Oh shit, you’re thinking - now what is this crazy bitch going to lay on me?
Depression. Imagine an endless, dark tunnel with no visible light at the end. Imagine barely being able to get out of bed in the morning, because facing the day and doing even the smallest of tasks is unbearable. Imagine all the dark thoughts which flit through one’s mind when they’re so tired, so in pain (both mentally and physically), that they wish the next day would never come.
But that day always seems to come, and you go through the same routine all over again. I’ve been in bed so much that my ass is threatening to fall over the sides of the mattress.
But finally, there is light at the end of said tunnel. Some money has come in, I have food to eat, medications have been phoned in for refill for the first time in two months, and I’m finally feeling like I can focus on things - like knitting a stupid simple pattern without fucking up the stitch count over and over again.
One of the blessings is that a lovely lady in the Dallas area has offered me an older English Bullie pup. Once I speak with her, we’ll figure out the best way to get her home. She’ll make a wonderful companion for Roxy (who has proven to be the best dog in the world), and an even more delightful companion for me. I’ve lived with EB’s for over a decade, and the absence of one is like being stuck in said tunnel.
So I’ve grabbed myself by the tits, pulled myself up as best I can, and now I have another focus.
Retribution.
Well, maybe not retribution - not exactly - more like justice. You see, my dear estranged husband promised - six years ago - to pay me half his salary. While I do indeed get a pretty good chunk of jingle every two weeks, it’s no longer enough to live on. So, after I get my June bonus, I’m hauling his muffin butt into court to seek a revision on the amount I receive. I KNOW he’s making far more now than he was those long six years ago, and I want what’s rightfully mine and what was promised. My hope is that he’ll settle without us even having to go to court because, should I lay eyes on him again, one of two things is going to happen - either I’ll crumble into a sobbing mess (how undignified), or grab his by now shriveled-up balls and squeeze them until he passes out. That’s even if he has any left - he’s never stood up to women - but if he does, I know from decades of experience exactly where they’re lurking in his 501’s. If he shows up and brings his whore, I’ve already prepared for a friend to bail me out, because I’ll rip her to shreds - then deal with him.
The second person I’m working on annihilating is that bitch next door. This is a more delicate process, but either me or karma is going to destroy her for what she did to my sweet Tillie. To me, that’s the lowest of the low - killing a sweet baby who never hurt anybody in her short little life, and all to hurt me. She did more than hurt me - she devastated and almost destroyed me - but now I’m PISSED. And when I hit the wall and get PISSED, all hell is about to break loose.
On a happier note, well... uh... hm. Give me a while to think about that one.
Oh, I know - the love and support of family and friends who have stood by me and made sure I had enough food to eat and enough love to realize I’m important to them. I’m not only talking about people I know - I’ve received care packages from all over the world, most of them from people I don’t know, but with whom I share a mutual friend who facilitated this effort. I have many blessings in my life; now it’s time to drop the self-pity, tie my tits behind my neck, and kick myself in my Jabba the Hut ass. Today is the day.
So, dear friends, enough whining and bitching. Enough of the “poor me” shit. I’m back, and with a vengeance the Goddesses would be proud of.
I hope y’all have a lovely holiday weekend, and a safe one as well. I’ll be working on my many projects, planning some things, and making something other than hot dogs for dinner.
The bitch is back yet again.
Friday, May 25, 2018
Sunday, May 13, 2018
Another Shitty Mother’s Day
First of all, to all you mothers who actually have children who remember who you are - Happy Mother’s Day!
Other than the obligatory phone call to my mom, I’m spending it alone with Roxy. It’s just another day - my days melt into one another, so I’m never sure what day of the week it is or the actual date. For instance, I’m going to a fiber festival next Saturday, but it surprised the shit out of me to learn it was coming so fast. It’s a good thing the lady I’m meeting there reminded me, or I would have completely forgotten.
I’m currently fighting with two lace projects - one, I keep ripping the whole damn thing out, and the other, the instructions are wrong. Since I don’t know how the pattern is going to shake out, I have to wait for the designer to let me know her latest corrections. Even as bad as my math skills are, it just didn’t add up to the required number of stitches, and I don’t want to mess it up beyond having to frog a row. Spinning is non-existent for the moment; since my sweet Tillie was taken from me, I’ve had a really difficult time getting the motivation to do much of anything. At this rate, my ass is spreading faster than soft butter from sitting all the time.
The stress of what’s happening with that crazy bitch next door has also kicked my disease into high gear. Tired all the time but not sleeping, a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach, and the accompanying pain - it’s all part of it. We won’t even talk about the amount of TP I’m running through...
One of the things that bitch did was to call every city agency she could think of to make my life miserable. I admit, my front yard was an embarrassment, so I got ahold of a fraternal organization called the Clampers who do things for people who can’t do for themselves. A lovely young man came out and cleared all the weeds. During his work, Gladys came out to spy on me (she’s even taking pictures and videos of my house), and he gave her a dirty look. When she still stood there (camera at the ready, I’m sure), he gave her the finger. I’ve stooped to her level and stood out in front of her house taking a video of the six cars they own and how they’re parked (especially the giant truck blocking our mailboxes, and the two parked between our houses - one of which doesn’t even run), and have forwarded it to Code Enforcement. They’ll be out this week to investigate violations (smirk). If they’re force to move that piece of shit Baja Bug, I’m going to sit in the driveway on a lawn chair and take a video of them moving it into the backyard - it’s the only place they have to put it. Retaliation will come, of that I have no doubt, but she’s dangerously close to harassment and me filing a restraining order. If she so much as farts in my direction, I’ll use my special skills to destroy her house. Yeah, there will be repercussions from that little maneuver, but I think at that point, it’s not just being mean - it’s self-preservation. And if something happens to Roxy, I’ll rip her to shreds.
So other than falling asleep and getting very sharp knitting needles stuck in my ass (and the stitches falling off said needles), making stupid mistakes when I’m awake enough to knit, and various and sundry other adventures in the my world of creation, there’s not a damned thing going on other than the shit from next door. It’s probably a good thing I’m not spinning right not - I’d probably flick the spindle the wrong way and have it shoot straight into my eye. Not that I can see all that well anymore, but that would hurt - and it would also fuck up my spindle. One can’t have that...
Other than the obligatory phone call to my mom, I’m spending it alone with Roxy. It’s just another day - my days melt into one another, so I’m never sure what day of the week it is or the actual date. For instance, I’m going to a fiber festival next Saturday, but it surprised the shit out of me to learn it was coming so fast. It’s a good thing the lady I’m meeting there reminded me, or I would have completely forgotten.
I’m currently fighting with two lace projects - one, I keep ripping the whole damn thing out, and the other, the instructions are wrong. Since I don’t know how the pattern is going to shake out, I have to wait for the designer to let me know her latest corrections. Even as bad as my math skills are, it just didn’t add up to the required number of stitches, and I don’t want to mess it up beyond having to frog a row. Spinning is non-existent for the moment; since my sweet Tillie was taken from me, I’ve had a really difficult time getting the motivation to do much of anything. At this rate, my ass is spreading faster than soft butter from sitting all the time.
The stress of what’s happening with that crazy bitch next door has also kicked my disease into high gear. Tired all the time but not sleeping, a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach, and the accompanying pain - it’s all part of it. We won’t even talk about the amount of TP I’m running through...
One of the things that bitch did was to call every city agency she could think of to make my life miserable. I admit, my front yard was an embarrassment, so I got ahold of a fraternal organization called the Clampers who do things for people who can’t do for themselves. A lovely young man came out and cleared all the weeds. During his work, Gladys came out to spy on me (she’s even taking pictures and videos of my house), and he gave her a dirty look. When she still stood there (camera at the ready, I’m sure), he gave her the finger. I’ve stooped to her level and stood out in front of her house taking a video of the six cars they own and how they’re parked (especially the giant truck blocking our mailboxes, and the two parked between our houses - one of which doesn’t even run), and have forwarded it to Code Enforcement. They’ll be out this week to investigate violations (smirk). If they’re force to move that piece of shit Baja Bug, I’m going to sit in the driveway on a lawn chair and take a video of them moving it into the backyard - it’s the only place they have to put it. Retaliation will come, of that I have no doubt, but she’s dangerously close to harassment and me filing a restraining order. If she so much as farts in my direction, I’ll use my special skills to destroy her house. Yeah, there will be repercussions from that little maneuver, but I think at that point, it’s not just being mean - it’s self-preservation. And if something happens to Roxy, I’ll rip her to shreds.
So other than falling asleep and getting very sharp knitting needles stuck in my ass (and the stitches falling off said needles), making stupid mistakes when I’m awake enough to knit, and various and sundry other adventures in the my world of creation, there’s not a damned thing going on other than the shit from next door. It’s probably a good thing I’m not spinning right not - I’d probably flick the spindle the wrong way and have it shoot straight into my eye. Not that I can see all that well anymore, but that would hurt - and it would also fuck up my spindle. One can’t have that...
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