To be a twat or a pushover, that is the fucking question

Because on any given day, those feel like the two options left open to me. Both are unpleasant, in vastly different ways. I feel bad when I’m forced (or tell myself I’m forced) to be a bitch. But, the memories of the times I just kept taking shit from people, when I put up with being treated like garbage because it wasn’t anything out of the ordinary from home and it’s like shit people can smell that, those memories fucking haunt me.

I think I’ve decided on a pen name that is similar to my current nom de plume, but is not it. The big issue I have with Cassie Stevens is that my husband has a close personal friend with that last name, and he’s in “the field” so to speak, and most importantly he’s an arrogant asshole and I don’t like him. I mean, I picked this author name out when a young child, so obviously I didn’t know I’d marry a guy with a jackass friend with Stevens as a last name. But that’s what happened, and I should remedy it now. Plus like..no offense dearest blog, but I don’t want THIS associating with THAT. Like…that’s my pure heart and soul…this is….uh…the silt left behind, laid to bare in the sunshine because that’s the ONLY way it won’t make me crazy. That is also perfectly tuned machinery that I’ve spent more than a decade cultivating in my mind, one that has always shown a talent for and keen grasp of the writerly arts. This…this is almost stream of consciousness…okay a lot of time it is exactly that.

So like, I can’t have my Cassie blog muddying the waters with the masterpiece I’m breaking myself to complete. Gah I know I sound like a douche, but maybe one day I’ll be able to back up my millions of outrageous claims. Like….I don’t know… in a TRULY hypothetical scenario, if I were forced to choose between getting to be a successful mother…or a successful author…I would choose the latter. RIGHT NOW, at least. I don’t think a person can say that after they have kids. Because..like…no. But since I don’t have any and am definitely not pregnant…I can be honest with you. Right like I’m not always? Ha. Anyway. But it just seems more naturally a part of me. But, I have also thought about being a mother for the vast majority of my life. For many years, up until I met my husband when I was 21, I felt that I might not have kids because I might not meet anyone to have kids with. I’d always wanted the traditional situation, married to a guy with kids, like normal  ass shit, but when your childhood is all fucked you kind of think its going to follow you into adulthood. Look at my brother. I mean. BUT – minor footnote on my brother, lately I’ve really started to think about how my dad so heartily projected his entire personality and identity onto my brother…like he didn’t get to have a single interest of his own…and he had to spend more time alone with my dad than any of us, even our mom. LOOK what it did to him. If I have the chance I want to write a book from his perspective about how he grew up without a fucking chance. Because, I can assure you, while still knowing and perhaps reviling his flaws as much as I do, that guy did not get a fair hand in life. I know he sucks, and can be so fucking manipulative and terrible and EXACTLY like our POS dad, but…no one but me understands why that is, I think. My mom might, if I talked to her about it. Since we communicate via email, we are actually more emotionally open than when we used to see each other in person, because she’s all hyper repressive, her whole family was German, so like, of course, right?

So, when you don’t think you’ll get married, you don’t think you’ll have kids — not intentionally, anyway — but you still think you’ll be a writer. But you’re young and working full time retail and living on your own and going to college full time so you’re NOT exactly full of time to write. Back then, my “breaks” were working full time through the summer, which always entailed working until 11pm, sometimes working a STUPID 7pm-3am or 12am-8am BULLSHIT stock shift, and of course always working the holidays, I have deep bitterness about my retail days. We all know this. So back then, I wasn’t writing. When you’re an English major, getting a bachelor’s then a starting your master’s a year later, you don’t have much creative juice left for writing anyway. Plus during the semester there’s never not a time when you should be reading or writing something else, so there’s no motivation or drive to write for yourself, usually. I did a little, when I’d get SO high on adderol and weed and beer and shit I couldn’t control it. But not much. Plus, I will always get distracted by other creative things. Like acrylic and watercolor painting, jewelry-making, cross-stitching, crafting holiday decorations chiefly out of dollar store items, lets not forget reading. Especially right now I’m like..oh I could go read in the pool….why am I inside then? BUT that whole time, the whole like freaking eight years I was in college,  I thought about my writing.

Then, you know the story, around the time I started this blog I also ACTUALLY started getting going with my novel. Because as soon as grad school was over I started my shit my R, and that took up all of my spare time and then some. Then when I went to that class this past February I started truly organizing and honing in and I actually got a lot of it worked into a cohesive vision. I have material for at least a sequel, if not two more books concerning these characters. From there I guess I would then write other books I sort of have ideas forming for, but not much because I way busy with what I’ve got going on.

But, I mean, it’s not SO much to ask for both things, I don’t think, not when I’m so willing to put the work in for them. I’m always willing to work. I have far too many flaws, but I’m not lazy. Everyone has their lazy moment, but the truly lazy are easy to tell. Want me to name some flaws so I seem humble? Well, I delight in the misery of other people. Not everyone, but the people I hate, the ones I’ve deemed unworthy by their actions and behaviors….yeah, those people. And that’s such an unhealthy thing to do, it’s got to be right up there with obsessing over the past and comparing yourself to others. And, um…I spit when I talk…not like a lot, but I notice it….sometimes I wonder if other people do too. Um…..I mean you guys know about the weed and drinking, so why bother? I guess I’m incapable of expressing myself correctly or healthily. So there’s that. I truly cannot figure out my relationship with sex. Like I spend a frightening amount of time thinking about it…but usually in the context of how I’m going to use sex scenes to propel my novel, because that’s how you make it work. And, to be perfectly honest, I get a noticeable reaction from partners if I start thinking about two characters in my book fucking. Like…isn’t that just a little disturbing? Like my body reacts more to that than actually having sex. I become noticeably more pleasant to fuck (not that it wasn’t nice before, haters) when my mind wanders there. It also helps writing those scenes later on, because you’ve contemplated them in the true throes of passion.

…I don’t think I’m ever going to tell anyone that, though. The blog doesn’t count. I don’t even want this domain name anymore, I might get a different one.

Anyway,  I feel like my subject conundrum is a big problem for me. I don’t like either of those roles, but other idiots who are just basely mean and pointless and rude are always drawing it out of me. Husband will be home soon, so I should jet. Have a good holiday weekend. I work Monday then am off two more days, then work Thurs-Friday, then another weekend, so I’m mildly excited about the weekend.

Lates

~Cassie

You’ll have to speak up, I’m wearing a towel

Yeah I don’t know, it’s a Simpsons quote. And the fact that no one I know, not even my husband, ever gets my sundry references depresses me.

I was thinking about it the other day, and my fantasy guy is just a male clone of myself. Someone who’s smart but pulls these major idiot moves, and like a 7.5 on the scale of attractiveness (I’d be an 8 if I were more in shape. I know this. I used to be a 7 but then I finally had the orthodontia I so desperately needed. This is all coming from me, not anyone else. I’m not even remotely sure of how attractive other people find me. I think it’s somewhat). But anyway, we all know how much I can go on about my appearance. I don’t think it’s so hard to figure out just why that might be. It’s just interesting, to me, because I truly am a fucking disturbing grab bag of traits, am I not? So, back to my fantasy guy. He’d have my facial bone structure (only a masculine one, but the same lovely cheekbones pls) but a super heavy brow, and a way thicker jaw, and really thick black hair. That’s kind of how R looked but he had a prettiness to him, that some men have, and he always had this like…brooding look…even when he was fucking. Plus R was JUST barely taller than me, and weighed less than me, and that’s already the exact parameters my husband meets, so my fantasy guy would NOT be R’s size. He’d be NOTICEABLY taller than me, like I can wear whatever heels and STILL not have to worry about towering over him. I’ve only been with one guy that met that guideline, and he was the WOW boyfriend…and….every time I think about how much shit I ate from that guy it fills me with a special kind of rage, the kind where I’m just infuriated at myself for putting up with being treated bad, like way to think well of yourself, fucking idiot. So a guy who’s just definitely bigger than me, but by NO means do I want a fatty. I mean, I like skinny guys. Duh. Especially, honestly, my husband is way ripped, in that “I’m skinny af” kind of way, and it’s nice because he doesn’t do a whole lot else for his appearance, i think in part because he works landscape and we’re broke as fuck ALL the fucking time and he drives a 16 year old Bonneville and and and and and you all the shit by now I should hope.

So, there you have it, I spent like three hours at work this week thinking about how my fantasy guy and I would interact. I’m not describing it here, because there could fucking come a day when I need to write that shit into a novel, and so, yeah. We all know how I get about the idea of someone stealing my ideas. I truly pity them, because IF they got away with it, I would pour my heart and soul, the pieces left of both of them, into destroying them in whatever way my relatively intelligent (yet impulsive) mind could think of.

SPEAKING of my writing – I am like nearing what we could almost call the completion of my first rough draft. So much work lies ahead, but I feel pretty comfortable thinking that, by January 2019, I will have a polished first draft. At that point, I have three people who had volunteered to read it for critiquing (none of these three are school friends either, so this will be more “is this a good enough/interesting enough plot to keep a normal person with kids reading?” sort of endeavor with them). Then I have a few other people I might ask. Like my best friend, hopefully she’s not too busy, she starts working as a doctor officially, for real, on her own in five days! I’m honestly excited for her, and I never feel that way for anyone but myself. And like, idk, there’s like no one else in my life that I’m actually proud of, besides her. Maybe one day I’ll tell her the many, many positive things I’ve said about her here. I’m not one to do that though. Like that one Professor from my undergrad college probably doesn’t have the faintest notion that I would like….LOVE to fuck him, like so much and a lot. But, what am I going to do? Out of the blue email him that? I don’t know how to have anything to do with people. I think there’s a reason I have ONE friend, and I see her like twice a year because she’s busy living far away (well, sort of) and being a doctor and traveling out of country all the damned time. I mean, truly, in some fucked, weird way, it’s a good thing I don’t have any friends, and I haven’t seen anyone biologically related to me in over four years, and we’re literally paycheck to paycheck af and we rent and we have a ton of credit card debt AND student loan debt (all mine, sorry babe). We own our cars, I guess. We have PLPD on them, too. But anyway I don’t want to start complaining. We started growing our own weed, so that saves us like $5000 per year, give or take minus expenses. Other than that….I really don’t live so extravagantly. I cook dinner five nights a week, the other two nights we’re definitely not going anywhere nice.  But anyway. All of this seemingly sad shit in my life is actually a strange, good thing because it means I have an inordinate amount of time to write. And I mean…aren’t writers supposed to be sad and poor and depressed and addicted to shit?

OH, have I mentioned how I’m totally back to drinking every day. Yeah. After doing so well for like…months. I’ve got it down to 2 tall cans per day. Which is way too much on a fucking 7 day a week basis, I get that, but yeah, my husband…dude…he’s doing exactly what you think someone coming off three years’ sobriety would do. Nothing’s happened. Yet. Yet. He’d be SO offended by that yet, but let me tell you, and I know I have, you know what that’s all about.

Only other interesting shit – I’m kind of into the idea of fucking my neighbor. He lives with his long time girlfriend, who’s this cute, friendly little thing, she reminds me SO much of a friend of mine from my retail days. I like, in no way want to harm their situation, but if he was like us, then yeah, that’d be so awesome. And don’t get me wrong, this guy is like a…hmm…okay 6 I guess? There’s just nothing all that remarkable about him, not that he’s bad-looking in any way. But, idk, sometimes i can sense when someone finds me attractive. And you know who REALLY likes that? Drunk me. And I’m usually plastered when I see this guy. So who knows, maybe that will pan out.

Don’t tell me about how anonymous sex won’t make me feel better. I fucking know. It’s still fun and distracting to pursue. So lay off me, I’m…..well I hate the word “horny” but that would’ve worked well there.

Okay, stopping, for real this time. This weekend is supposed to be sweltering and I’m going to spend the whole time in my white trash pop up pool, drinking coors light, reading henry james The Bostonians in an inner tube. Because summer.

~Cassie

No time. Better write 1700 word blog for no reason

I mean I guess writing always has a reason? There’s got to be some logic behind why there’s ALWAYS so many words/thoughts running through my mind.

I don’t know what I want more, to be less angry or to have more time. OR, I guess, if I could just have like…$200,000….that would solve all of my money qualms, and then some. I guess that’s a lot of money. But I owe over 100K just in student loans (yeah, remember how it used to be around 90K? Yeah, that’s because student loans INCREASE even if you’re paying the minimum payment on time every month….so, think about how cool that is for me, for daring to want an education) and then there’s some credit card debt…like that’s all less than $10,000 though, so really if someone could just pay my student loans, or even just the federal one, I earn enough I could pay the rest.

I don’t know why I’m saying any of this, other than I’m high of course.

But really, in a fun hypothetical world, would I choose less anger or more time?

What’s funny is both of those things have the same meaning for me. I worry sometimes about how angry I am, pretty much constantly, and how it could possibly negatively affect my health. I truly desire to be nice and happy. I do. If I don’t like someone I’d rather ignore/avoid them than have confrontation/petty drama. HOWEVER, I get so damn fiesty when someone riles me, please don’t take the first part of that thought to mean I’m some pushover. My mother is a doormat, she just has that personality, so I don’t like seeing it. And more time, I’d just be a more well-rounded person. Because, on some/many days, I’m not capable of doing ALL of the following five-six nights a week:
-Minor household chores (make bed, wash dishes, attend to vomit on floor from cats as needed, possibly clean litter boxes and take out trash)
-Working out for an hour – 30 minute warm up then 30 minutes on the pole, or just 30 minutes on the bike, but I choose pole 9/10 times
-Writing – ideally, this would get its own hour also. BUT, even if I can get a single-spaced page done per day…that’s still 30 pages a month, more or less…that’s not horrible, it’s better than 0. Plus the plan is ALWAYS to do more on the weekend, but let me get to my weekend chores in a second
-Cooking dinner – I feel hella guilty if we eat out (Chinese or fast food if anything) or if we eat frozen pizza or eggs and rice for dinner. Plus I think my deep obsession with eating at home as much as possible is one of the reasons I’ve started to lose weight…that and the greatly reduced drinking
Most days, I just don’t have the energy to get through all of that between 4:30 and 8:30. Because I go to bed around 9 pm every night but that’s because on my LATE days I get up at 5:30 am. Two days I week it’s 4:30 am. During the six month winter, that’s a bleak time to be awake.

Then, okay I should have time to write on the weekend, right? I don’t have kids, I’m not in school, I sure as fuck don’t have social plans. The only things that hinder my free time are chores, SO MANY, and my in-laws wanting to spend time with us. Which is usually unpleasant in its entirety for me. They’re really starting to show their age, not physically, but in their behavior. I cannot remember the last time I went somewhere with them and didn’t internally CRINGE about twenty times. It’s like they have this rudeness-based autism that only comes out when interacting with a waiter.

On weekends I always get up early and go to the grocery store before it’s busy, because I so hate stores and huge groups of people, and the general population is SUPER fucking rude down here. Like…I’m always appalled at people at the grocery store, there’s ALWAYS people who cut you off/rush&run right past you like they’re in some sort of Speed situation. who won’t get out of your way while you patiently wait for them to do so as they unnecessarily block an aisle…not to mention the employees. They’re always stocking that time of day and GOD do they glare at you when you need to get in their way. I feel their pain. Truly. I know that feel only so well. But guess what bitch I’m the customer now and I need yogurt to pack in my husband’s lunch…so there.
THEN THERE’S THE SELF CHECK-OUT. OMG every week I get a new example of shitty human behavior there.
Of course I use self check-out, I was a cashier for ELEVEN years, I do not want to watch someone else do a poorer/slower job than what I could do. And they don’t like reusable bags and that’s what I always use because recycling. And I assure you, I am very conscientious and patient and chill with whoever is in front of me. I do not crowd them in any way (EVERYONE thinks if you stand VERY close to someone, they will naturally work faster, I learned that in retail as a teenager) I don’t glare at them, I wait until they’re COMPLETELY done and walking away before I even start. It’s only polite. But then, WITHOUT FAIL, the person behind me is a rude, ignorant idiot who starts ringing up their stuff when the ENTIRE bagging area is still filled with my shit.
They can see how much stuff I have. They can see that I’m by myself (my husband works Saturdays when he’s working, so from now until December) and still they think being obnoxious and implying I need to hurry up so I can put the halfway barrier up is the way to go. They’ll convey their impatience by standing as close to you as possible. They’re RIGHT there as you’re ringing up, again as if I’m going to move any faster because they’re just STARRING at every move I make, from 8 inches away. I shit you not, EVERY TIME I GO TO THERE. I guess it must be the time of day I shop. Well today a woman did the usual I’m going to crowd you thing, then when I didn’t respond to that she was like, “Can you put the thing up?” I could NOT but the barrier up because I had too much shit, I wasn’t going to crush/destroy a bunch of bags of chips and fresh meat and bread and whatnot because she couldn’t wait two extra minutes. I’m OBVIOUSLY fast at bagging. So I responded, in a very impatient tone, “Yep, in a second!” And I bagged a few more things until I could actually push my shit down without destroying it. Then I pulled it across and was like “THERE YOU GO.” My deep displeasure was quite evident.  It felt wrong being so rude to a woman so much older than me (like 60s probably) but like…she just couldn’t wait a few more minutes? How is it that I am capable of being kind and patient but no one else is?

That’s literally the grandest and truest frustation of my life, what I just typed. It was exactly what my whole childhood was like. They treated me terribly and used me for their purposes, I wasn’t allowed to be an autonomous person with my own thoughts/opinions/desires/feelings (I had to go back and type that because feelings didn’t even come to mind at first), because I existed to be the disposal of other people. Even my poor mother was guilty of that. Though I do love my mom, and I loved her mom too. They were normal, functional people who actually loved me and only wanted what they thought was best, and they tried their best for me. So…NOT any other relationship I’ve ever had in my life. I mean that’s almost true of my husband but sometimes I worry that he’s not so normal and functional, that’s all. I’m not saying that to be mean, I’m saying that because I’m worried. It’s like…how long do you put up with being absolutely broke and watching your spouse do nothing but talk and talk and talk and talk and talk about what he’s going to do about it, with nothing ever actually happening in that sector. But then if I tell him about times he’s done something similar before I’m “bringing up the past” and that’s forbidden, so basically I can’t remind him that I’ve seen the same exact pattern of behavior in him previously. Convenient, isn’t it, for him?

Also, okay, time to be real, I did something really bad like a month ago. And then i did something really stupid last week.

It’s not an interesting sex story, sorry. I don’t have any of those. I mean i had wrist bruises all week from being taped up on Monday, but I enjoy being restrained (not EVERY time, but on occasion, I find it hot) but that’s not the thing, either of them.

The really bad thing I did. Yeah, my husband started drinking again. He’d gone almost 3 years. I guess I kind of knew that he didn’t plan on staying 100% sober for the rest of his life, from the way he’d been hinting. It started again when we went to Shakespeare Behind Bars. When we were first down there he said something about wanting to buy a pipe and pipe tobacco which just annoyed me because he’s always impulse smoking when he wants to drink. So we had a beer at the Applebees we were forced to eat at, then one more in the hotel room.

Then, fucking duh, the inevitable began. We are trying to keep it confined to weekends. Of course it started at one day a week. I mean that’s the thing if you’re an alcoholic you kind of find a way.

Truly the only thing stopping me from drinking every day is the idea that I would be SO fat if I did that. Plus the other beauty detriments. Then the health problems. Yeah no thanks. But other than that I DO feel the deep need to be drunk like all the time. We really don’t need to explore as to why at this point, but like what am I supposed to do about it?

Then, the stupid thing? Yeah I got a $190 speeding ticket. 43 in a 30. Just like last summer I locked my keys in my running car. *sarcastic slow clap for self*
Just what I need, right? Ugh. It’s annoying to think how much stuff like groceries I could have bought with that money. That’s about what I spend per week on food. Wait let me get an exact number. This year so far I’ve spent $3,835.43 on groceries. Yikes. But that’s literally everything we need to live, pretty much.

So that’s what’s up right now, more money issues, and marriage issues, and nothing changing, and nothing changing and nothing changing.

I haven’t been in the best mood lately. Obviously. I actually just freaked the fuck out at my husband Thursday evening. I cried so much I had that annoying under-eye-bag-puffiness that’s my number one telltale sign I’ve been crying, everything else goes away pretty quickly, but even the next day, if I cry enough, they’re still so bad. Like in the few pictures of me the day after my wedding, SO PUFFY. It’s all I can notice. Anyway.

So I need to go. Did I tell you we bought a white trash pop up pool because it was HOT AS FUCK last weekend? Now it’s like 70 out so no pool for me today, which sucks because it was sweltering all week, but anyway I have to go care for the water because obviously my husband won’t. He’s a landscaper and he never mows his own lawn. I broke down and did our backyard by myself last Saturday with a push mower. As in, no gas/electricity, you push the rotating blades yourself. And the grass was WAY overgrown.

Anyway. time to chlorinate that bad boy. I’ll post a pic of last weekend when it was all perfectly summery out. Now it’s like early spring up in this bitch.

~Peace

~Cassie

I really sicken myself sometimes

I skipped exercising today so I could have ample time to write, so I could crank out more than a single page before making dinner (which I pathetically have not done since Sunday. Monday we did frozen pizza and last night we got Chinese) and what am I doing? Getting so high that I can’t stop thinking about fucked up shit that happened almost a year ago that I’m TOTALLY not over. Also I keep having this idea that I should make a list, one at time, writing out one thing I don’t like and then one thing I do like about my husband, until I get to a grand total of twenty. I want to see if I can do it. Because. I mean sometimes. I don’t know. The only time I like my husband is if I’m actually with him, do you get me? Like,  if I ever think about shit, I just get madder and madder as the day goes on.

And honestly, it’s been awhile since I’ve thought about it at all, really, but today I just couldn’t stop thinking about, no matter how low I’d sunk, my husband found a way to be way, way worse than me. I guess what really brought this topic to mind was finding some random, scribbled note of my husband’s. He does this. I think because he thinks his thoughts are brilliant. This would not bother me in the slightest, I think it’s wise to write down anything one thinks is wise, but for the fact that it’s SO chaotic. It’s random scribbles on receipts and bits of torn paper and flyers from nightclubs, it’s disgusting. His messiness is my biggest fault with him, it literally rivals his raging OCD. And when I saw OCD, I mean legitimate, diagnosed, it SO crazy to see happening in person, OCD. He was on different meds for it, from time to time, but they only seemed to make him worse in other ways. Well, one of his chaotic scribble notes started out with something along the lines of “A year ago I cheated on my wife.” And I’m sorry, but, am I to NOT read the rest of that? Especially he’s been such an ass about my need for privacy, which oh if this was real life he just would’ve started to flip out because you CANNOT remind him of past mistakes….to the point where it seems like he just thinks we get to pretend like NOTHING ever happened and everyone is totally okay with everything about each other. He’s hiding it behind the mantle of “not living in the past” as he puts it….but he’s the same peter pan syndrome motherfucker I met when I was 20, at least in a lot of ways.

And today, as I’m wasting all of my writing time like an idiot, I realize that I’m not over the fact that last June my husband had sex with someone with a personal (sex) ad on fucking craigslist. If only that law about craigslist not being able to have a sex ads section anymore had been passed sooner, huh? SOOOOO much grief it would have saved me. It still grieves me. I think I know why. I don’t have ANYONE to talk to about it. My husband always uses the “I don’t want to ruin our evening/I’m trying to have a nice morning with you” vein of reasoning for not discussing past, unpleasant topics. So I don’t think it’d be a simple task getting him to talk about it, plus that doesn’t count as “talking about it.” The last two times I’ve seen my best friend since I found out, I just haven’t had it in me. It’s just another conversation I can’t stand the thought of having, so I don’t.  But one might imagine I need to. But, sadly, truly, there’s just no one in my life I trust like that.

I mean, there’s you, Anonablog, but…does it count? How? Maybe like 20% better, but not what it should be.

So, I don’t know a whole post to complain about how I’m still really grossed out and depressed and sickened by my husband’s super gross rando hook up. I mean, I’ve evaluated that it’s good he didn’t fall in love with someone else, in fact the exact opposite…but omg that’s so fucking disgusting. Like if he’ll do that, what else will he do? I should have known. He went to a whorehouse in DC with two Saudi friends of his, he got a blow job because there was no “wait in the lobby” option. I knew about that like two months into our relationship…so I guess this is probably just my fault anyway. My fault for thinking I could trust anyone. I’ll never learn, I know that, but I feel the need to annoyingly point out my errors after they happen. But, the fact remains that even though he went as impersonal as possible…it’s still fucking gross. I still fucking think that he’s probably gone when I wake up at 3am and he’s not in bed. I really, really, really wish I’d woken up the night he was gone. He couldn’t give me the exact day but he said it was a weekday in mid-June.

It’s just like…if he can talk himself into thinking that I’d be okay with it happening…only up until such a time as he was done fucking a random internet stranger, then he “realized what mistake he made” and knew he had to keep it a secret. He planned on keeping it from me forever, yet also insists that he would have told me the truth if I had somehow known to ask him point blank if he’d had sex I didn’t know about.

Do you see what I’m dealing with, with him?

Is it me? Please someone fucking tell me,  for real, if this is MY psychological damage, or his. Because…I mean…it COULD be me…I had a fucking messed up childhood. I incurred a lot more than’s fair for a young person. I might not be capable of expressing myself healthily, ever. I might actually even be playing my father’s role in my own marriage…except I have my mother’s work ethic, so I can’t TOTALLY encapsulate his narcissism and pathological laziness. Or is this him? He’s the one who “feels a masculine need to be BADDER” I’m paraphrasing but that is also written in one of his twelve million trash scribble notes. Do you see how bothered i am by this? Everything he does and touches it chaotic and messy and disorganized. The EXACT things I detest, because I had my own share and then some of chaos, as a child. See, does it make sense yet?

But basically, he’s saying that to establish his status as the man in our relationship, he had to do something worse than me. And boy did he find it.

I mean I spent like nine months regularly fucking and staying that night with some douchenozzle I met in grad school who turned out to ONLY be good for sex. He’s lucky he has a nice dick, because when I last saw him it was one of his few remaining positive features. He was just another messed up alcoholic loser, because if that isn’t my type I don’t know what is. At first I was genuinely attracted to him and into banging him, but then it just became weird obligation/routine/distraction from actual problems in life…and it just made the situation with my husband SO much worse. I mean there was awhile there where I was gone three nights a week, every week. I feel bad about that, I really do. But after last July whatever it was, like the 21st I think, I think my guilt was wasted. Because the whole time he was telling me it was okay and secretly freaking out about it internally, that whole time, because it wasn’t at all okay but I was making him feel like he had no choice but to say yes, that whole time, he was just planning how to get back at me. He more or less wrote that.

This is what I get for reading something private, i know. But my issue is that it happened, not that he’s trying to justify himself to himself. That seems normal, at least for him.

I took 1400 words to tell myself I’m not over this and I wish I had someone to talk to. Thank god I skipped working out to write….*eye roll*

 

~Cassie

Seeing a production of Shakespeare in a maximum security prison went well

Again. This is the second time I’ve gone (to the same place). I saw Much Ado about Nothing in 2014, then this past Tuesday evening I saw A Mid-Summer’s Night Dream. It was SO good. I mean you can really tell they get a year to practice, and that they really put their all into it.  A few of them have been at this for over two decades, so as you can imagine they’re pretty talented by this point. I haven’t laughed that much at a production of anything, like that “my face hurts from this/wedding day” type of smiling.

Then I made the mistake of reading their crimes online. And like…why does the human brain condone murder but never any sex crimes? Like I get it I guess, but I’m an inquisitive person, I’d like to know. But then all I could think about it how each of those crimes happened…and how there’s like fodder for at least five good books, between all of them…but…what do I do, steal their bios? That seems immoral, somehow. I already haven’t been able to donate to their cause yet, despite having gone to see them. I was literally a freeloader. I’ll donate when I can, I swear. I need to because they’re doing King Lear next year, and I’ll probably want to go then as well. Kind of bummed I missed Julius Caesar.

But now that that’s done, I don’t have too much on the agenda by way of things to look forward to. Between my birthday and the funeral and the play, I have 4 vacation days left for this year. Sigh. Not that we were going to be able to afford to vacation anywhere. Plus I get weekends off so I can always do a one night thing, but again, can’t afford it anyway.

Well, this week I had a fucking break down (at home) and it was from a pretty pathetic source. I mean I found out, as I was driving us home on Wednesday from the prison (354 miles from my home), that I was not pregnant, again. I mean we haven’t been trying for too long but you still get hopeful, don’t you? I do. It’s in my nature. But anyway. So maybe it was partially that. But on Thursday I discovered that my husband had spent more $ on gas than I thought, and it resulted in us not having enough $ in our checking account (it’s the only place we have $, I spent all of my on-hand cash and maxed my one credit card just to go to the play and back) for me to get lunch on Friday. I’ve been going out to a relatively cheap restaurant around my work with a coworker every Friday for over two years now. Lately, a different coworker has always joined us, and this Friday a fourth person AND the new intern were planning on coming along as well. This was all fine with me, but this made it impossible to get out of going to this lunch, after we’d planned it all week and such. And I literally did not have the money. Not in cash, or even change, or available to charge on a credit card, or in the bank. DO you realize how humiliating that is, at my age? Like all of my bills are paid up, and we had food to eat at home, but I had nothing to spare and no graceful way of getting out of lunch with my coworkers, either. I know I could have asked one of them to spot me, but that would involve a level of humiliation and embarrassment I’ve been feeling my entire life, that I don’t care to relive, at any cost.
Luckily, while I was freaking out (and by that I mean just crying, lying alone on our bed) my husband took back the empties we had on hand, which came to more than enough cash to cover my lunch (we don’t go anywhere extravagant, but I had $5 left, which isn’t enough for anywhere these days, I needed at least $10). So as pathetic as it was, it really did make me feel better because I didn’t have to relive a bevvy of unpleasant emotions I’ve known since childhood.
So that’s the level we’re still at, if you were wondering. Luckily I’ve been able to afford my pole classes, which are $18.75 a piece, if you buy 4 at a time. It’s only once a week, but then I work on stuff at home, and I actually am getting better! It’s so amazing to be like..wow..I track actual progress in myself….and you’re excited over what your body can do, not what it looks like (I stole that from a meme, lets be honest), AND whenever I’m doing pole, it’s all I’m thinking about. It requires all your focus, which makes it relaxing because you can completely concentrate on it…yet still work out. Yes, I’m very stoned when I go to class. Sometimes I wonder if they can smell it. Probably. Whatever, it’s not that weird of thing anymore, especially down here.
But my husband has only received 2 paychecks this season so far, so I haven’t been able to get very far ahead with things. But, he wants to quit this job, which I mildly support, but I will miss when he was making slightly more money than me (he works many more hours than me, at a lower rate per hour), but I don’t like his job now. But, at the same time, in the past he’s always taken his sweet ass time getting a new job, and I just don’t make enough to support both of us and pay the rent. I make enough if the person I’m with makes roughly what I make, that puts us slightly above the median wage for our area. But anyway. It’s expensive being poor, let me tell you.

Other than that, and my pole success, I’m still plugging along, as always. Still haven’t seen my mom since last October. We email every day that she works, though, so I still communicate with her a great deal. Perhaps even moreso than if we saw each other in person. Who’s to know? Who’s also to know when this will end, or how? I’m uncertain, but sometimes just leave things up to…idk like fate? Chance? Destiny? Idk. Whatever you want to call it. Random chaos? Whatever you want.

What I don’t leave up to chaos is my writing. Though to be honest I’m kind of off kilter with that as well. The funeral last week and the play this week were kind of draining. I’m always wondering why I don’t get anything done writing-wise on the weekend when I have the whole damn day off. But here i am, at 12:20 pm on Saturday and i haven’t even opened the document.

Also I’ve been filled with misgiving about the way I’ve been going about my current process, of editing on my lunch breaks and writing evenings/weekends. Because all of the writing advice online seems to not encourage skipping around like that, or editing while you’re trying to write. So unless I want to write original material on my lunch break (which, due to the nature of my work, would HAVE to happen in my car, and my laptop is too big, it wouldn’t fit well in the space I have, due to my height and tiny-car-possession) I have to forego using my lunch break for artistic things. I could go back to reading at my desk, I guess. I wish there was a place where I could write on my laptop inside…but there’s not. It would get weird and invasive real fast, and those are like my least favorite things.

Anyway. I should wonder why I waste the weekends. I got up around 9:30am, which is very late compared to the 4:30 or 5:30am that I usually get up. Then I immediately cleaned up the house and did the dishes, cleaned the kitchen table and counters, random small things like that, and I’m about halfway done with laundry. And I got really high, duh, because it’s freaking Saturday, and I’ve been pounding black coffee like always, so I feel REALLY high by this point, so I felt compelled to blog. Which I guess is good. I don’t have anyone in my life to talk to about this shit. There’s my husband, and I do talk to him about a lot, we’re definitely not into keeping anything from each other anymore, even shit like when we want to fuck someone we know from work, or whatever, but sometimes I need to talk ABOUT him, you know? And I do talk to my mom about some things, like financial issues, but then she just tells me how well she can commiserate, which I know is true, and then I feel bad, so I try to not mention it. And I don’t tell her about any other issues until long after they happen if at all because I don’t want to stress her. So I just tell her about random stuff going on, she seems to enjoy it. And I have a best friend, but besides the few times a year we see each other in person we don’t talk a ton which is fine and all I understand she’s busy but still, the avenue to talk about issues isn’t there.
But, an outlet is an outlet, right? I’ve told you-all some pretty  weird messed up shit in my life….but definitely not all of it. I don’t know if I ever will. I don’t know if that’s the plan. Yet. I never really know the plan until I’m upon it. Maybe that attitude is to blame for my financial woes. Idk.

Anyway, that’s what’s up in my life right now.

Do you ever notice a WEIRD pattern of behavior in yourself…and you’re like, where the fuck did this come from? Like…I’ve had multiple total freak outs…in MANY different types of doctors’ offices….and that’s literally the only place anything like that has ever happened……

I’ve never told anyone that.

So. Feel special. I guess.

I don’t care if people know. Maybe it’s nothing and I’m just weird…but sometimes….there’s like…..a certain hysteria to what’s upsetting me, it freaks some people out because it can bring about REALLY strong emotion really really quickly (my boss learned)..and…..I don’t quite know….what the fuck is causing it….but it’s INCREDIBLY upsetting just to write about now.

And you’re like…oh…yeah….that sounds normal. Along with…everything else. But anyway.

I should be off so I get some actual writing done today, not this stupidly long diary. I’m sure I’ll post another pole video tomorrow.

~Cassie

I should be editing, but here I am on effing WordPress

Not complaining, just kind of annoyed with how my mind works. I was all pissy last weekend because the holiday ruined my ability to get any writing done OR go to pole class, so that was a bummer. (Speaking of pole – I now have one installed in my living room! I am SURE I will post pictures later, but this is going to be a more depressing blog, because, IDK it’s been awhile, I’m not just sex stories and weird shit and selfies and pot and pole dancing and writing a weird sex novel. I mean in large part that is a bunch of my personality, but that is definitely not all. I’m also severely addicted to caffeine, but that, to me, is almost like a wholesome addiction, given what I’ve done in the past) But now instead of using my entirely free Saturday to input on-paper edits (the ones I do in my car, that I KNOW you remember from my other post WordPress is clearly for selfies)

But, instead I got like a little too high, now I’m like lost in thought and it’s hard to read TINY print. Why did I use 12 size font. I mean I know why, it’s so I can be arrogant about it. But I’m still annoyed.

Okay I thought of what my worst trait is. It’s actually not the many, sundry emotional problems, it’s my inability to manage fucking money. Like. I’m very confused as to what I’ve been doing wrong, but I clearly an see that it’s something. It’s kind of my special brand of pathetic, but sometimes I mentally console myself with the idea that it’s probably for the best I’m not pregnant yet, because we really don’t have the money. But, on the other hand, I really don’t think I should let the fear of debt stop me. I didn’t with school, and now look where I am. I know it doesn’t seem like it, but I am so significantly happier now than I’ve ever been in my life. To be honest, things weren’t really all that good with my husband until we both stopped drinking…and that was only like two years ago, and we’ve been together for 9 (in July).

I just feel like if I could somehow not be in debt and actually like have my shit together enough to own a house and a car that isn’t ten years old. But whatever, my car from 2008 still runs fine, and it was a gift from my Grandma, she just paid outright for it, with a check. And, if I did get pregnant, my mother in law already offered to pay for our day care, because she didn’t want fear of not having money to stop us from having kids, because we’d be great parents.

So that’s what I actually wanted to write about. Did you catch that I just described too monumentally generous older women in my life? Like. I mean. Sometimes you have to see God where you can, right? And I’ve had two great trading-outs in my life. One was when my best friend moved from our hometown to a city about two hours away to attend state school. I knew she was leaving, and about two months before she left I met my future husband, indirectly through my best friend. Then, pretty shortly after we met, we were dating, and I met my future mother in law. My Grandma died when I was 23, I think. Right after her 93rd birthday. I’ll be honest, at this point in my life I was just finished with undergrad and had a really severe drinking and adderoll and cigarette issue. I was so damn skinny. God I miss that. But not the other parts. And, the day she died, I was really strung out and fucked up, and when my mom called to tell me what happened (we’d all been expecting it….in fact, the reason I didn’t go see my Grandma right before she died is because I didn’t believe my POS dad when he told me she was dying because he’d literally said that about 40 times before in the past three years. My mom was always so disgusted with him during any of those given times, as my Grandma’s health got worse and she went from in-home care to a nursing home to a memory care nursing home, because he would seem downright excited) she didn’t ask me to come over. And I was glad, because my car had a flat tire and my then boyfriend and I were too drunk to deal with it.
Well, as you can tell, all of those were wrong moves. i see that, but you’ve got to understand a few things, this is MY family. not a stable, normal, functional family. And, I don’t know, I can’t remember exactly, but this was either right before or right after the FIRST time I tried not speaking to my dad. I know it was during the three year stretch we lived at this white trash apartment complex behind the mall in my husband’s hometown. I am currently in the midst of my second and actual attempt at cutting all ties with him.

So  I do find it interesting when my best friend and my husband like traded out, like almost in a comically obvious fashion. Then, my whole childhood, the only reason I ever had anything extra (so, things beyond the minimal amount of clothing necessary to live and a place to live and food to eat and being sent to school) had to come from my Grandma. She paid for all for my homecoming and prom dresses. She bought me a computer when I was in high school…you know…the one my dad threatened to destroy with a hatchet, mostly out of infantile jealousy?
Then, when my Grandma was in a very expensive nursing home and all of her money was gone and she had to move to a few different shitty ones at the end of her life, I met my husband’s mom. Because he lived at home when we met, I actually met his parents like the second time I ever hung out with him. I remember quite distinctly that his dad was delighted with the idea that I’d gone to a Lutheran high school. I was like…well…guess I get some benefit out of that awful experience.

And  my mother in law has been my sole source of clothing and shoes, for the most part, since I’ve met her. She routinely takes my husband and I on a big shopping trip, usually about twice a year. Last time, there were 6 new pairs of shoes. Other times, it’s a new batch of work clothing. She’s unbelievably generous. I was raised way too white trash to be that kind of generous, with people I know, myself. I have a few charities in mind for if I ever make real money as a writer. I mean it’s possible. There’s a vacuum I can fill, I just know it. But anyway.

I’m not trying to brag, obviously. That is literally never my goal. I mean when I try and talk about things i like about myself or my life, it’s really me doing everything I can to not be negative or depressive or complain or whine. Because I seriously fucking hate it when other people do those things.

Which brings me to my favorite charities, as of right now – There’s Free the Girls. They enable women in developing nations (like I know Guatemala was one of them…then I think definitely also some in Africa? I don’t feel like fact-checking) who have been rescued from sex trafficking to run their own business. Women in this country donate bras, and the other women sell them. I cannot explain to you why, but there’s this one like info-mercial about FTG and it ALWAYS makes me cry. A lot. Thinking about it makes me cry. I literally do not understand this trigger, but I really am aware of it.

And the other is called Shakespeare Behind Bars. I get annoyed when I tell people about it, because the name makes most idiots laugh. But it’s a program that has inmates in male prisons put on productions of Shakespeare once a year. It’s open to the public, in the sense that you can apply for a ticket and undergo a background check and attend if there’s enough space. My husband and I are going this year. I got the email that enrollment was open, and they’re doing A Mid-Summer Night’s Dream this year, and I was like meeehhhhh I really want to go, to my husband, and he was like…well we can probably make it happen…. So fuck it why not.

Which I guess that ties in with my first stated issue of knowing my worst flaw is how bad I am with money. Because if I have one element to my personality, it’s a total “fuck it” vibe towards spending money. I mean that’s why we’re trying to have a kid, despite our sort-of financial dependence on his parents. Which feels insane that that even has to happen, because we make a collective $40,000 ish last year. Does that NOT sound like enough for two people to live on? But no, seriously, it’s not somehow. IDK. I’m aware you can pay for advice on this sort of thing. We have Quicken once, I did not like using it. All it did was point out where we spent all of our money. Like I know, I just feel like I can’t control it from happening.

But, anyway. We’re growing our own green now. I’d post pictures, but I don’t want to make anyone jealous. It’s a very small grow, obviously, because our rented house is tiny. Renting a 3 bedroom where we live is $910 a month. Do you realize what kind of mortgage payment that would be? BUT, what are we supposed to do, pull a down payment out of nowhere? We can’t ask his parents for THAT kind of $$, we already ask for enough, on top of the things they give us on their own, which is a lot. It’s ALWAYS been a make enough to just get  by situation. And now, it’s been years since we stopped wasting a ton on beer, and booze, and cigarettes, and I constantly drank soda, like I would stop at a convenience store a few times a day for one. So disgusting. Now I’m all about black coffee and La Croix, because I’m old and need to watch calories. But anyway.  AND we’ve gotten WAY better at not eating out, or getting fast food. We almost always eat dinner at home, with things purchased from a grocery store. I’m gotten VERY good at feeding us cheaply, but still pretty healthily. Speaking of health, I’ve FINALLY started losing weight. I’m sure I’ve mentioned a few dozen times how my old drinking habits did not mix well when I finally got a desk job. I gained at least 30 pounds that first year. It was terrible. Again, I’m lucky my mother in law buys me clothing, because I went through a huge fluctuation from my earlier years of shopping with her. But, I am finally starting to lose that weight.

TO that end, like i said at the beginning, yes, we have a stripper pole now, okay, I cannot resist a pic, especially since the living room gets good morning light. IMG_9251

Yeah, we had to put it in our living room because that’s the only spot with the most space.

And guess what. My husband was INSTANTLY really good at pole. He can climb, already. He could do every spin I could remember how to show him. It’s because he’s so obsessed with pull ups, and doing shit like climbing trees or brick walls for fun. Pole is pretty much a rope to climb, but you can have a lot more fun with it. He can’t Iron-X off the bat but he’ll get there, I’m sure. I’m so jealous. Like if he went to class, he would show me up so hard on his first day. He really likes it, which I find funny.

So, IDK, maybe we’ll move back up north and open a pole studio. He DID take eight years of dance class. If I was working full time at a regular job and insuring us, I think we could handle running the studio. If it was profitable enough, we could both work there full time. I just know this whole situation we’ve got going on right now is kind of lame. Plus my husband has always struggled so much with finding a well-paying job that he doesn’t detest.

So maybe I’ll be writing a novel and dedicating a lot of time to pole fitness. There’s enough tutorials online, and now I have a pole at home, and a really in shape spotter.

That’s one thing…his job right now is really grueling, and it involves 4 months of being laid off in the winter, but he is SO cut from it. Like it’s weird being like…wow, that’s my husband’s body. He’s getting like PERFECT ab definition. It’s not fucking shock he’s so good at pole, right away, like first time he tried. And I mean, he was just rail-skinny when we met, then he got REALLY overweight for awhile there. He trimmed down for the wedding but I remember the picture of him from the night he proposed his face looked faaaaaat. I’m not being mean, I would totally say that to him and he wouldn’t be offended. He knew how big he’d gotten. And I mean, the way he is now is obviously nicer. What can I say. But now I’m like….thank God I’m so facially attractive, or people might wonder why he and I are together when we’re out in public.

But anyway, I’ve wasted quite enough time on this.

Hope all of you are doing well.

 

~Cassie

True, drunken feelings about my best friend 

I’ve discussed her many times before. But now I’ll level with you.

Few people mean more to me. She’s on an even level with my mother and my husband. No one else living even comes close to that tier.

And as I grow older I realize that we have known each other and been friends for a very long time. We don’t have to explain the past to each other, we were there. 

And even today, just texting with her drastically improved my happiness. 

Not that many, in fact like veeeeeery few others matter as much to me. And it’s all right that we’re both busy living separate adult lives in different states, that’s how life goes. But no matter what else has happened, she always manages to make me feel like I truly matter to her. Things might be distant but we’re both always there if we  really need. 

And there will never be a better analytical take on my life.

And I’ve always been so glad she’s a part of my life. 

That’s how I really feel. Sure, I’m so easily irritated I’ll bitch about things but let’s be real that’s a human reaction to human interaction, at least when you’re me.

I don’t want my longest standing connection to be something I took for granted when I had it. 

~Cass