he plans to do. While he carefully crafts more edited versions of what went on here for the last month so that she can feel good about it. Makes it seem as though this hasn't been a pattern all along.
He came to Bakersfield to sleep with me. Naked. The entire time I was there. His visits to play with Melissa and her children? Sure, he did that too. She cooked for him, and he did indeed learn quite a bit about Judaism. And then we went to bed together. Every single time. And every time I rolled into Fresno from Bakersfield? He was in my bed then too. Valentines Day? He was with me then.
The *entire* time he was telling her how much he missed her and he loved her, and couldn't wait to be with her again...he was still in my bed, in my arms. On the phone with me when I was too far away for that to be practical. On the phone with me for 4-6 hours a night. I talked him to sleep, every night. Fell asleep on the phone with him. Woke him up with a call almost every morning.
And every single time, we go 'round and 'round, like a carnival ride. He doesn't want to be with me. He wants her. He loves her. But it's me that he comes back to. Every time. And then, because he "loves her", he feels guilty, and breaks it off with me. But doesn't want to tell her what he's done. He just wants to sweep it all under the rug, and pretend nothing ever happened, and I'm supposed to go along with it, because we're friends, and that's what friends do.
Because to do otherwise, it would ruin his relationship with her! And I don't want to see him unhappy, do I? Things like that. And I ask him, if he's going to abandon me, and leave me alone without our friendship, and he gets angry, and asks me questions like "You have a really low opinion of me, don't you?". As though he'd never do such a thing. How could I accuse him of such a horrible thing.
How could I make such an accusation? I could make it, because at this point...it appears that's precisely what he's giving thought to doing...even though I'm not the one who starts our trysts. All I am is his friend. The one who picked up the pieces every time he needed it, and made sure he wasn't left alone when there was absolutely no one else when she abandoned him.
And somehow, he never remembers *that*.
He has a bad habit of only telling parts of the truth, especially if he figures it will hurt his cause. For instance, during his "confession", did he tell her how that possible pregnancy scare came to be? That four days *before* the Vegas tryst he was in my bed having sex with me? Did that come up? That was why he got sent away in the first place. He was oh, so angry, because I sent him away. But the fact was that he came over that Monday night, and I was loaded up on my painkiller and migraine meds, naked in my bed...and he let himself into the apartment, climbed in naked to join me, and somehow, with me high, and him sober, the two of us had sex. Four days before he joined her in Vegas. And even though I all but begged him to tell her, he didn't want to. He flat out refused to, and I had promised that I wouldn't spill the beans. So I told him to go, and not come back. And he was angry. Furious at me, for sending him away. And all of this, because he flat-out refused to tell the truth about having sex with me.
And when all my symptoms started showing up, symptoms I'm *still* having, for being pregnant, and I flipped out, and we both didn't know what to do...he didn't breathe a word of anything to his girlfriend. His solution? Head in the sand, until we got some kind of concrete results. Although not entirely in the sand. We fell back into bed together, within twenty-four hours of him being back in my apartment visiting me. It's almost like a sick, twisted disease. I'll give him credit about the possible pregnancy. He held me, told me everything would be all right, no matter what. And then promptly went to bed with me. Where he stayed, pretty much nonstop, for the rest of the month. Up to and including the week *after* the results came back. Until someone *else* told his girlfriend that there was something going on, he would never have said anything at all.
And what puzzles me the most about the entire fucking situation? He was here, for what, the fifth until the twenty-sixth? So twenty days? And he talked to her, on the phone, like five times, for a couple hours each time. On the days he'd run home to get clothes, or whatever. Because the entire rest of that time, he was here. He spent all of those nights here. And somehow, she bought whatever story he fed her.
It doesn't add up. The weekend in January when he cheated on me with her, when I couldn't reach him, because he was avoiding me. I *knew* something was up, because he was avoiding me, and not taking the calls. And that was two days. So during the course of twenty days, when he ignored the phone, didn't pick it up, and didn't return calls? And she wasn't livid, and leaving screaming voicemails? And I know he was ignoring the phone, because he was here. I watched him do it. Something smells fishy.
She either doesn't or didn't care, and was doing something else back home, and so didn't notice his inattention, or worse. I have my own theories on it. So do a few other people, but that's on their blogs. I got a kick out of reading their theories, actually, even though they called me a moron for caring about him in any fashion at this point.
And he's told me for months, and stated very clearly in January that he would *never* let any woman dictate who he could and could not spend his time with. That he would never, under any circumstances abandon me, because I was too important and valuable to him as a friend. I had been too close, and helped him through too much to just abandon me because he was ordered to, no matter who was asking. So imagine my surprise when I got a call telling me that he'd been told by her that she could "get past everything", as long as he cut me from his life...and that he was indeed considering it.
And I was apparently supposed to not be livid that it was under consideration. And he seems so puzzled that I wasn't just going to roll over and pretend everything was fine while he made up his mind.
My personal opinion is that she was fully expecting him to tell her that wasn't an option, and walk. That makes her the victim in the entire situation. Yes, he cheated. Yes, I'm sure it sucks. It probably sucks even more if she knows all the sordid details. It's not the first time he's "slipped".
There was a phone call in December saying he had to break things off, he'd chosen me instead? He "slipped" then too. He slips a lot. I can see why she doesn't want him anywhere near me.
But on the other hand. It's pretty shitty of him to just drop me, when I've been nothing but good to him, and deserve much better than this. You don't drop your friends, even for a girlfriend. Especially for a girlfriend who is 2000 miles away, with no impending chance of showing up in reality, anytime soon. You actually show value and appreciation for the friends who have stood by you, and held you up when you got screwed over. The ones you helped you out and bailed you out, and have done everything under the sun to prove their loyalty to you...in ways that that quasi-long-distance girlfriend *hasn't*.
If someone is going to tell the truth? They should 'fess up to all of it. Not just the selective parts, the ones that will make them look the least bad. It's a shame more people can't learn to tell the entire truth, whether it makes them look bad or not.
I sure as shit don't come off looking particularly shiny and clear in this mess. But I'm not ashamed of what I do with Phillip, and I'm not ashamed to admit the truth of things. If she wants to know the truth, I'll talk to her and tell her anything she wants to know, to her face. Which is more than I can say for him. I always would have, but he's always forbid me to talk to her. I gather that it was a similar thing for her, he didn't want her communicating with me in any way. Something about if I contacted her online, be the bigger person, and just ignore it and walk away. He did a good job at it, keeping it separate.
And now everything is fucked. I've been telling him for quite a while that everything would blow up in his face. His roommates knew he wasn't at the house. He lied to them too, about where he was. Because he knew they might tell her where he'd gone. My roommate knows he was here, and won't lie to cover his ass. She wouldn't go out of her way to tell anyone anything, but she won't lie to cover anyone either.
He spent weeks here, in front of everyone, and thought it wouldn't ever get back to his girlfriend? *sigh* I just don't get it.
And now, I'm just supposed to...what? Not be angry? Not care? Sit, and wait patiently, while he makes up his mind about what he plans to do. While he carefully crafts more edited versions of what went on here for the last month so that she can feel good about it. Makes it seem as though this hasn't been a pattern all along.
He came to Bakersfield to sleep with me. Naked. The entire time I was there. His visits to play with Melissa and her children? Sure, he did that too. She cooked for him, and he did indeed learn quite a bit about Judaism. And then we went to bed together. Every single time. And every time I rolled into Fresno from Bakersfield? He was in my bed then too. Valentines Day? He was with me then.
The *entire* time he was telling her how much he missed her and he loved her, and couldn't wait to be with her again...he was still in my bed, in my arms. On the phone with me when I was too far away for that to be practical. On the phone with me for 4-6 hours a night. I talked him to sleep, every night. Fell asleep on the phone with him. Woke him up with a call almost every morning.
And every single time, we go 'round and 'round, like a carnival ride. He doesn't want to be with me. He wants her. He loves her. But it's me that he comes back to. Every time. And then, because he "loves her", he feels guilty, and breaks it off with me. But doesn't want to tell her what he's done. He just wants to sweep it all under the rug, and pretend nothing ever happened, and I'm supposed to go along with it, because we're friends, and that's what friends do.
Because to do otherwise, it would ruin his relationship with her! And I don't want to see him unhappy, do I? Things like that. And I ask him, if he's going to abandon me, and leave me alone without our friendship, and he gets angry, and asks me questions like "You have a really low opinion of me, don't you?". As though he'd never do such a thing. How could I accuse him of such a horrible thing.
How could I make such an accusation? I could make it, because at this point...it appears that's precisely what he's giving thought to doing...even though I'm not the one who starts our trysts. All I am is his friend. The one who picked up the pieces every time he needed it, and made sure he wasn't left alone when there was absolutely no one else when she abandoned him.
And somehow, he never remembers *that*.
this friday, my day will most likely suck ass
So on Friday I'll be going in to see my doctor about some testing, since my pregnancy test did come back negative. While I'll still need to have one more of those run, just to rule out the last of the fun and games we had since I wasn't on active birth control for that three week run, I still need to know what the hell is wrong with me.
Unfortunately, while I'm very much aware there are many, many women out there who are coming up negative on pregnancy tests in this country because of antibodies bonding to the HCG hormones in their bodies, that are masking pregnancies, and they only find out by ultrasound about the babies, I can't exactly just sit around and wait.
Thus, I searched out other stuff...and came up with the fact that one other thing fits my symptoms. And it sucked. Enough that in spite of my hating dealing with my doctor, off to the stupid ass physician I go. Apparently ovarian cancer also fits most of my symptoms pretty damned well.
And since I've already had cancer, and the majority of my immediate family has also had reproductive cancer in some fashion, I guess I'm about to go through a round of testing, just to be sure. I'm not willing to take that kind of a chance. My health is already unstable enough without throwing an advanced case of cancer that *can't* be treated into the mix.
The Mayo Clinic website on Ovarian Cancer
Signs and symptoms
Symptoms of ovarian cancer are nonspecific and mimic those of many other more common conditions, including digestive and bladder disorders. It isn't unusual for a woman with ovarian cancer to be diagnosed with another condition before finally learning she has cancer. The key seems to be persistent or worsening signs and symptoms. With most digestive disorders, symptoms tend to come and go, or they occur in certain situations or after eating certain foods. With ovarian cancer, there's typically little fluctuation — symptoms are constant and gradually worsen.
Recent studies have shown that women with ovarian cancer are more likely than are other women to consistently experience the following symptoms:
* Abdominal pressure, fullness, swelling or bloating
* Urinary urgency
* Pelvic discomfort or pain
Additional signs and symptoms that women with ovarian cancer may experience include:
* Persistent indigestion, gas or nausea
* Unexplained changes in bowel habits, including diarrhea or constipation
* Changes in bladder habits, including a frequent need to urinate
* Loss of appetite
* Unexplained weight loss or gain
* Increased abdominal girth or clothes fitting tighter around your waist
* Pain during intercourse (dyspareunia)
* A persistent lack of energy
* Low back pain
Doctors can usually diagnose ovarian cancer within three months of women first noticing symptoms, but sometimes it may take six months or longer before a diagnosis can be made.
Unfortunately, while I'm very much aware there are many, many women out there who are coming up negative on pregnancy tests in this country because of antibodies bonding to the HCG hormones in their bodies, that are masking pregnancies, and they only find out by ultrasound about the babies, I can't exactly just sit around and wait.
Thus, I searched out other stuff...and came up with the fact that one other thing fits my symptoms. And it sucked. Enough that in spite of my hating dealing with my doctor, off to the stupid ass physician I go. Apparently ovarian cancer also fits most of my symptoms pretty damned well.
And since I've already had cancer, and the majority of my immediate family has also had reproductive cancer in some fashion, I guess I'm about to go through a round of testing, just to be sure. I'm not willing to take that kind of a chance. My health is already unstable enough without throwing an advanced case of cancer that *can't* be treated into the mix.
The Mayo Clinic website on Ovarian Cancer
Signs and symptoms
Symptoms of ovarian cancer are nonspecific and mimic those of many other more common conditions, including digestive and bladder disorders. It isn't unusual for a woman with ovarian cancer to be diagnosed with another condition before finally learning she has cancer. The key seems to be persistent or worsening signs and symptoms. With most digestive disorders, symptoms tend to come and go, or they occur in certain situations or after eating certain foods. With ovarian cancer, there's typically little fluctuation — symptoms are constant and gradually worsen.
Recent studies have shown that women with ovarian cancer are more likely than are other women to consistently experience the following symptoms:
* Abdominal pressure, fullness, swelling or bloating
* Urinary urgency
* Pelvic discomfort or pain
Additional signs and symptoms that women with ovarian cancer may experience include:
* Persistent indigestion, gas or nausea
* Unexplained changes in bowel habits, including diarrhea or constipation
* Changes in bladder habits, including a frequent need to urinate
* Loss of appetite
* Unexplained weight loss or gain
* Increased abdominal girth or clothes fitting tighter around your waist
* Pain during intercourse (dyspareunia)
* A persistent lack of energy
* Low back pain
Doctors can usually diagnose ovarian cancer within three months of women first noticing symptoms, but sometimes it may take six months or longer before a diagnosis can be made.
Monday, April 28, 2008
choices
So I guess that it always comes down to something. Everyone has to make their own choices about things. I read that somewhere today. You can choose to be happy or unhappy about things. You can choose to respond to how things happen in your life. Sometimes it's harder to make a certain choice about how you feel, and I suppose that actually *is* true.
Right now, I feel rotten. And I'm probably going to feel that way for a little while, and then I'll set it aside, and push past it, because I don't want to feel that way anymore.
I'm tired of people breaking promises to me. I know that they're going to. I even expected to have those promises broken. Was braced for it, in fact. And still it hurt, to realize that in spite of all those protestations, in the end, the words were lies. I had told him to his face that he was lying to both me and himself. And he still tried to convince me that it wasn't so.
Prove me wrong. I know you won't. But you're welcome to try.
And to you, you stalking idiot: Ultimatums? What was the point? He'll always come back to me. You get him. You have him. And in the end, he always comes back to me, and ends up in my bed, in my arms, and being held by me. It's a sick, twisted pattern. But it *is* a pattern. If he was going to be faithful, he wouldn't have ended up naked with you in January. He wouldn't have ended up in my bed within weeks of making a "commitment" with you. It doesn't make him a bad person, it simply makes him not a great boyfriend. As soon as he has a tie to someone, he immediately balks and wants to be free. And needs to not have a leash around him. Even if he loves you, he'll end up in my bed. Not intentionally, and it might take a while. Hell, it might not even be *my* bed. But it will be someone's, unless he does nothing but sit alone in his room, and see no one. Because he likes to look, he likes to touch, and he likes to be free.
And everyone makes choices, unconsciously or not. Me? I don't mind playing around. I don't cheat. I don't play around if I'm with someone. But what other people do? I don't judge them for. I don't care if he has a girlfriend. Never have, never will. Didn't care about some of the other men I was involved with either. As long as *I* am single, it makes no difference to me. Their conscience, not mine.
Meh, whatever. I'm bored posting now.
I'm going to go make dinner.
Right now, I feel rotten. And I'm probably going to feel that way for a little while, and then I'll set it aside, and push past it, because I don't want to feel that way anymore.
I'm tired of people breaking promises to me. I know that they're going to. I even expected to have those promises broken. Was braced for it, in fact. And still it hurt, to realize that in spite of all those protestations, in the end, the words were lies. I had told him to his face that he was lying to both me and himself. And he still tried to convince me that it wasn't so.
Prove me wrong. I know you won't. But you're welcome to try.
And to you, you stalking idiot: Ultimatums? What was the point? He'll always come back to me. You get him. You have him. And in the end, he always comes back to me, and ends up in my bed, in my arms, and being held by me. It's a sick, twisted pattern. But it *is* a pattern. If he was going to be faithful, he wouldn't have ended up naked with you in January. He wouldn't have ended up in my bed within weeks of making a "commitment" with you. It doesn't make him a bad person, it simply makes him not a great boyfriend. As soon as he has a tie to someone, he immediately balks and wants to be free. And needs to not have a leash around him. Even if he loves you, he'll end up in my bed. Not intentionally, and it might take a while. Hell, it might not even be *my* bed. But it will be someone's, unless he does nothing but sit alone in his room, and see no one. Because he likes to look, he likes to touch, and he likes to be free.
And everyone makes choices, unconsciously or not. Me? I don't mind playing around. I don't cheat. I don't play around if I'm with someone. But what other people do? I don't judge them for. I don't care if he has a girlfriend. Never have, never will. Didn't care about some of the other men I was involved with either. As long as *I* am single, it makes no difference to me. Their conscience, not mine.
Meh, whatever. I'm bored posting now.
I'm going to go make dinner.
Sunday, April 27, 2008
On cheating and deception.
Truth About Deception. It's a website that I found, and it's a really neat interesting read. It has stuff on cheating, and relationships, and confessing what you've done, and why and when you should or shouldn't. It has all kinds of very interesting stuff. How to catch your partner in lies, and just all kinds of interesting stuff. I read through all kinds of links on there, and will probably go back and read more, but I though I'd post the link here for anyone who was interested. It's sort of in the same vein of the love addiction thing I posted about a while back.
An interesting read.
An interesting read.
Saturday, April 26, 2008
I don't like you
And I don't like it that you read my blog. And I like it even less that I now have to give thought to editing what I do or don't post here, because out of deference to my respect for someone, I need to edit my blogging. That irritates the shit out of me.
Personally? I don't believe a fucking word that comes out of your mouth to him about anything. I never have, and I'm never going to. Too much of what you've told him, tell him, and are going to tell him continuously doesn't add up, has never added up, and will most likely will continue to not make any sense at all.
But precious you, and him and his blinders want to believe all the bullshit you feed him so badly that he'll swallow any amount of shit if it means that you can remain up there on that pedestal. Hey, fine, whatever. I'm not altogether fond of sitting in the clouds, myself. Air's a little too rarified for my taste. I prefer the real world down here, complete with good, honest life, love, sickness and health and all the stuff that goes with it. But that's just one of *my* personal little quirks.
The simple fact is that I've never seen so many people tell so many other people so much bullshit in my life. Everybody loves everyone. Nobody talks to anyone. And me? I'm just a bystander over here in my corner of the world. I know when he does or doesn't talk to you. How could I not? I'm *here*. You're not. And yes, you'll get awfully snotty now, and yell at him, because you read this, and it'll give you nice grounds to scream at him, and tell him how horrible he is for, well, whatever reason you choose to use this week.
And you're so *good* at it. Fucking with his head. I was completely fucking flabbergasted at how badly his head was twisted around again, when I talked to him, after having not talked to him for a couple of weeks. At all the psychological twisting that had been done in such a short period of time. It's what I hate most about you. It always seems like such a shitty thing. Every time that he gets done talking to you, I spend the next little while undoing things. Reaffirming things, and putting back his self-esteem and self-confidence. The ones you somehow remove. Can't stand himself. Can't want to spend time with himself. Isn't worth anything.
Gods, how I hate what it is that you do to him. And how I hate the ease with which you can manipulate him. I hate everything women like you represent. Because there are so damned many of you. And so few women like me.
I honestly don't have any need to catch a man. To trap a man. To keep a man. I don't have a burning desire to play games with them, to fuck with their heads or to manipulate them. And so fucking many women like you do. It's a great game to you.
And once you have what you want...and to be perfectly honest, I'm still puzzling over what the fuck that is, exactly. Been trying to figure that out for freaking *years*, but once you have what you want, you pretty much laugh on your way out the door, as you move on to your next conquest, to find another man to play the game with. And the one you've just broken into pieces is completely shattered.
I know why men think most women are complete cunts, to be fucked and treated like shit. Because there are so many women who fall into the 'head games' category, that for the most part, why the fuck does anybody even bother?
Which leaves women like me, the ones who are just wandering around doing our thing getting royally screwed over. We get cheated on, we get used, and dropped and left, for women like you. Head cases, manipulators, liars. You say all the right words. You're "vulnerable". You need them. You need to be taken care of. You know all the right things to make a man feel on top of the world, like he's the most important thing ever...right up until you pull the wool off his eyes, and the rug out from under his feet...and flaunt his replacement in front of him.
Me? I have no idea what the "right" thing to say is. Because all I ever say is the truth. And the truth tends to hurt. I'm blunt to the point of it being painful, because I don't know any other way to be. I don't mean to hurt someone's feelings. I just don't quite know how to sugarcoat things. I have no qualms about telling a man the truth. I have no need to lie. If I want you, I say that. If I want to play, I say it. If I want to stop, I say it. When you've hurt me, I say that. I'm very simple to deal with that way. And I don't like turning on tears to get my way. That's my biggest failing. I'd rather send you away than try to use tears to manipulate you. I don't *want* to manipulate a man to get my way.
Oh well.
So yes, I don't like you. I think you're a horrible excuse for a sack of flesh, and a manipulating bitch. I know too much, and I am not as gullible and easily manipulated and blinded by emotional attachment. I know it's bullshit.
But I also know all of the truth. What was that flair pin? "The truth shall set you free. But first it will piss you off." How's that for accuracy.
Personally? I don't believe a fucking word that comes out of your mouth to him about anything. I never have, and I'm never going to. Too much of what you've told him, tell him, and are going to tell him continuously doesn't add up, has never added up, and will most likely will continue to not make any sense at all.
But precious you, and him and his blinders want to believe all the bullshit you feed him so badly that he'll swallow any amount of shit if it means that you can remain up there on that pedestal. Hey, fine, whatever. I'm not altogether fond of sitting in the clouds, myself. Air's a little too rarified for my taste. I prefer the real world down here, complete with good, honest life, love, sickness and health and all the stuff that goes with it. But that's just one of *my* personal little quirks.
The simple fact is that I've never seen so many people tell so many other people so much bullshit in my life. Everybody loves everyone. Nobody talks to anyone. And me? I'm just a bystander over here in my corner of the world. I know when he does or doesn't talk to you. How could I not? I'm *here*. You're not. And yes, you'll get awfully snotty now, and yell at him, because you read this, and it'll give you nice grounds to scream at him, and tell him how horrible he is for, well, whatever reason you choose to use this week.
And you're so *good* at it. Fucking with his head. I was completely fucking flabbergasted at how badly his head was twisted around again, when I talked to him, after having not talked to him for a couple of weeks. At all the psychological twisting that had been done in such a short period of time. It's what I hate most about you. It always seems like such a shitty thing. Every time that he gets done talking to you, I spend the next little while undoing things. Reaffirming things, and putting back his self-esteem and self-confidence. The ones you somehow remove. Can't stand himself. Can't want to spend time with himself. Isn't worth anything.
Gods, how I hate what it is that you do to him. And how I hate the ease with which you can manipulate him. I hate everything women like you represent. Because there are so damned many of you. And so few women like me.
I honestly don't have any need to catch a man. To trap a man. To keep a man. I don't have a burning desire to play games with them, to fuck with their heads or to manipulate them. And so fucking many women like you do. It's a great game to you.
And once you have what you want...and to be perfectly honest, I'm still puzzling over what the fuck that is, exactly. Been trying to figure that out for freaking *years*, but once you have what you want, you pretty much laugh on your way out the door, as you move on to your next conquest, to find another man to play the game with. And the one you've just broken into pieces is completely shattered.
I know why men think most women are complete cunts, to be fucked and treated like shit. Because there are so many women who fall into the 'head games' category, that for the most part, why the fuck does anybody even bother?
Which leaves women like me, the ones who are just wandering around doing our thing getting royally screwed over. We get cheated on, we get used, and dropped and left, for women like you. Head cases, manipulators, liars. You say all the right words. You're "vulnerable". You need them. You need to be taken care of. You know all the right things to make a man feel on top of the world, like he's the most important thing ever...right up until you pull the wool off his eyes, and the rug out from under his feet...and flaunt his replacement in front of him.
Me? I have no idea what the "right" thing to say is. Because all I ever say is the truth. And the truth tends to hurt. I'm blunt to the point of it being painful, because I don't know any other way to be. I don't mean to hurt someone's feelings. I just don't quite know how to sugarcoat things. I have no qualms about telling a man the truth. I have no need to lie. If I want you, I say that. If I want to play, I say it. If I want to stop, I say it. When you've hurt me, I say that. I'm very simple to deal with that way. And I don't like turning on tears to get my way. That's my biggest failing. I'd rather send you away than try to use tears to manipulate you. I don't *want* to manipulate a man to get my way.
Oh well.
So yes, I don't like you. I think you're a horrible excuse for a sack of flesh, and a manipulating bitch. I know too much, and I am not as gullible and easily manipulated and blinded by emotional attachment. I know it's bullshit.
But I also know all of the truth. What was that flair pin? "The truth shall set you free. But first it will piss you off." How's that for accuracy.
Friday, April 25, 2008
updates from a PC instead of a Mac
And wow, for me this feels incredibly strange. I haven't blogged from a PC with a regular keyboard in...I honestly don't even remember when. I better get good at it rather quickly though, since my job will depend on my being able to type quickly and competently with this keyboard. Practice makes perfect though, correct? And so practice I shall. As I sit at my desk, egads, a desk, using a PC. Feels oh so strange.
The last couple of weeks have been strange in general for me. And it isn't just the computer. Although I have to say, I do rather like having a desk. And a printer. And a chair. Anyhow.
Trinette is moved in, and the normal amount of chaos that comes with a new roommate has commenced. And so there have been boxes and all that moving around. The living room actually looks really good, and she did a phenomenal job putting the new entertainment center together. I was astounded at how fast she assembled that. Hell on wheels at the organizing of things, that one. Stewie will most likely hook up the surround sound, since he's who usually does it. And Phil moved all the other components and hooked those up, because Trin and I are both hopeless for that stuff.
Phil's been here and sick for a couple of weeks. I really did give him the Plague. I feel rotten about it. As it turns out, I'm hoping that what he has is some sort of ear infection. Melissa, once I described how he keeps waking up disoriented and dizzy, but it smooths out some in the afternoon, said it sounds like an inner ear infection, after having gotten my head cold a couple weeks ago. So he's on antibiotics now. He finally headed home this afternoon. I guess a guy can only take a couple of weeks of being fussed over. I wouldn't be so worried if he'd been eating, but he didn't eat for about a week, and for Phillip, not eating is the equivalent of being dead. So I was massively worried. But he finally started eating yesterday, so with the antibiotics, perhaps he's getting better now. I hope so, anyhow. Trinette tried feeding him Miso soup, but he didn't like it much. He seemed very fond of teriyaki chicken and broccoli though :)
I don't know. Everything this last week has been strange. I met, or should I say, re-met Ryan Rooks. He remembers me, but I can't remember him. I really like him though. Quite enjoy his company. He is an old friend of Trinette's from high school, or possibly before then, I don't recall. He is truly brilliant, and yet, also very down to earth and pleasant to be around and just sit and BS about anything with. I truly enjoy his presence at the apartment. And Stew's been coming around now that Trin's here. I hope to see who else pops up now that she's here. Kat's been here quite a bit, just hanging out with us.
I know things will fall into some semblance of a routine, because even I will have to start having one, but for right now just spending time with my friend who I had missed so very much for the last eight years is wonderful. So much so, in fact, that I'm going to stop blogging now, and grab a movie and go put it on in the living room and spend some more time with her, instead of with my computer. Although by now she's also had time to email Steven, and check her emails and that sort of thing. So it works out just as well in the end.
Oh, yes, one more note. I *should* be able to start my job within the next two weeks at the very outside, which should result in a paycheck within a month after that. YAY! And after that, things should finally smooth out the rest of the way for me.
I know a lot of people have been worried about me lately, but I'm doing alright now. More so now that Trinette is here, and things are a little more balanced. Melissa is still calling and checking up on me, although her plate is definitely full enough for any three normal people all the time. She's watching *two* extra 18 month old's full time, along with her own three kids, and juggling all her other normal projects, but that's her normal. And still has time to call and make sure my life isn't going too far insane. I loves Melissa :)
So yes, there's my "from the PC" update for the day. Hehehehehe.
I make the byebyes now.
The last couple of weeks have been strange in general for me. And it isn't just the computer. Although I have to say, I do rather like having a desk. And a printer. And a chair. Anyhow.
Trinette is moved in, and the normal amount of chaos that comes with a new roommate has commenced. And so there have been boxes and all that moving around. The living room actually looks really good, and she did a phenomenal job putting the new entertainment center together. I was astounded at how fast she assembled that. Hell on wheels at the organizing of things, that one. Stewie will most likely hook up the surround sound, since he's who usually does it. And Phil moved all the other components and hooked those up, because Trin and I are both hopeless for that stuff.
Phil's been here and sick for a couple of weeks. I really did give him the Plague. I feel rotten about it. As it turns out, I'm hoping that what he has is some sort of ear infection. Melissa, once I described how he keeps waking up disoriented and dizzy, but it smooths out some in the afternoon, said it sounds like an inner ear infection, after having gotten my head cold a couple weeks ago. So he's on antibiotics now. He finally headed home this afternoon. I guess a guy can only take a couple of weeks of being fussed over. I wouldn't be so worried if he'd been eating, but he didn't eat for about a week, and for Phillip, not eating is the equivalent of being dead. So I was massively worried. But he finally started eating yesterday, so with the antibiotics, perhaps he's getting better now. I hope so, anyhow. Trinette tried feeding him Miso soup, but he didn't like it much. He seemed very fond of teriyaki chicken and broccoli though :)
I don't know. Everything this last week has been strange. I met, or should I say, re-met Ryan Rooks. He remembers me, but I can't remember him. I really like him though. Quite enjoy his company. He is an old friend of Trinette's from high school, or possibly before then, I don't recall. He is truly brilliant, and yet, also very down to earth and pleasant to be around and just sit and BS about anything with. I truly enjoy his presence at the apartment. And Stew's been coming around now that Trin's here. I hope to see who else pops up now that she's here. Kat's been here quite a bit, just hanging out with us.
I know things will fall into some semblance of a routine, because even I will have to start having one, but for right now just spending time with my friend who I had missed so very much for the last eight years is wonderful. So much so, in fact, that I'm going to stop blogging now, and grab a movie and go put it on in the living room and spend some more time with her, instead of with my computer. Although by now she's also had time to email Steven, and check her emails and that sort of thing. So it works out just as well in the end.
Oh, yes, one more note. I *should* be able to start my job within the next two weeks at the very outside, which should result in a paycheck within a month after that. YAY! And after that, things should finally smooth out the rest of the way for me.
I know a lot of people have been worried about me lately, but I'm doing alright now. More so now that Trinette is here, and things are a little more balanced. Melissa is still calling and checking up on me, although her plate is definitely full enough for any three normal people all the time. She's watching *two* extra 18 month old's full time, along with her own three kids, and juggling all her other normal projects, but that's her normal. And still has time to call and make sure my life isn't going too far insane. I loves Melissa :)
So yes, there's my "from the PC" update for the day. Hehehehehe.
I make the byebyes now.
Sunday, April 20, 2008
In other news
Trinette is here, and moved in, and that went well. It's still fairly chaotic, but things are going pretty well.
Last week, I picked up some kind of plague from Connor, last Friday to be precise, on the 11th, and I then proceeded to share it with Phil, who was sick as a dog for most of this past week. I felt kind of bad, and have been babying him. Poor guy missed work more than half the week because I gave him the plague.
But the move with Trinette went well. Stewie, Kat and I helped to move her in. Well, Stewie and Mr. Miller and Trinette moved and hauled and Kat and I unpacked and put away. And then we all went to the grandparent's house and unloaded more, and were provided with barbecue. Yay!
Overall, it went well. And now she's here, and things are smoothing out. And oh, damn, I need to get off the computer, and remember to drag us to Home Depot and buy stuff! Phil said he can do stuff like lock changing and shelf hanging and other such handyman skill-oriented things that I lack skills for.
So off I go.
Last week, I picked up some kind of plague from Connor, last Friday to be precise, on the 11th, and I then proceeded to share it with Phil, who was sick as a dog for most of this past week. I felt kind of bad, and have been babying him. Poor guy missed work more than half the week because I gave him the plague.
But the move with Trinette went well. Stewie, Kat and I helped to move her in. Well, Stewie and Mr. Miller and Trinette moved and hauled and Kat and I unpacked and put away. And then we all went to the grandparent's house and unloaded more, and were provided with barbecue. Yay!
Overall, it went well. And now she's here, and things are smoothing out. And oh, damn, I need to get off the computer, and remember to drag us to Home Depot and buy stuff! Phil said he can do stuff like lock changing and shelf hanging and other such handyman skill-oriented things that I lack skills for.
So off I go.
Secret word of the week
This week my word of the week will be:
"pregnancy"
It seems as though everywhere I look, everyone around me is either pregnant, just had a baby, or has the baby rabies. It's getting to me.
So my word of the week is pregnancy. And everyone can roll their eyes, and I shall roll my eyes with them, but I've been overly stressed out lately, and watching everyone coo over babies, and babble about it, and think about it and talk about it has finally caused me to go insane.
That is all for the day.
"pregnancy"
It seems as though everywhere I look, everyone around me is either pregnant, just had a baby, or has the baby rabies. It's getting to me.
So my word of the week is pregnancy. And everyone can roll their eyes, and I shall roll my eyes with them, but I've been overly stressed out lately, and watching everyone coo over babies, and babble about it, and think about it and talk about it has finally caused me to go insane.
That is all for the day.
Sunday, April 13, 2008
Secret word of the week
This week's secret word of the week is:
"waiting"
And as I'm exhausted and frustrated and sleepy, I'm not writing a whole lot more today.
"waiting"
And as I'm exhausted and frustrated and sleepy, I'm not writing a whole lot more today.
Saturday, April 12, 2008
so tired
I am so freaking tired. And there is such a colossal amount of stuff still to do, and I can't help but think I may never get it done in time for Trinette's arrival. And I'm beginning to feel like a failure, and a complete lazy slug.
I feel overwhelmed, and it's driving me up the wall. There are boxes, and just *stuff* everywhere. I haven't even managed to get the room measured. I know that I need to go and do it, but it's a two-person gig, measuring.
The desk is still not put into my room. I really am feeling completely overwhelmed. I don't quite know where to start, and as a result, I just want to hide in the corner, and do nothing. It's horrible. I haven't even really blogged, as evidenced by the lack of posts here.
I have no idea how Trinette is holding it all together. She's managed to get her stuff packed, and keep everything moving, and me? I'm just falling apart. If I wasn't spending as much time on the phone with her as I do, I'd probably be a complete flaming basket case. Yay for the nice stabilizing effect she has on me. Bless you Trinette.
I need to sit down, with a notebook, and make a list. But even that is currently somewhat beyond my capability. I start to do that, and my brain whirls in protest, and I end up curled up on the bed, sleeping. Sleep seems to be the only thing I'm doing well these days.
I feel overwhelmed, and it's driving me up the wall. There are boxes, and just *stuff* everywhere. I haven't even managed to get the room measured. I know that I need to go and do it, but it's a two-person gig, measuring.
The desk is still not put into my room. I really am feeling completely overwhelmed. I don't quite know where to start, and as a result, I just want to hide in the corner, and do nothing. It's horrible. I haven't even really blogged, as evidenced by the lack of posts here.
I have no idea how Trinette is holding it all together. She's managed to get her stuff packed, and keep everything moving, and me? I'm just falling apart. If I wasn't spending as much time on the phone with her as I do, I'd probably be a complete flaming basket case. Yay for the nice stabilizing effect she has on me. Bless you Trinette.
I need to sit down, with a notebook, and make a list. But even that is currently somewhat beyond my capability. I start to do that, and my brain whirls in protest, and I end up curled up on the bed, sleeping. Sleep seems to be the only thing I'm doing well these days.
Monday, April 7, 2008
Everything's Done
And I just want it all over. I want things finalized, and finished and I want it over. I'm sick of fighting, and I'm sick of hurting, and I want it done.
I want the move done, and I want to move on with my life. I want Danny and Mona to move to his parents, so that I can start the process of finally getting past this complete clusterfuck that's been the last six months that should never have happened in the first place. I shouldn't have allowed it.
I thought I was doing a good thing, back before Danny and I broke up. Mona needed a place for her and Cora, and Kat and Brandon smoked, and so I really thought I was doing a good thing. I had no idea that Mona had an eye on my then-boyfriend. I didn't realize that I was going to end up breaking up with Danny. I honestly didn't realize my life was going to go to hell in a handbasket, or that things were going to get as completely ass-over-teakettle as they have in the last six months.
Danny and I broke up, and that might have been okay, if I hadn't then had to spend the next six months living in an apartment where Mona proceeded to run around naked, with her kid sleeping in either my living room or my dining room, and where she herself was plastered at every available opportunity across the lap of my ex-fiance. With her tongue shoved as far down his throat as she could manage, as though to scream to the world "Look, I have him now, nyah nyah nyah". It was petty, childish, and for the most part, just plain mean. Yes, he and I broke up. But there was no reason for her to jump directly into bed with him. And technically even if she *was* going to date him, she should have been seeing him somewhere other than the apartment. It was blatantly rude to be screwing around with him, and hanging on him, and making out with him, constantly, in front of me.
Between that, and the drama with Phillip, and how unhappy I was and how badly I ended up treated in that situation, I've been miserable for six months, pretty much steadily. And so by now, with all I want being to be more or less left alone...god, at this point I'm just frustrated. It isn't that I can't live with a roommate. I can, and don't even have a problem with it. But I shouldn't have to live with my ex-fiance and his new girlfriend. And I sure as shit shouldn't have to have it shoved in my face day in and day out.
And when I left for a month, I shouldn't have had to come back to town to find my posessions destroyed, and money missing and essentially, I simply shouldn't have had to come back and continue to be unhappy. I stated in clear terms that I wasn't coming back for that. I was coming back under the direct terms that I was taking over the apartment, and they were leaving. Because I did *not* want to deal with the three ring circus anymore.
***
And now it's done. The keys are returned. The apartment is empty, and now I'm alone. And now, finally, I can start to move on. The place is trashed, and it's going to take me some time to put it back together. Trinette will be here in two weeks, and I'll start rebuilding things from there. She'll be here until Steven gets back from Iraq, at which point she'll move on, and begin her new life as well. And the circle of life will continue, and this chapter of the last six months that has hurt so badly will finally be complete.
And I can heal.
I've been crying for the last few weeks. I've been a basket case. I'm still a basket case, and that's fine. I will put it back together, and I will pull it all around, and at some point I will be fine again. I have to be. But I will be able to do it without constantly having shit shoved in my face, and without having to pretend that everything is sunshine and happiness when it isn't. I won't have to play maid, and constantly be picking up after other people's messes. I won't be trying to pretend that everything is okay. That's over.
I don't know where it was that Mona or Danny got it into their heads that dirty dishes cleaned themselves, or that leaving food out for my cat to eat was alright. I don't understand how it was that as roommates they seemed to think it was alright for me to have to constantly need to move their laundry out of the washer or the dryer into their room, in order to do my own, and this was an acceptable arrangement. How I was the only one who ran a vacuum cleaner, and I had to scrub my living room carpet to clean black marks out of it in order for it to not look disgusting. That the kitchen floor was covered in food and grease, and I was the only person who ever swept or mopped it. I just don't understand how at the end of six months, Danny ran interference, and I understand that he tried very very hard to clean up after Mona so that I didn't have to do it all...but she never did. I just don't understand so many things. And in the end, I just have given up.
I accept that I am neurotically clean. I'm a neat freak. Which is why the condition of my apartment at the moment is making me insane. I like order and logic and all of those obsessive compulsive things. Mona, when she first moved in here, claimed to like all of them too. But it turned out to be a complete fabrication. She doesn't clean, unless it's for show. She doesn't wash dishes. She doesn't vacuum. She doesn't take out trash, or put things away. She does laundry, but doesn't hang it up. It will sit in baskets until you cannot tell which is clean or what is dirty. I just don't understand. Why lie? If you're a messy person, that's fine. But don't claim to be something you're not.
There's nothing *wrong* with being yourself. But because I was expecting someone more like me, it drove me crazy, because I ended up being the maid, and ended up watching her hang all over Danny. For months. And I've since learned she only does that, hangs on him, in front of me. It's sort of like marking territory, and I find it kind of sad. I'm not trying to get Danny back. I have my own freaking problems, and trying to get Danny back would simply add to them at this point. I don't *want* to steal him away, and I've said that, repeatedly. And she never once listened.
I don't get it. I probably never will. I should probably just be grateful that I have my peace and quiet and peace of mind now. The apartment will be put to rights. I will steam clean the floors. I will slowly fix things. And then I will put it all behind me and life will move on.
I want the move done, and I want to move on with my life. I want Danny and Mona to move to his parents, so that I can start the process of finally getting past this complete clusterfuck that's been the last six months that should never have happened in the first place. I shouldn't have allowed it.
I thought I was doing a good thing, back before Danny and I broke up. Mona needed a place for her and Cora, and Kat and Brandon smoked, and so I really thought I was doing a good thing. I had no idea that Mona had an eye on my then-boyfriend. I didn't realize that I was going to end up breaking up with Danny. I honestly didn't realize my life was going to go to hell in a handbasket, or that things were going to get as completely ass-over-teakettle as they have in the last six months.
Danny and I broke up, and that might have been okay, if I hadn't then had to spend the next six months living in an apartment where Mona proceeded to run around naked, with her kid sleeping in either my living room or my dining room, and where she herself was plastered at every available opportunity across the lap of my ex-fiance. With her tongue shoved as far down his throat as she could manage, as though to scream to the world "Look, I have him now, nyah nyah nyah". It was petty, childish, and for the most part, just plain mean. Yes, he and I broke up. But there was no reason for her to jump directly into bed with him. And technically even if she *was* going to date him, she should have been seeing him somewhere other than the apartment. It was blatantly rude to be screwing around with him, and hanging on him, and making out with him, constantly, in front of me.
Between that, and the drama with Phillip, and how unhappy I was and how badly I ended up treated in that situation, I've been miserable for six months, pretty much steadily. And so by now, with all I want being to be more or less left alone...god, at this point I'm just frustrated. It isn't that I can't live with a roommate. I can, and don't even have a problem with it. But I shouldn't have to live with my ex-fiance and his new girlfriend. And I sure as shit shouldn't have to have it shoved in my face day in and day out.
And when I left for a month, I shouldn't have had to come back to town to find my posessions destroyed, and money missing and essentially, I simply shouldn't have had to come back and continue to be unhappy. I stated in clear terms that I wasn't coming back for that. I was coming back under the direct terms that I was taking over the apartment, and they were leaving. Because I did *not* want to deal with the three ring circus anymore.
***
And now it's done. The keys are returned. The apartment is empty, and now I'm alone. And now, finally, I can start to move on. The place is trashed, and it's going to take me some time to put it back together. Trinette will be here in two weeks, and I'll start rebuilding things from there. She'll be here until Steven gets back from Iraq, at which point she'll move on, and begin her new life as well. And the circle of life will continue, and this chapter of the last six months that has hurt so badly will finally be complete.
And I can heal.
I've been crying for the last few weeks. I've been a basket case. I'm still a basket case, and that's fine. I will put it back together, and I will pull it all around, and at some point I will be fine again. I have to be. But I will be able to do it without constantly having shit shoved in my face, and without having to pretend that everything is sunshine and happiness when it isn't. I won't have to play maid, and constantly be picking up after other people's messes. I won't be trying to pretend that everything is okay. That's over.
I don't know where it was that Mona or Danny got it into their heads that dirty dishes cleaned themselves, or that leaving food out for my cat to eat was alright. I don't understand how it was that as roommates they seemed to think it was alright for me to have to constantly need to move their laundry out of the washer or the dryer into their room, in order to do my own, and this was an acceptable arrangement. How I was the only one who ran a vacuum cleaner, and I had to scrub my living room carpet to clean black marks out of it in order for it to not look disgusting. That the kitchen floor was covered in food and grease, and I was the only person who ever swept or mopped it. I just don't understand how at the end of six months, Danny ran interference, and I understand that he tried very very hard to clean up after Mona so that I didn't have to do it all...but she never did. I just don't understand so many things. And in the end, I just have given up.
I accept that I am neurotically clean. I'm a neat freak. Which is why the condition of my apartment at the moment is making me insane. I like order and logic and all of those obsessive compulsive things. Mona, when she first moved in here, claimed to like all of them too. But it turned out to be a complete fabrication. She doesn't clean, unless it's for show. She doesn't wash dishes. She doesn't vacuum. She doesn't take out trash, or put things away. She does laundry, but doesn't hang it up. It will sit in baskets until you cannot tell which is clean or what is dirty. I just don't understand. Why lie? If you're a messy person, that's fine. But don't claim to be something you're not.
There's nothing *wrong* with being yourself. But because I was expecting someone more like me, it drove me crazy, because I ended up being the maid, and ended up watching her hang all over Danny. For months. And I've since learned she only does that, hangs on him, in front of me. It's sort of like marking territory, and I find it kind of sad. I'm not trying to get Danny back. I have my own freaking problems, and trying to get Danny back would simply add to them at this point. I don't *want* to steal him away, and I've said that, repeatedly. And she never once listened.
I don't get it. I probably never will. I should probably just be grateful that I have my peace and quiet and peace of mind now. The apartment will be put to rights. I will steam clean the floors. I will slowly fix things. And then I will put it all behind me and life will move on.
Sunday, April 6, 2008
Wednesday, April 2, 2008
...time on my own...
I don't know how to express what I'm thinking, not really. I'm twisted and confused. And I hate it. And I feel like a hypocrite for this sick addiction to you. And that's what it is, too. An addiction to you. I miss you so much. There is this huge empty hole inside of me where you were. Not the twisted "oh god I'm in love with him I need him to complete me or my life will end". It has nothing to do with that. It's the quiet late-at-night, falling asleep as I drifted off something that I can't quite define. *That* is what I miss.
And I can't even explain it. Not even to myself can I explain it. But that great gaping hole is what it is that I'm missing so much, and what hurts so badly, and what it is that's been tearing me up since I sent you away.
And being alone, sending you away? Trying to protect myself from you walking away from me? It hasn't helped, not really. It hurts just as much to have sent you away as it would have if you'd been the one who had walked away. Doesn't that suck.
Meh. Time on my own hasn't shown me anything except that sometimes I'm not the brightest star in the sky.
It isn't as though I was saving myself for marriage because I'd made some stupid pledge. It isn't like I had an obligation to anyone or that I'm violating any special moral code but my own. But I'm addicted and I feel confused, but I don't generally *have* addictions to things. I've always been so proud of that. Because I never had a problem quitting things. I quit smoking without a backwards glance. Even when I used drugs in my misspent youth, I got bored, and walked away, it had no effect on me. But you? I'm addicted to you in a massive way. And that both frightens me, and makes me sad and confused, because it's unfamiliar and depressing.
OK. I'm going to stop writing this now, and go play silly online games to distract myself.
Goodnight internets.
And I can't even explain it. Not even to myself can I explain it. But that great gaping hole is what it is that I'm missing so much, and what hurts so badly, and what it is that's been tearing me up since I sent you away.
And being alone, sending you away? Trying to protect myself from you walking away from me? It hasn't helped, not really. It hurts just as much to have sent you away as it would have if you'd been the one who had walked away. Doesn't that suck.
Meh. Time on my own hasn't shown me anything except that sometimes I'm not the brightest star in the sky.
It isn't as though I was saving myself for marriage because I'd made some stupid pledge. It isn't like I had an obligation to anyone or that I'm violating any special moral code but my own. But I'm addicted and I feel confused, but I don't generally *have* addictions to things. I've always been so proud of that. Because I never had a problem quitting things. I quit smoking without a backwards glance. Even when I used drugs in my misspent youth, I got bored, and walked away, it had no effect on me. But you? I'm addicted to you in a massive way. And that both frightens me, and makes me sad and confused, because it's unfamiliar and depressing.
OK. I'm going to stop writing this now, and go play silly online games to distract myself.
Goodnight internets.
Tuna Casserole
Yep. That's what I'm currently eating. At least it isn't making me sick to my stomach. I was going to eat some cookies last night. I grabbed a box of girl scout cookies last night, sounded like the best idea in the world. Mmm, chocolate and peanut butter, right? And before I could even get the box open, the entire idea of it made me sick to my stomach. I know if I'd actually tried to eat those cookies, I would have been wretchedly sick. And it sucks. Because they sounded so good. Depressing.
In other news, Melissa's cat Pinky got hit by a car right after she moved, so I am sad, because he was an awesome kitty cat.
OK, I have forgotten half of what I intended to blog, so I'll post more later.
In other news, Melissa's cat Pinky got hit by a car right after she moved, so I am sad, because he was an awesome kitty cat.
OK, I have forgotten half of what I intended to blog, so I'll post more later.
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