It’s Me

I had a migraine last night. Worse than even the one last July. It started around 1pm, ended around 12am. That’s when I finally fell asleep for good. I can’t go on anymore about that, because fucking talking about them triggers them. I tried having a characer with migraines but found I was incapable of describing one in the detail is deserves without living through it. I get the constant screen time and tech neck don’t help but they sure aren’t the causes. Anyway.

So. I think it’s time I come to terms with shit. I think we all know what’s going to be for the best.

But please. Let me talk about why for a really long time first.

So like.

I don’t know.

Since I drunkenly (DISCLAIMER: when I say I was drunk while I did something, it’s more like a detail than my making an excuse. I DON’T do that. It’s annoying) screenshot a text convo with best friend and made it a blog post (see one below) I think things might be over with N. Not that they ever started. But more often than not, I find myself just fucking wishing this had never started. Because, I guess, there’s no possible way he could realize how increeeeedibly hurtful I’ve found all of this. ALL OF IT. Like. What did I do. What the fuck is it that I do that screams “treat me like shit” to people? Do I ACT like I don’t have feelings? Because I feel very emotional. Like all the fucking time. I guess some good came of it. Twice he articulated a feeling I was having into actual words and I was like….omg he’s right….and that’s always fun, because you’re like..wait…no…I learned this recently….I get to have my own writing space to say anything I need to…or…it’s shitty when someone makes me sexually uncomfortable. Not dying to discuss why I fucking needed these things explained to me at thirty, but whatever, moving on.

So. Idk. He DM’ed me and was at first all saracastic like pffft you shouldn’t have used WEEKS because it’s slightly longer than he said to get my manuscript from me, then went very like, I can’t believe you’d hurt me this way, “sometimes I let people down but I really don’t think this is one of those times. // Anyway have a good night.”
Then that following morning, because he sent these while I was sleeping, I said, “18 days=justifiable all caps, I stand by it. And why did I say I was ignoring you?” Because in one of his messages I glossed over he was like “Do you really like I’m ignoring you?”

UH. YEAH. WHY WOULDN’T I.

It makes me super sad that the most he ever talked to me was when things were all flirty before that one time we hung out. Was it because he wanted to fuck me? Well that doesn’t upset me, in fact, that’s SO what I was into happening as well…so….yeah….it’s like even more depressing

What’s REALLY crazy, is, I think I know the real issue. I haaaaaaad to have somehow formed some sort of feelings for this guy. Like being as a pathetic as I am, it’s not shocking someone showing even slight interest is enough to draw me in. Look at R. I mean really, the things I put up with from him. Anyway. You know why I know I REALLY liked him? Because like, physically, he’s not what I’m SUPER into. Granted, if you don’t know what a guy’s dick is like, you can’t really judge him as a whole, physical specimen, but I mean, N is basically a less hot version of my husband. And my husband is also ripped, and slightly taller. (only slightly).

But. I still really, really, really liked this guy.

It’s happened before. That’s how it was with Paul (remember him? GOD that was a long blog). And it was sort of the same, in the sense that Paul was also an English major, although he was three years older than myself and we didn’t really bond over that subject. But it was still a talking-based, intellectual thing. Like with R. But, okay don’t get me wrong I was very sexually attracted to R. Dude was fiiiiiine. And like, if I had to rate him on dick/ability to fuck, like an 8.5. Truly wonderful. THAT was not the issue with him. But alas, that can’t be the only thing, NOT when someone has the issues R has. I tried finding him on instagram the other day, just to like, see if he was still alive, and I couldn’t. So, maybe he deactivated it? I tried googling if he died and couldn’t find anything so it’s probably not as dramatic as I’m making it because of course I am.

I guess what’s REALLY depressing is how much this whole thing meant to me, and how obsessed I still am.

Which I guess brings me right to my original point. I guess I should just give up there. I think if I remain completely silent at this point nothing more will occur.

Do I want it to?

Of fucking course.

But like.

I should move on

Right?

I think the fact that I’m asking tells me what I need to know.

Why does it make me SO sad?

When you repress you real feelings, for means of survival, for SO long, it does something to your abilities to express them later on. Which is grossly unfair. But you know what’s more unfair? How fucking puffy my undereyes get when I cry, which leads to to gross under eye creases that make me look old and tired. HOW FUCKING UNFAIR IS THAT. My god do I hate the cosmetic payments I must make for my myriad mental illness.

Or maybe it’s just the alcoholism? Cannot tell.

But back to my really infantile emotions.

SO like. Knowing I’m way into this guy, I go into what SEEMED like it was going to be an awesome evening only to be obliterated, then I continue the connection, if however removed, for months. WHY.

OH I fucking good and goddamn know well why. Roughly the same reason I love getting fucked up.

I like this feeling, and I’m going to pursue it. Because there was a long, long time where I didn’t GET to express my feelings, and it fucking warped part of me. But it’s too little too late now, isn’t it cowboy? IDK where that term came from but I’m SUPER drunk guys. Can you tell? I pride myself on hiding it whilst communicating like a pro, because that’s what I am at this point. Anyway.

So. Time to fucking breathe and tell myself this is for the best until I’m fiiiiiiinally at the point where I actually don’t care. Instead of just publically pretending like I don’t care, which has already started.

This is a picture of a tweet i deleted because who cares? But it’s true.

My fucking frightening mountain of issues aren’t anyone’s fault. No one who meets me/knows me in a not-personal context could possibly realize how fucked I am, and in how many ways. I guess no one can tell by the way I interact with them that I’m not like this with everyone, and this really was special to me, and I cannot possibly imagine a time in the future where it would seem worth it to try for this with anyone else, and that breaks whatever strange heart I have left.

I wish it was just that I’m horrible and my husband should be enough.

But this is how I feel. At this point I don’t think I should keep trying to control it.

I feel I’ll find him at some point.

Or I’ll have kids.

Like, besides writing my book, and potentially moving for the change of scenery and because this area holds no joy for us, that’s really the only thing happening in my life. Me. Going about things. Waiting for one or the other to happen. Working hard because that’s how my mom and Grandma raised me. Absorbing pain and harboring grudges like nobody’s business.

I don’t mind either.

But. Like my book will happen regardless. That’s like a given. NOT THAT I HAVE A BETA READER ANYMORE. But trying to move past that….

One of them needs to happen soon here. I’m bored. I’ve worked long and hard enough. Not that I plan on quitting working or writing, but I’m just saying, like, IDK, perhaps it’s my innate arrogance, but I genuinely do feel I deserve good thing and happiness. Is that SO wild? Because, where I grew up, IT IS. BUt I don’t want to talk about them, they suck.

So. That’s what’s REALLY up with me. And why the wholllllle situation with N just bummed me the fuck out. I’m weirdly lonely and I feel like just my husband isn’t enough when I don’t have ANY family of my own, and we don’t have kids, and I literally don’t have friends, like at all, in real life. As in people to sometimes spend time with. It just isn’t a thing.

But anyway.

That’s all.

It’s not N’s fault that I’m so fucked and needy. And I don’t think he could possibly realize how hard all of that was for me, and how much it meant to me. all of that is my fault anyway.

and it seems like it would be best for the both of us if we had nothing to do with each other. Which is what I meant when I said “things go back to the way they were before” months ago when I was texting him the day after he..idk what you want to call it, whatever’ed my feelings. He said thank you and it stung all the more, then he was like I thought you meant before it was weird, and I was like…when was that except when we weren’t talking? Then I tried to go back to the talking alot flirty stage and that OBVIOUSLY wasn’t right either.

So. No more conversation.

No more beta reader.

I need this weed pen and cheap beer taken away from me.

I cried for two hours straight yesterday. Migraine.

Can feelings cause migraines? Because there’s a frightening amount of tension in me. It causes them. And I feel it in my chest when I’m doing yoga. I know that sounds stupid but like, it’s definitley what’s happening.

Anyway. I should go. Take care. Love you all.

~Cassie

The time I paid the $70 dumb bitch tax

Disclaimer: I call myself a bitch and a slut and a cunt and a drunk and a dumbfuck and all of that because 1) It’s me, I’m ALLOWED to refer to myself HOWEVER I please, also 2) I’m attempting to point out that men need to think of better supreme insults than calling a woman a bitch. My own father has called me a bitch. Do better.

So. It was two weekends ago. The weekend right before New Years Eve (which was obnoxiously on a Monday). I had just finished transcribing draft #2, and was very excited to get it printed at Office Max to give to my beta reader (N).

When I was ordering this manuscrupt on Office Max’s website, I SPECIFICALLY asked my husband, “Now you DON’T want a copy of this as well, right? I need to know because I need to order it now.” He said no, don’t do that, save the $, he’ll just read the pages I print at home.
YEAH

Except my husband did that ~adorable~ thing he does, where as soon as he SEES something, he’s very overtaken by the need to have it. So that same evening we’re leaving OM and he’s freaking out, saying things along the lines of “Oh I’m so excited to read this now.”

WHAT THE FUCK

WHAT THE FUCK

Is it just me, or is that him being a crazy controlling brat who tries to make everything about him? Because just wait

I specifically said to my husband, I told you this copy from OM was for N, I told you that and I ASKED you if you wanted your own copy and YOU SAID NO. BUT NOW, NOW THAT THERE’S A CHANCE TO ACT LIKE THE WOUNDED VICTIM, OH FUCK KNOWS YOU COULDN’T PASS THAT ONE UP.

He was terse and pissy and rude the rest of the evening, telling me he was “just trying to get excited” about my writing. OH BUT THE WRITING THAT’S BEEN WAITING FOR HIM TO READ AT HOME FOR MONTHS, THAT HE JUST COULDN’T GET EXCITED ABOUT. OR MAYBE he’s just trying to take something that’s SO important to me and make it about himself.

That’s how that makes me feel.

So. I noticed a few issues with OM MS #1 (if you’re not in the know, MS means manuscript, so fancy word for draft of unfinished work). and was like, okay husband, I’m going to order a second MS, because this first one is missing an index I want it to have and it’s missing page numbers (my bad, not Office Max’s).

SO I was like, all right husband, I’m going to print a SECOND $35 MS at Office Max (same weekend, same worker who was super rude the first time I picked the MS up, but was really nice the second time…and he seemed super gay, so like…did he read a part of it? hahahahhaha that makes me laugh. I don’t blame him if he did….how often does that Office Max print epic shit?) and I do. And I’m showing the second, slightly better copy to my husband, and he PULLS THE SAME SHIT.

In that, he starts “getting excited” about reading the better MS I $35-printed. EVEN THOUGH I told him the better one was going to N. Because why would you give a beta reader a copy without page numbers? Like really? If I couldn’t have paid for the second one I would have written page numbers in, of course, but I had a little $ from Christmas so I was like fuck it lets do this.

SO my husband pulls the same But-I-wanted-that shit with me, like he has done so many times in the past with so many other things, not the least of which being my physical body of course. Like there were MANY times during our multi-partner sexcapades that he made me feel like a tree he needed to piss on after he saw another dog pissing on it.

Yeah, anonymous sex with a bunch of different peopele didn’t make me feel great about myself. GO FIGURE. I just wish the guys were hotter. The girls were all right, I found the first one super hot, and the second one was one of those like I’ll do anything because I know I’m a 5 types. We all know I like ordering people around. Anyway.

So. After much angry storming off and sullen silence, my husband’s usual, along with getting this specific facial expression very akin to something his father does when upset. I just wish my husband also NEVER yelled or grew violent like his father as well, my husband came to peaceable terms with the notion that I would want to give an “outsider” beta reader the more polished/professional looking copy.

SOO GOOD OF HIM, RIGHT? Like for real I was discussing this with my best friend via text the entire time. She never really offers much an opinion, but she did point out that his excitemnet for reading my shit shouldn’t be so contingent on how it’s printed. She definitely didn’t word it that way, but yeah.

So I messaged N on Twitter (because that is the only way we’ve interacted at all since…well, like I need to elaborate…think I’ve done that enough elsewhere) about having it ready for him, and he said, and I quote, “Next few days for sure” around December 29th. YEAH. IT HAS YET TO HAPPEN. He does have some shit to deal with in his life, and yeah like I DO get that…but…at the same time…..should I just like…keep prodding about it? Like I somehow doubt he’s forgotten that I told him I had a specially printed MS for him to read? SOOOO?… ?…..? LOST.

Unless he’s just waiting until he’s done dealing with his shit, then he’ll be like yeah let’s get that over to me.

I told him awhile ago that I didn’t want to mail it or email it…I mean, printed a physical copy is the fucking plot to this story…so….but at the same time, like a simple hand off at a starbucks midday on a Sunday would’ve worked for me, or something equally as innocuous/not seeming like I’m still trying to fuck this guy. Because, like, I REALLY do want someone else whom I consider “smart” (I mean I know him from grad school and he teaches at a college…so….) to read this and tell me what they REALLY think. Like…Aghhhhh I was SO fucking close to having that happen…and NOW he’s stringing me along when it comes to this like the other shit and ahhhhh

I know I go on about how I’m patient, and I really am, but I also get really angry all the time. It’s not so easy reconciling these two things.

Speaking of impatient, I’m probably writing on this upsetting topic and crying a ton about it because I’m probably due to start my period in a few days. And, I think we all know why that’s a little depressing. You never know it until you’re at that point, if you ever are, but each month it’s some annoying painful defeat to get one when you don’t want to. You tell yourself it’s for the best and you’re not financially ready and to not think about the fucking idiots you know who who DO get to have kids….but it happens anyway.

But I now have in my possession 2 $35 manuscripts printed from Office Max. The better one, the one intended for N, is almost completely pen-edited by this point. I’m on page 242 of like 265. So, yesterday I DM him and am like, well since i’m almost done editing this, you might as well wait until I’m done with it and have it printed again….and then he more or less didn’t respond…like he said something in response, but it wasn’t an acknowledgement of ANY sort of action taking place on his part soon. So….should I be taking this as a sign to let it go? WTF. I mean, who doesn’t love being brushed off right? It’s not that I don’t understand not dealing with something because you’re dealing with your own shit, I just KNOW I wouldn’t do this if the roles were reversed. Because I have a VERY strong subservient/desperate for a specific kind of male attention streak. I mean. I know this. My mom and Grandma and all. And like…why do you think I put up with R so much? You have no idea some of the fucked up shit that happened with him. I don’t write about it because I’M TRYING TO FUCKING FORGET because it gives me anxiety because it COULD have gone so wrong. Blackout alcoholics are fucking scary and need to be kept on a farm somewhere, together. Until they’re all dead. There. i said something really fucked up this far in so only my TRUE followers will see it.

You can’t blame me though, really. Not after W. And R. There’s no going back from breaking certain things. Nope. I get I put up with it for some time so it seemed like that would go on forever…but I always surprise people when I like snap and am done with them FOREVER.

ANYWAY

BACK TO THE $70 dumb bitch tax

So the copy I had to buy because my husband suddenly needed his own spiral bound MS that was to go to N, I edited and will input those edits and then this will go into the keepsake bin (i have a lot of those, ONE DAY I’ll blog their contents because some of it is actually awesome, I’ll show you, one day, when I have time, KINDA busy right now)

And the copy intended for my husband, the first MS from Office Max?

UNREAD.

I mean, I get my husband works out several (like 30) hours per week, and he works like 25-30 hours as a barista, so he’s like somewhat busy…BUT OMFG THAT IS SO IRRITATING HE’S NOT EVEN READING IT. AFTER ALL OF THE BULLSHIT AND LITERALLY WASTING $35 ON A SECOND COPY SO HE COULD HAVE ONE, HE’S NOT READING IT.

I wish I was the “scream into a pillow” sort. But I smoke too much weed, I can’t scream unnecessarily.

I guess it was nice having a spiral bound copy to edit, because I actually enjoy editing on paper, MUCH more than on my laptop. So it was $35 well spent, in a way, but the second one….AHG. I can’t. NEITHER of them read their copy. Do you realize how sad and poetic and metaphorical this is for me? Like, okay…..OKAY, fucking tell me to breathe here…but…..THERE HAS NEVER been a man in my life is who didn’t DISAPPOINT THE FUCK out of me on a regular basis.

what the fuck

is that

supposed to mean?

Do the women? NOT NEARLY AS MUCH. My mom and my best friend are the ones that actually surprise me sometimes, even now. My Grandma is the ONLY reason I had even the semblance of normal shit in my childhood.

Ahhhhhhhhhhh

This was supposed to be complaining about one thing. Way to creepily become about some weird theme in my life like I planned it. SEE, if I’d tried to plan a blog like this, it would fall flat and I would go on a million different tangents only I find interesting and so on and so forth.

I should have gone to pole today, but I just didn’t. I could’ve scrounged the $20, but eh, I just don’t feel like working out that much. Just eh.

Anyway, I feel like I should take this as some sort of lesson. But. Should I? Am I just being a hugely self centered hyper critical bitch, because boyyyyy does that sound like me…… Who’s to know?

OFF TO EDIT THE MANUSCRIPT I PRINTED FOR MYSELF

This is what happens when I do something for someone other than Cassie. THIS is what they do when I try and like reach out and shit. THIS. BAH.

Happy fucking January, y’all

Brightside: days ARE getting longer…..wait that’s it

~Cassie

Crack out your “You’re such an awful person” expression and your “That’s what you get for snooping” tone

Well okay I shouldn’t have done it, but I did and now it’s too late, so oh well.

I’ve been If You Give a Mouse a Cookie-ing myself with housework for the past week. I guess I just noticed how fucking trashed the house is. Plus, when you and a filthy hoarder OCD packrat share a house, and you work twice as much as the lazy/messy one, there’s only SO much that can be done.

I know most people wouldn’t get it, but I honestly have to talk myself out of cleaning with all of my spare time. Like when I got serious about writing my book, like last winter, I had to talk myself out of changing the sheets and cleaning the bathroom every week, because that’s like an hour of weekend time right there. It’s not that I enjoy cleaning, I mean it hurts your back and dries your hands out and breaks your nails, but I like take an extreme amont of joy in being in a clean environment. It’s my Grandma’s fault. Her apartment was always like…..surgically clean….even the carpet was softer….and W…dude….like whatever gross symptom of chronic depression you can think of, that guy has, including the being a disgusting slob who chews tobacco and orders his eight year old daughter to clean up the mess “her” cat made when his long-standing spit cup is knocked over – he was the “family” cat at any other time. That my mother allowed such a thing in our house now literally sickens me. That she allowed a lot of things sickens me. But that’s not what I’m about right now.

So I’ve been cleaning, and in that process, I’ve had to come to terms with the idea that my husband puts the SIMPLEST tasks off, just because, he can put them off and it “feels like chaos” if he attempts to clean up after himself. Like seriously his hoarding and his messiness are things that 100% if I could change about him I would. I know you’re not supposed to want to change your partners, but HOLY FUCK would I be happy if I didn’t have to spend so much time cleaning up after both of us.

WHICH LEADS ME TO, the bad thing I did.

I knew it was wrong when I did it. But alas, we can’t always stop ourselves, can we?

We have a strict “don’t read each other’s writing unless the other person specifically says to” rule. Let me tell you, hard fought was this rule. There was a point where I saw my husband’s eyes move from looking at me, to reading the screen behind me, and he KNOWS how angry that makes me, because my family did it all the time, because privacy doesn’t matter when you don’t count as a fucking person, and it was just another level of their invasion, ANYWAY. So I get mad at him for reading a blog I’m writing and he STORMS down the hallway, yelling after me about my “precious fucking privacy.” You know what I JUST realized like two months ago? I actually learned it from N. Which I do NOT like admitting when I learned something, though it happens all the fucking time, because idk, I guess it conveys superiority. Because in the world I live in intelligence matters more than anything. But no one else lives here, I get it, anyway. So N said something along the lines of I shouldn’t concern myself that I’m talking shit about him if I blog about him (only to not use his name…which…why in the fuck would I….on here….where I give people an initial or a fake name…but anyway) because writing was “my space” to do what I wanted in.
And like….
WHY hadn’t that occured to me?
Then it takes like….20 seconds of thinking about it to realize why, among everything else, I wouldn’t be so sure I had the right to my own space, in any way. I’m quite certain I am as I am because I had no other option. Jesus Cassie, derail much? Anyway

So I found something my husband has written, it’s on a piece of white scratch pad paper, and it could be anywhere from 1 week to several months old. And, I read it. In part because I was attempting to tidy up our bedroom and I was seeing if it had something that no longer mattered written on it and could be thrown out. If my husband wasn’t so fucking psycho about something “important” he wrote on a receipt being thrown out, I wouldn’t have to do this. There’s 10 years of resentment coming your way, so hold onto your hats.

So, I will tell you what it says, what I can make out of it, he has HORRIBLE handwriting, so there will be parts I can only wonder about. I am certain this is about me.

“Frequent
-Wait for something to not be done perfectly
-Frame it in the worst light
-Get really angry
-Refuse to believe the other person no matter what they say
-You know I love sparing so you don’t want me to enjoy it
-Just like the night I went to go out with K (this happened last November I think)
-Just like Grandpa’s funeral [this next part is hard to make out, but it looks like “leading that item in the by” and that’s not a sentence…so…..] (this happened last May)
This is shit UKW does”

Well, I’m sure UKW is you know who, which is me, because this is definitley me.

In part, I guess it’s good he’s venting, and it’s not like writing is a bad way to do that, and I guess this is my fault for reading it…but…the way he is, with holding back rage until it’s SO out of control he just FREAKS. THE. FUCK. OUT. yeah. Gonna have to deal with this one as artfully as only someone as emotionally abused as myself could. Oh lucky me. Anyway.

So the “wait until something’s not done perfectly” UH, no, I refute that one. What I think he’s referring to is when he does one of the minor things he does around the house, but even then he fucking half-asses it. Like, wow, you did the dishes…oh look you left some of them….you made the bed, but then you took a nap in it, so it doesn’t matter. Things of this nature. He has NO idea, or if he knows it then he doesn’t appreciate, that our work ratio at home is 100:20, at best. He thinks because he does minor shit, and isn’t as bad as he once was, that that makes up for the fact that I’ve been the free maid service for a decade. It’s like he’s not lazy…but he is. Like I do believe he has every INTENTION of doing a lot, that he wants to help out, he’s not like W who was like…infantile and mean-spirited in a very weird/blatant way about EVER having to do anything that constituted work/effort. Pathologically lazy. I’ve been over this, but it still fucking fascinates me that a grown man would act this way. Of course there’s my idiot mother, enabling everything, thinking “he would change.” So goddamn stupid. Anyway. So I fucking HATE lazy people, lets face it, especially lazy men. Like when I was with R, that was one of the HUGE things that put me off about him. Like when I was with him all he did was sleep and get plastered and play video games, mostly league of legends. Although when he scraped together enough money from part time jobs he didn’t keep for long, instead of paying me back for bailing him out of jail, he bought a PS4…so he was playing that a lot right at the end. That was always SO something my second boyfriend (Dan) would have done, and I hated how much R reminded me of Dan in a HORRIBLE way, because that guy kind of sucked. HOLY shit, just realized that 8 months is how long I can put up with someone who’s shit garbage before things just fucking end.

So yeah, that first part stems from all of that.


The frame it in the worst possible light part. IDK, I guess sometimes I find it hard to believe that someone can be SO careless and inconsiderate, I guess sometimes, given the environment I was brought up in, I assume people are fucking rotten. What can I say? I try to not do this, though because it’s shitty to do that, to just automatically assume someone has the worst intentions possible. I do get that.

Then the “refuse to believe the other person” part. Well. IDK. I guess I would need to know what he specifically was talking about. Because yes, sure, I have some trust issues with some shit. Go figure.

The doesn’t want me to enjoy sparing? I DO NOT GET IT. I can promise you this, internet strangers who read my blog, I have NEVER thought that I needed to somehow ruin going to sparing or muy thai or kickboxing or whatever the hell it is this time for him. Like, it’s a good thing to go do, and like…really….who’s telling their spouse to NOT work out? Like…really? I don’t know what he’s referring to. THOUGH, there are times, when I feel like the only thing he cares about or devotes any energy or time to, besides working about 30 hours a week is working out. If he’s not going to one of two gyms he’s running a crazy number of miles at a time outside, or lifting weights in the garage. This is all well and good. I bought him those weights. I buy him martial arts gear for holidays/birthdays all the time. It’s just ANNOYING as fuck when I have to do everything by myself because whenever we’re alone together, he’s sleeping. If he is awake he’s at the gym or working out or he’s complaining about how tired he is, or how he doesn’t feel well in some way.
I’m REALLY trying to get him to go to a doctor and a therapist. Like I cannot be that for him. I have no desire to be. I’m his spouse. Different. Different roles. I feel like I needed to have this fucking talk with my mother and I never did, so this shit isn’t happening to me again, I can tell you that much.
So the only thing I can think is that in one of the times I expressed annoyance/dismay over his ability to ALWAYS have the energy to go the gym/work out, but when it come to ANYTHING else, that’s a fucking no go.
SO he might have mistaken that for me not wanting him to enjoy sparing. but that’s totally inaccurate. Why would I not want him to enjoy it? If I ever expressed displeasure at his leaving me alone to go to the gym, it was always meant in a joking-oh-don’t-leave-me sort of way, not a serious I’m actually upset at you sort of way. I don’t get it. So I call bullshit on that one. He’s mistaking my being upset over something else over his “enjoying sparing” which is HIM assuming the worst of me….isn’t it?

The “going out with K” thing – that pushses this note to within that last two months…which is kind of frightening….. Yeah that’s his coworker whom he’s had plans with only for them to fall through four times now. This was a weeknight she wanted he and I to meet her and her boyfriend at a hookah bar in a town like 20 minutes away. I don’t go out on weekdays. I get up at 5:30 on a late morning. It’s not happening. But he was going to go. And I said something, along the lines of, Oh of course, you’re ditching me. If I remember correctly, this was said in a joking way. I didn’t mind if he went out with her, I really don’t care if he fucks her. I wouldn’t recommend it because I cannot see her boyfriend being the open sort, and she’s young, and they work together. Unwise. But again, if it happened, like whatever, we both fuck around and all. NOT THAT I HAVE RECENTLY. Sorry. Still super pissed. Well not pissed as much as a WHOLE other blog I need to write but I found this fucking gem while I was cleaning today and like NEEDED to write a blog about it. But then my husband got really defensive and upset that I’d said that, and was like “Why would you say that to me?” In the most injured way possible, and I was like, I was just kidding, I don’t care if you go. Then he had to be like, I’m not going to enjoy myself now, knowing that you’re at home upset that I’m out.

AND,

WAIT

I’M SORRY

IS THAT NOT BEING EMOTIONALLY CONTROLLING?

Okay, I could have not said what I said, but it wasn’t THAT bad. And I didn’t say it that meanly, and I told him more than once to go (even though we also really didn’t have the $, because WE NEVER DO).

So. IDK I have a few arguments I’d like to make on my behalf regarding that bullet point in his list of my frequent grievances that he was DUMB enough to leave where I could find. I mean, start a blog, dude. Keep notes on your phone. I don’t go through his notes. I stopped going through his texts. I mean as long as he doesn’t give me an STD from someone else I really don’t care what the fuck happens. Also, if he got someone else pregnant I would be REALLY angry about the financial complications, and I would fucking divorce him if she had the kid because I get that that’s not a choice that would involve me, but it’s my choice to not be a fucking stepmother when I don’t have kids of my own. Yeah no I know in this moment that I would NOT be a big enough person to love that kid. I’m no Oleanna in Half of a Yellow Sun (which is a DOPE book, if you haven’t read it). So yeah HUGE tangent because marijuana but as long as those two things don’t happen, the rest is fine.
It just worries me when he does shit like that.

Because

To ME, it feels like he’s trying to condition me to NOT say anything, to never speak my mind because HE might have to get emotional about it. Juuuuust like his mother. See, he has A LOT of her charactertistics, and a lot of them aren’t great. Like the hyper sensitivity, the hyper defensiveness, the just deeply emotional way they go about every day activities. Wow, I’m hearing it for the first time, they aren’t German enough. They don’t remind me of my Grandma’s way of living life enough. I mean she has the food=love thing down, but that’s about it.
But that’s crazy right?

Maybe I’m just a cunt?

Like you get that would be easier? Like the worse option is always easier, isn’t it?
Or it is worse that he’s trying to do that? I say this one isn’t as bad because I can fucking handle it.
Do you really think I can be mentally manipulated or outsmarted by ANYONE?
It’s not me bragging, not when you realize how I fucking earned these stripes. It’s not fair to put a kid through certain shit. But then you tell them it’s all their fault and a new, strange, layer gets added on top that blurs their ability to connect, even with those whom they SHOULD have found a kindred comiseration with.
Sometimes I DO wonder what’s reality and what’s coping mechanism. I think I still have a pretty firm grasp on it.
I told you before, I’ll say it again I’m sure, I’m the definition of an outcast. There’s no one actual place I fit in, EVEN when I’m amongst a group I should have a great deal in common with. I’ve felt that way EVERYWHERE I’ve ever gone, in every group I’ve ever been in, for my entire life.
I know I sound like a dysfunctional teenager, but it’s the fucking truth. And I can assure you it’s the truth, I think, by reminding you that it’s the last thing I want to be the case.
I feel like if someone feels truly unique all they really want is to find someone like themselves. Like those who strive to be one of a kind don’t actually fucking get what that feels like.
Or I’m just self aggrandizing. I don’t know. The only thing I know for certain is I have a frightening amount of student loan debt. Ah, how anchoring you are, thing I will never pay off.

So again, I’m not asking him to not enjoy himself at either of those things.

And then the Grandpa’s funeral part. Okay, his Grandpa died on I think April 28th, the funeral was May 2nd. We drove down and stayed at a hotel near the funeral site. I drove us. We got there around 2am, slept until 8 then had to get ready. I Slept TERRIBLY. We had to get a double bed room, so it was like a full and we’re used to sharing a king sized bed and the reason we bought this size bed was because we NEED that much space. I woke up about once an hour, because my husband was infringing on my space in a huge way. If you shake him, while he’s sleeping, he’ll eventually move off of you, but having to do that SO much kind of ruined any chance at rest.
We were about to leave the hotel room for the day and I said, and I quote, “So not into this entire day of family time.”
I mean. I didn’t say I was glad his grandfather was dead. I missed him at the reunion this year, I missed his Christmas card, I loved his Grandpa, that’s not what I was about, I GUESS I was just complaining, because I was tired, and it was going to be a LONG day ahead of us, and then a long drive home, and then work the next day because this was the middle of the fucking week. Then, I told him he needed to comb his hair, which he did, it looked ridiculous that he was in a nice suit but obviously hadn’t bothered to comb his hair after washing it and lettitng it air dry. I remember the look he gave me when I said that, I realized there was trouble coming. But we had to go. So we’re leaving the hotel, and he is walking far ahead of me, he goes to use an exit that isn’t as near to our car as a different exit, so I say, “We’re parked by this door,”

And THAT was what did it, ladies and gentlemen.


Suddenly, instead of walking ahead of me, he’s running ahead of me. He’s out the door, he’s throwing out suitcase on the ground and repeatedly punching the brick wall of the building. He glares back at me, and like……idk…..him….THAT irrationally angry….in a suit…..when we’re about to be forced to spend a TON of time around family (HIS family) acting normal…..reminded me WAY too much of our wedding night/morning after. Only this time, he couldn’t blame his behavior on booze. This was RIGHT before he started drinking again. Like a few days. Uh oh I’m hearing it.

THAT was the horrible, unreal behavior on my part at his Grandpa’s funeral. LIKE REALLY.

NO, that one I have deep arguements on as well.

I hate to say this

But I feel like he took the death of his 98 year old Grandpa a little too hard

No disrespet to the man, he was great, and he raised great kids, who had great kids, and he was a fucking WW2 veteran, that’s so cool, like my Grandpa who I only remember in a hospital bed and maybe once in a nursing home but my mom would take me along and make me spend the time by myself so she could be alone with her dad. Strange to consider SHE knows what it’s like to love your dad. Strange for me to think of that bond existing, at all, I’m afraid.

But like, your grandparent living to 98 shouldn’t be your excuse for going off of the deep end and starting drinking again, but that’s what he said.

Now, especially lately, he’s been drinking way too much. Of course I get it’s hard to not. Really I do. Somehow, I managed to replace beer with red bull, at least on the weekends. On the weekdays its like eh, do I want to kind of feel like shit tomorrow? Plus, calories and all. Anyway.

I’m just kind of sick of his drunken rants.
His surprise birthday thing is next Friday, that’s the dinner with friends, then he and I have a night together the next night. Thanks to his parents Christmas money, I barely have enough for all of that. Hooray. I’m going to warn him not to ruin the night by drinking too much. It could easily happen given how he’s been lately.

But when he’s drunk he just goes ON about how nothing is his fault and he’s been so cheated in so many ways in life. which goes to show no matter what you have you can’t help but compare yourself to people who have more, I guess?
I do ALL that I can to NOT compare myself to other people. And holy shit does it make you feel better. I’m still lonely af, it doesn’t really help with that, unfortunately, but still.

I took a weirdly long nap from 7pm-2am and now I don’t know how to act. I made coffee, because that seemed like the right thing to do. And my husband fell asleep shortly after I got up so I was like, time to write a blog about his list of my wrongdoings. And also of course, it’s not THAT old of a list. It was written roughly about the same time as my most recent sexual disappointment (which just hit the 2 month mark, NOT that I would notice that). Maybe that’s why he wrote it.

IDK.

My one defense in all of this is to act depressed. Like my mom would. See my husband can’t handle that, like he can’t be mean about anything if I go quiet/depressive. And like…BOY did I see a TON of that behavior throughout my first 18 years. So. Watch out anyone trying to top me there. But, it’s not my true nature. It’s a defense mechanism, for certain but I’m naturally like an energetic/enthusiastic person, there are just so few people worth being that way around. I don’t want to feel that way, I just do. It’s based on intelligence and compatability and and my personal assessment of someone’s worth, so you can’t really tell me I’m being racist or sexist or I only assign worth to people bassed on how much I’d like to fuck them or whatever terrible thing, because it’s all subjective af.

So in a way my husband’s note makes me want to argue a few things, but I won’t of course because I know I shouldn’t have read it, but spilled milk am I right?
It also makes me sad that I upset him so much. The angry all the times part and the worst possible light and the not believing anything he says….those are all definitely true….so….there’s that.
I mean I feel like I’ve been angry since day one because where I come from if you didn’t have some fight in ya you weren’t gon’ make it. I said that in a weird accent in my head and I don’t know why. Anyway. Never give up the fight in you. Not like the war within, but like never stop being one of the dogs that the handlers are like “That one has some fight in her.” I don’t know why I used that simile but I did. R was rude to me once about confusing similie and metaphor (yeah I know) and I never forgave him for it. That was another thing about him, he like, jumped at any opportunity to be the asshole, especially while drunk…so ALL the time…..

So I guess I should really work on not being such a bitch. I should be able to channel that rage into sullen silence like I did as a child. It’s not like it’s hard.

You know what I realized? That sometimes, the reasons I’m like so devastated over a guy, it doesn’t totally just hinge on the guy himself, even if he was great, or all right.
You know that guy Paul? I wrote a long blog about him. I’ll link it in the comments when I’m on my phone because somehow I find that version of WordPress easier to use.
So Paul was cool and all, but really, for as much as we interacted, and how conflicted I was because I was still into my ex-boyfriend (my first boyfriend ever, Nick) as well as being into Paul, I was WAY too upset when he told me we couldn’t hang out anymore because he started dating a long time friend of his. Which, like now that I’m older I get it, but he should’ve known better than to involve himself at all with an 18 year old, even one as mature as I was (which I was, and I lived on my own and went to the same college as him, so it’s not like he was a creeper, AT ALL, let’s establish that, he was 21, for reference).
But what really upset me was that Paul me realize that I deserved someone who did what he did, who appreciated me and was intrigued by me for who I was as a person. It was DEFINITELY the first time that had happened to me. Before, the only interest was from guys who were attracted to me, who it was nearly impossible to talk to. Plus I was socially radioactive in high school so that’s going to have an influence. I remember once R was like, “You didn’t have dudes into you in high school? Did you not have your titties back then?” He was obsessed, that’s for sure. I was like, “No, I did.” He was like, “Oh were you weird?” Again, asshole. But that was just him, I can’t say he ever didn’t act like that. I just was so attracted at first none of that mattered.
So the missed chance to date Paul was one thing, but realizing that I had been introduced to a new standard was tough. It’s already a selective enough process, but no, let’s add ONE more filter.

That’s what N did.


That would explain why I was so fucking upset. There’s a lot of blogs I hid dedicated to how annoyed I was at first.

Now it’s like…well….logically speaking, Cassie, what the sweet fuck did you want to happen? The two of you to start fucking on a regular-ish basis? Why? So you can get closer and closer and develop actual feelings for each other? Is this whole process really done with the HOPE that you’ll just fizzle out and get bored of each other and one of you rips the band-aid off and you both go your separate ways? Is that why the “poly” life (I hate the fucking terminology) is so appealing to us dark people? Because you kind of hope once the dopamine wears off you separate and at most hook up once in a great awhile after texting at 1am. Maybe, that’s with a really good one and let’s face it, most aren’t that. Unlike with actual love/dating where you hope it lasts forever. At least I do. Each to their own.

So it’s like, what did I want to happen? How could it have ended well, no matter the outcome? It’s just…kind of….irritatingly misleading…..*narrowed eyes emoji*…..to SAY one thing, then like five hours later just totally backtrack. I mean free will and all but HOLY SHIT REALLY?! Sorry. I’m so not mad. What’s terrible is I for once can’t blame booze. I haven’t drank since Christmas. But then I keep being like “Have a red bull, you deserve it.” Mmm caffeine, socially acceptable chemical dependence. I love it.

So I guess what REALLY upset me about N was it made me realize what I actually want in my “boyfriend.” Which is what I would be looking for. I don’t want some rando DOM creepo from Fetlife to tie me to his bed and fuck me. I mean as fun as that sounds, I still don’t want to do that because you just feel gross after. I mean I do. Each to their own. I want what I had with R, but with someone who is a functional adult, not a raging alcoholic, and someone with their own full life who makes occasional time for me, not….the opposite which is what I had with R. But he and I got along SO well, and it was always easy just to sit around and talk with him. I have that sort of relationship with my best friend as well, and to an extent, with my three friends back home, the ones whom I’ve lost, to varying degrees, to the cult of mommy. N claimed he does not have this connection with people usually and it freaked him out when it happened with me and made him rethink the whole us having sex thing. I could tell something was off, even when we were still around his friends that night.

But still, that night, at least the first half of it, was what I want. With the sort of person I want it with. Great. That’s SUCH A SIMPLE COMBINATION OF THINGS TO FIND.

So it makes you sadder than it should because it gives you new standards. And I don’t heavily apply standards to others because I feel like garbage about myself. I don’t. I just have to assure you I guess because that doesn’t seem like something one can prove. I know people who are like that, and they annoy me. They’re always judgmental too. I mean it comes with the territory. Anyway.

But now I’m like….how the fuck do I find THAT in a random stranger? Sigh. Maybe if I make it “big” enough as an author, someone will stalk through my Twitter and read this and be like, OMG it’s me.

I mean I wrote a whole “He’s got to be out there somewhere” blog. I mean, he does. It’s not a question, it’s a matter of somehow finding him.

Of course, I’m NOT missing the notion that this would never be as organic as fucking around with someone from grad school. I had a great time doing that once before, it could happen again. But there were only three guys I’d even consider in grad school, R is definitely out of the equation (as a been there/done that, haaa, but to be fair if I was rating this guy purely on sex, 9/10, for sure) and N is as well for SADLY different reasons, and that leaves A. And I have no idea if A is even in this sort of marraige but I freaking doubt it. Which is sad to say because I am definitely hotter than his wife. And my husband is super buff (was I not just bitching about that 2000 words ago?) so maybe she’d be done for a different dick than A’s. Plus super in shape guys are good at fucking because it’s like any other cardio in a lot of ways. IDK everyone is SO different these days. I think it was rare random coincidence that another married couple like N and his wife came into our lives (but not in the fun way) as they did. It was cool though, because things are SO MUCH BETTER when a couple can just admit they’re attracted to other people, maybe even fuck them. So it was nice seeing it work for others. For me, it’s a matter of not knowing anyone good enough. See the point I hope I’ve been making.

So my only other “organic” fuck that I can think of (why do I call them that? whatever) is the Professor. I forget what name I gave him but he’s the only professor out of all of my undergrad and grad classes whom I would actually do this with. There were some others who were hotter, I’ll say that, but none of them are him. I adored his classes. He’s genuinely gifted. Yeah, you can tell he just fucking soaks the female student population from his Rate My Professor.

But Yeah I may have concocted a sort of fantasy where I publish my book and it does well enough for me to mail him a copy and tbe like “Hey remember me, I took three of your classes and then asked you to write me a letter of recommendation for graduate school? Probably not, but I wrote a book and I wanted to send it to the professors who I felt made a diference in my education. Thank you.”

NOT THAT I’M PLANNING ON ACTUALLY DOING THIS.

Only I totally will, IF I achieve the first part. Well I know I’ll finish and publish the book, it’s the doing well that I need to see about.

That’s the only one I can think of.

The rest would feel fake.

sigh.

Goals I guess

Well, it’s late/early so I should edit or go back to bed.

Love you

~Cassie

S a D, J all over your Bs

Nothing’s ever going to stop is it? It’ll only change for the worse. I am an awful mix of my terrible parents’ traits. I’m the fucking goddamn definition of an outcast. Why? Because an outcast is someone who has NO place, with anyone. Losers tend to have each other, same goes for the wonderful peopleand the vapid human garbage. But me? I literally fit in NOWHERE. Even among people you’d THINK I have a lot in common with. Even at grad school. Even at work. Even in the million Twitter writer groups I’m in or follow.

Worried the crazy will never stop.

Worried what will happen if it does. When it does.

The only thing I care about is my writing. I mean really. I know that disappoints God and all, but idk, He made me like this, did He not? See the way I fucking see it, is if God exists, He’s GOT to be understanding, the forgiving part HAS to be more true than the vengeful part. Of like mental illness and the lasting effects of abuse, and like, all of it. He’s GOT to see that like….some people are poisoned, against Him, by those who profess to be of God…but…I think we all know the truth there. He’s GOT to see how hard it is, how it feels like some ancient inculcated part of my childhood that I need to do away with, in part, because I had to do that with so much else of that time in my life. I married another Christian, but we’re both lazy and apathetic about doing anything that would “qualify” if you will. We tried finding a church when we first moved down here, none of them appealed, at all. But at the same time…I just end up envying atheists, so fucking sure of themselves. I’m not hating. Each to their own, you can’t make anyone freaking believe against their will, that’s literally an insane thing to try and do. I get there’s brainwashing, but like…what kind of person tries to gaslight another person? People like W of course.

Jealousy and anger are human emotions. Emotions which God, in two forms, is given to show in the Bible. I always thought that was peculiar. No real reason why, I just never mentioned it to anyone before.

This isn’t an easy topic. Is religion ever? But like…I don’t say this seriously, but sometimes it’s hard to be white and Christian because you’re like….oh…..shit, let me apologize for the millions of moments of anguish those two things have caused….my bad…if it helps I grew up in a hyper abusive and chaotic and lonely situation –despite seeming like your average lower middle class nuclear family of four for the most part – and I can assure you that cancels out whatever advantages you might think I had. I’ve just never suffered due to my race. I get that. Anyway.

When I talk about this with my husband, we discuss how the concept of hell is kind of hard to wrap one’s head around. Like, really, eternal constant horrendous suffering and damnation unless you follow a set of ten impossible rules? Because one of his non-sentient beings who still somehow staged a revolt (never quite understood that one) got pissed and transferred schools and took a lot of his friends with him? Also something about how he’s hot and they’re all hot and they’re also really attracted to humans and into music? Literally 13 years of Lutheran schooling and this is what I think of.

But even not minding all that, you have to believe in something.

I’ve never met a true atheist.

R claimed to be one. He was really into freemasonry. Which I always thought was stupid and weird, personally. W’s parents both loved being in that organization. The women are in a separate group called Daughters of the Nile, but it’s the same weird shit. I have a Mason’s necklace, it’s a white enamel heart with the Masons star in the center on a shitty brass chain. It was W’s mother’s, I would imagine. I took it from their cottage one of the few timeswe stayed there during my childhood. Before super petty W broke allties with his older sisters, who owned the cottage. He changed our phone number. Who does that? At one point the middle sister’s husband called W at work, he went to the trouble to find out where he worked, somehow, and W had the pleasure of getting to say, in response to being asked what had to be done to get the families back together,“Go back and make Cassie and her brother’s childhood involve their aunt and uncle and cousins.” As if it were somehow THEIR fault for what he did. Then he had to be fucking adorable and add, “I’m a[Cassie’s real last name] not a [aunt’s husband’s last name]”Because my father’s family is known, from generation to generation, since the limey fuckers first got to America in the beginning part ofthe nineteenth century, for feuding and breaking off entirely from one another. I mean, LOOK AT WHAT I DID. It’s like I was genetically predisposed. It’s easily traceable because the last name kept changing spellings ever so slightly. Started out in Pennsylvania, fought for the Union, spread throughout the Midwest. German people like Indiana and states near it because they’re similar to Germany in a lot of ways, terrain and weather wise.

I saw younger aunt at older aunt’s funeral. She looked me up and down(I’m like a foot taller than her) and said, “Oh, Cassie, we missed out on you growing up.”

WHAT THE SWEET FUCKING SHIT is the response one should have to that?????? Like it’s MY fault? Ugh.

The thing is.

Knowing W, and what he’s like.

It makes sense that his still living cunt sister (named Mary Lou, why do I hide these things? Like it goddamn matters and anyone cares?) is a hugely evil weird psycho cunt. I mean. I can’t really fathom what sort of parenting duo it took to create W…but….I can….I can only imagine….

If only he’d talk to a therapist

But he won’t. Trust me. We all know it. We talked about it all the time. He’s one of those sorts who’s better off dead. Same for my brother. Unless she’s freed of them soon, same for my mom too.

We aren’t supposed to say or think these dark things. But they’re there, lurking like bats in a cave.

I stopped using that frightening barn analogy for my psyche. Isn’t that exciting? I didn’t notice that it’d happened, until an abstractnotion made me remember that I hadn’t thought about that barn inyears. When I used to every single day. Interesting.

Anyone else wear themselves out so they’re too busy getting fucked up to be pissed about shit?

I for one am sick of a bunch of stuff. But what does one do? Give up? THAT’S WHAT THEY WANT ME TO DO. SO NO. FUCK everyone, I didn’t like anyone in the first place, so what the fuck does it matter if everyone keeps hating me? Or just straight doesn’t give a fuck.

I started a FetLife account. But, again, the same listless sexual ennui.

My fuck I love that word.

SO back to my story about R.

He CLAIMED he was not religious, at all, only spiritual (which equated to him liking to burn sage and owning a tarot deck). Fuck. Now that I think about him, I realized that right now, a cold, dark Fridaynight, I would have been with him right now. I’d drive to his house after working 6-4. I’d get there about this time, leaving my husband to whatever. We sit and talk in his all dark except for the computer and TV screen bedroom, in his dad’s house on the water, then we’d venture out to buy food and beer/booze and possibly rent movies. I think one time we went for ice cream. Another time we went to a Target together and bought our own 2DS, and I bought Omega Ruby and he bought Alpha Sapphire and we played those games together. But by the time Sun and Moon came out, we weren’t together. R was the first break up I was happy for. Care for him as I did.

That last weekend with him, which just totally cemented how done I was, that second night, the LAST night I ever saw him…let me take you through what happened.

We had the whole weekend together. My husband was out of town. He’d already been an annoying drunken mess at a sushi place the night before (Friday). So Saturday I drive to his place to pick him up and what I don’t know is that he’s already shitfaced when I get there. With seasoned alcoholics it’s not easy to tell sometimes.

We go to a downtown area near his dad’s house, and we’re INSIDE the BDubs when he decides he doesn’t want to eat there because it’s “too loud”, so we leave, even though I’d just fed the meter a ton of change….he’s an ASS more than once for the drive back. We end up going to an overrated overpriced bar and grill place near his dad’s house. It’s there that I begin to see that he’s on his second day of a bender, which he started the night before at a sushi place in another town. He gets increasingly disrespectful and brazenly drunk in public (despite having amassed two DUIs in the time we were dating) as the dinner progresses. He did his usual of eating at lightning speed then rushing me out of finishing my food (I eat really slowly, I can’t help it, it’s a weird jaw thing with chewing) THEN he gave me a weird amount of shit when I told him to tip $16, because that was like 15% of our bill. He freaked out, like kept being like, “Sixteen dollars?” Like I’d suggested we leave her the moon. DON’T ASK ME WHAT TO TIP, THEN.

THEN as if that wasn’t bad enough, out of the fucking blue at the restaurant he asks, “Did you have a church wedding?”

I said yes. Because it was the truth. He knew that. He was invited and RSVP’ed with a date but then didn’t go. Again, should’ve seen warning signs but didn’t because I was SUPER attracted to this guy. Not anymore. If I have bad memories of someone it just DESTROYS my pussy. Just dries it the fuck out, and that’s actually saying something.

“OH, so then I’m the fornicator.”

WHAT?

Okay, for someone who has always CLAIMED to not give a fuck about religion, especially Christianity, he seems real worried that I was religiously married then violated my wedding vows with him. Though to be fair our vows didn’t mention not fucking other people, like that traditional “forsaking all others” shit.

He only said his most cringe things while REALLY drunk.

One time we were wasted and smoking weed in the garage right on the canal and he told me he loved me twice, so I said it back to shut him the fuck up. It never came up again, he never said it again. I mean, he didn’t need to. But again, there were many ways he was lacking that I wouldn’t have tolerated in an actual relationship. Side action boyfriend is different.

Another time, again SUPER FUCKING DRUNK, we’re woken up on a Sunday and finished off the beers from the night before, then went out for lunch at a bar near his dad’s. He was so drunk he threw up all over the bathroom. We went to a bait and tackle shop after and he bought a fishing rod to replace the one he’d thrown into the lake this one REALLY awful night that I’ll talk about later.

On the way to drop him off at home and then drive home myself (It was 5pm on a Sunday by this point) he’s riding shotgun in my car and looks at me and says, “Sometimes, I wish you weren’t married.”

I was in NO MOOD for this shit, right then. So I said, “HA, yeah, me either.”

Then he said, in typical R fashion, “But whatever.”

Becausehe had a definite “Fuck it” attitude towards everything. I say that as judgmentally as possible, not in an admiring way.

So, idk, the people I know who claim to be free to belief seem to think about them a lot.

I have nothing else to offer at this time.

My drinking lately has been worrying me. I haven’t been doing anything bad or badly, but it’s been excessive. I’ve done 3 tall cans everynight this week. Right now I’m on my third 16oz. Yikes. What IS one to do?
N has like a recently acquired alcohol allergy. I’m jealous. Like incredibly so. I don’t think I envy anything more. Like…a physical inability to process alcohol….DON’T suggest thosepills that make you heave if you drink, those have been shown to not be strong enough to actually deter anyone. You just drink anyway and feel like utter shit.

ANYWAY.

So. That last weekend with R. So that happens at the restaurant and I drive us back to his dad’s. He’s actually more forthright about wanting sex than he usually was. The sex was good, but SO on histerms. He blamed his “fickle sex drive” AKA SUUUUPER selfish when it came to that, AND oral. OMG. Like my husband is so into that shit I’m really judgmental when a guy isn’t. I dated R for 8 months, he went down on me once. FUCKING OUTRAGEOUS IF youconsider juuuuust how much oral this guy expected to receive. Like, constant. Omg. Hated that. Anyway.

So when we’re having sex for the very last time, it’s REALLY fast. No condom, per usual, but then he comes inside me, really unapologetically. Then literally falls asleep on top of me.

The next morning, I left while he was still sleeping.

And that’s the last time I saw him. I’d had enough.

You feel bad saying your life is better for NOT having someone in it, but it happens.

It happens.

I’m SO DRUNK.

I need to grocery shop.

I painted my nails.

I’m always broke

but I’m writing

a masterpiece

of a novel

I’ll show you

Don’t fucking worry

~Cassie

Pussy luge

DISCLAIMER: I wrote this on my lunch break, while I was both angry and physically in pain…..but I think that much will shortly become obvious.

Well, I have every necessary trappingto work on CF this lunch break, and I just freaking can’t. I’mpissed. And now, more than ever, what needs to be done is so clear.It was just like all those months with R, where I fucking knew whatwas supposed to happen, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I wanted them both. Conglomerating the pieces of them, I almost had a complete man. I remember once, when I forgot myself, and I was talking to someone I used to think of as a friend and I said something about how R “seemed” like my boyfriend, but I was like, “What, why? Why would I want someone else to disappoint me and not listen when I talk?”

Because, then, that’s all my husband seemed like.

We did not have a good weekend. We had sex like twice, which for us is like off the charts (not to mention the like four times I masturbated, yay endorphins and their temporary succor) but we fought EVERY day. And it’s starting to become those horrible long term relationship fights. Like my husband had music playing on his phone,and my picking his phone up to turn said music off was a HUGE mistake, blog, HUGE.

I don’t want to dwell because it’s not the point of this blog, but IHATE NOISE. WHY THE SWEET LIVING FUCK IS EVERYONE IN THE GODDAMNWORLD TERRIFIED OF QUIET? WHAT, YOU MIGHT THINK A THOUGHT?

And then on Saturday when we were getting into it because I started telling him that it upset me that he was lazy AND self righteous about our petcare (Like be one or the other, don’t get haughty with me because I’m not handling EVERYTHING like you need me to so you can keep living the life of an infantile teenager) and I started talking to him about how EVERY time I speak, in an argument-type situation, HE FUCKINGINTERRUPTS ME.
It’s like he CANNOT, his fucked up idiot fucked idiot ADHD I snorted WAY TOO MANY PRESCRIPTION DRUGS from WAY TOOYOUNG AN AGE brain from talking while I’m talking. He CANNOT let me get a sentence out. And I’m trying to tell him that on Saturday, so he has to turn it into I’m yelling at him, and I’m swearing at him. If you’re interrupted and talked over every time you speak, would you NOT start yelling???? I won’t be meek when I’m dead, much less anytime before that. Because nope. Fight. Be shitty. Stand the fuck up for yourself (because guess what Princess ain’t no one gonna do that for you, or even notice anything about you besides what THEY might want from you). And I’ve been this way since day 1, so he can fuck right off with any accusations that I’ve changed.

And I DON’T WANT to have problems or fight. But my fuck there’s going to far with that, there’s putting up with shit and enabling bad behavior to look out for.

Last night, when he freaked out that I picked up his phone I was like, “Yeah, guess there might be something you don’t want me to see.”

I’ll never not suspect him.

I’ll never wake up to find him gone from bed without thinking I need to check the house to make sure he’s still there.

I’ll never be able to look at our wedding pictures without thinking of theunbelievably hurtful and rotten and horrible things he said to me STILL WEARING THE TUX HE MARRIED ME IN on our wedding night.

What a piece of shit.

I should have known then.

I should have known when he ruined my laptop when I was 22 out of sheer carelessness. Then he had the fucking GALL to act traumatized because I was angry that he did that (sat down in front of my laptop too fast with a full cup of water, causing water to slosh out onto thekeyboard).

It was a sign.

I never listen to signs. I guess. I mean look at N. I should’ve never bothered finding his Twitter. I should’ve kept him written off as some guy from grad school who one time, long ago, asked if my husband and I wanted to swing. I should’ve suspected he’d pull the old switcheroo again. Clearly that’s something that gets him off (whether he realizes it or not).

And R, R destroyed a $200 water cooler in my apartment that first debauchedweekend of ours.

And SPEAKING OFN….yeahhhhhh…….I don’t know what has happened there, but things feel different than they did a week or two ago. And, I mean, the way my mind works, I would suspect he’s found someone to flirt with/fuck on the side. I don’t really care, so that’s not like my issue here, my ISSUE is…well hold on.

It went like this, 10-27 was when he was like “Hey we’re gonna have sex” (five hours pass) “Hey I don’t think we should sleep together I can’t cheat on my wife” then I didn’t speak to him for like a week. Then I refollowed him on Twitter and he read some of the blogs I wrote about him (not all….I don’t think…..) and DM’ed me to apologize.Then we kind of spoke intermittently on DM ever since. Mostly about memes, or Archie comics, Myers-Briggs, or King of the Hill, sometimes my writing.

He would always go completely dark on the weekends. Which is kind of like…sure…yeah….normally people don’t go on social media oncefor 48 hours every week…..

I’m saying this because I fucking know when I’m being ignored. Like really. I don’t BLAME the other person. In the sense that not everyone is going to be into you, no matter how dope you are or how hot your are, and they have that right….but when it SEEMED like there was some interest, and now it’s just 100% dropped off….yeah….*suspicions form* I am naturally inclined to believe that no one likes me or wants me around, and the only time my presence would be requested is if someone desired something of me/needed to use me for something (as a teen, I screamed “Use talking to me as a vehicle for getting back with your ex”….apparently….)  and then my one usefulness is in that person getting what they want. LIke really I act in such a way to make people think they should treat me like shit. I’ve accepted that as fact, but I TRULY wish I knew how to fix that. Or even how I did it. Because. It’s something. 

And I don’t know if this is my deep, innate narcissism, but sometimes I’m like…..did you Tweet this so I would see it? Because I mean, that’s something I would do. Of course. But, also, it’s hard because I am defensively self absorbed. It’s this “No one else cares about me, so I’m going to be REALLY obsessed with myself and if my mind can’t make something about me I straight up need a logical reason for doing it or I won’t.”

But you know I was actually being genuine with N, and I actually cared.

I really did.

I actually did want to be his friend.

I told him he could talk to me about his problems.

Do you realize what I would give for someone to say that to me?

I don’t. Because sure fuck has that never happened.

It sickens me how much I’m willing to put myself out there for attention.

Like truly I am pathetic in some STRANGE ways. Like not appearance wise. Like I’m an 8, I’d be a 9, but, beer and food and a largely sedentary profession…..you’d THINK that would make me happy.

Holy fuck are ugly people happier?

Happiness is subjective and relative and easily faked so it’s not like that could be proven or disproved, but it’s a fun question.

I’ll write more in CF later today, and tomorrow…and the next day…forever and ever until it’s done.

But…idk, seems like N isn’t too into my beta reading idea. When he like completely cut off from me (still talked, but never about anything worthwhile or meaningful so what’s the point?) I started only talking to him about my book. But I sent him a question about titling Saturday morning and he has yet to respond, yet he’s tweeted like 100 times since then. Some of them things like “on to the next thing”and “that pretty barista with a septum ring is just as fun as you thought” (paraphrased, but still) yeah, I hope you’re fucking her, if not, I hope it works out real soon, or with that drummer you’ve known for a really long time that you surely made sure I knew about….which confused me more than anything.

And speaking of that.

Guess what I know.

I know what I fucking deserve, and it’s more than this.

I had high hopes for you. I really did.

I don’t know why.

You’re a less hot version of my husband in every way. And I mean…I refuse to believe there was TWO horse-hung guys in my grad problem, probability just doesn’t work like that.

My husband probably still hates me for R. He probably always will.When he’s REALLY drunk he tells me how I’ve done stuff that should make him hate me. I want to tell his bitch ass that is a two waystreet, but you have to be SO careful about triggering him when he’ sdrunk, he’s always half a comment away from a tantrum/meltdown.

Jesus no wonder I was meant to be alone.
I’m fucking awful.

I put myself through pain because I REFUSE to give up when I want something even when I’m telling myself to get over it.

I’m planning a surprise dinner with his friends and then a surpriseovernight date with me for my husband’s 30thbirthday in January.

Before you go thinking I’m sweet….just…..just realize this…..my mind has already weaponized this. After his bday is said and done, and th enext time we’re fighting after that, I’m more or less DYING to tell him that “At least one of us made the other feel special for their 30th birthday” because he did the same bare minimum fuck all like normal for my 30th last April.

That’s how fucked I am.

That’s how deep it goes.

It’s NOT easy, being around me I guess?

Or maybe I just tell myself that because everyone man in my life is a worthless bastard.

This is the first Christmas in 14 years I won’t see my best friend at all. But I already told you all about that.

I have a tension headache from earlier, it put me in a bad mood, can you tell?

~Cassie

I missed your 100th birthday, my bad

First, two picture, one is of us together, you’re doing your trademark thing and hiding as much of your face as possible in the picture. I’m maybe a year old? The other is the cover of the Betty comic you bought me one of the times I was staying at your apartment and I waited there while you went to the grocery store to buy things to please me. I didn’t know what Betty was, but it seemed okay so I acted like I knew it and acted excited when she said “I got you a Betty.” She got my brother Mad Magazine so we were both happy. 

Well, just like last year on November21st, I was going to write this huge long sentimental blogabout my Grandma, since that’s her birthday. But you know what I failed miserably at that in 2017 and 2018 so I’m going to do it todayto make up for it.

I saw a meme the other day, one of those long ass ones that tells a story, about how when someone dies, they go into spectator mode, like in a video game. So your deceased relatives can watch whatever they want, either POV or from above. At the end of the meme, it showed a Pilgrim-esque looking guy standing behind the meme’s main character with the thought bubble “Holy shit he figured it out.”

IF I could find this meme, I’d fucking show you rather than describing it. But it’s one of those ones I thought I saved, but instead, I didn’t, and it has no relevant keywords. So here we are.

BUT, the spirit of this meme is what interest me. Because. What is that IS true? That’s how it in The Lovely Bones, the dead immediately go into full omniscience.

If that is true….

uh…..

Well, you know what, if the dead do watch us, Lord knows my Grandma has truly been enjoying herself judging me all this time. That’s what she liked to do anyway. I grew up thinking talking shit/criticizing was a completely normal mode of expression.

But also, yeah, I could see why she would choose to watch me and not her daughter, or her grandson. Maybe she spends a lot of time with my cousin’s out west. Both of them married and had children and are normal, successful people with Ph.Ds and houses and etc. etc. They lost their mom young, really unexpectedly, to cancer. I’m related to their dad (Grandma’s other son whose still living, there was a third one, another Uncle, and his death when I was 12 marked the exact end to any semblance of security, stability or happiness in my life. I had 6 more years to get through and my fuck they weren’t easy) and it came as a shock to us all when the drinker/smoker of many decades outlived his wife. He was the only person at my wedding who was related to me who wasn’t my W, my mom or my brother. At our 300 person wedding, FOUR of the guests were my relatives. But I digress.

So, if you’re watching this, well, first of all, things are different now, Grandma. You were born in 1918, you’re not going to understand the world of 2018. And if you don’t want to see a foursome don’t watch a foursome. It’s better than observing mom though, isn’t it? I guess the dead can’t do anything to harm the living…because….if they could, I’d frankly be really angry with my Grandma for not car-accidenting that guy out of our lives.

Well. That’s it. It’s Thanksgiving, and I’m pretty preoccupied by the notion that my dead Grandma can see me and is judging me. I mean I don’t care, I’m just saying if SHE could do that, that’s how she would use that ability. But that’s just how she was. I’ve said before how I find it a little hard to criticize even the times she was being horrible, because like, should I find fault with the only reason I’m even a little bit normal? Like whatever part of me wants to fit in and for people to like me…that didn’t come out of nothing. LOOK at my brother. HE’S what happens if someone is over-exposed to W and has no other adult influence. But I spent a ton of time with my mom and Grandma, and my Grandma alone. My brother was taught that W the great I Am and that to even think of listening to someone else, doubting W in the slightest, was a sin on par with damnation.

OH YOU THINK I’M JOKING?

Okay I need to fast forward to the Easter when I was mmmmmm 16. This was when, now that we were teenagers it was 0 hassle to get us up and into church (my mother did this job solo ages 0-15, you know, when there’s work involved in doing so) and suddenly it was life and death importance that we attend his church as well. 1) He started attending a church in a city nearby because his trashy skank coworkers he definitely wanted to fuck and might have at some point (I mean he cosigned on a car with one of them….what does THAT tell you, friends???)

Well I went to a Lutheran high school, so naturally I had Good Friday off from school. W insisted my brother and I go a Good Friday service at his church. His penecostal church. Do you REALIZE what those people are like on Good Friday? AGH, such uncomfortable weirdness.

But of course, when I protested, when I said I didn’t want to go to his church because it made no sense to me that suddenly at 16, despite being a regular attendant of my own church, going to a Lutheran high school, and being an active member of my youth group, I just HAD to start going to HIS church too. Of course his religious bent just works into his narcissism too perfectly, and it was one of the many things he used to put down my mom and I (to a lesser extent). He loved talking shit about that church and how it was (remember this term? I know I’ve told you before) a dead church.

So this GF when I’m 16, he outright asks me, “What’s telling you that you don’t like going to that church?”

As in.

He thinks I was being told, spiritually, by a demon, that I didn’t like that church, because this demon that was allegedly inside me was frightened by the true spiritual power of his superior Pentecostal church. YES. REALLY. That was W’s favorite go-to when you didn’t want to have anything to do with his church.

To him, to his tiny, narrow, tiny, NARROW mind, there could be NO other reason for my not wanting to suddenly be dragged to ANOTHER church. Especially one where I know NO ONE and my dad’s dragging my brother and I along to put on a show for coworkers he’s having shit with or wants to have shit with? LIKE SERIOUSLY. This was my life at 16. Being accused of demon possession because I didn’t want to help my dad nail some skank. Like Jesus fuck. IS IT SURPRISING I have such issues with religion? I mean it feels like I’m going against everything I was ever taught but…JEEZ. Sometimes it feels like you need to? Other times you’re like well there’s no accounting for human error/flaws, and you KNOW W didn’t just come into being one day, that someone whose THAT fucked obviously went through deep trauma himself. Not that that’s enough to like, ever speak to him again, but I’m capable of thinking the thought, at least.

My mom would always hide as much as she could during these exchanges while W had me cornered somewhere, typically my room or the corner of the room he was in if he was awake and not on the toilet, rocking in front of a TV super fucked up and chewing tobacco. Yep. That’s my mental image of my dad. That and him yelling. ANYWAY. My mom would also always just tell me to go along with what W wanted because it made her life easier.

Yep.

And you may be thinking, wow, Cassie, way to go, you turned this tribute post about your Grandma into talking mad shit about W on a different national holiday. Well let me tell you that’s precisely the sort of thing Grandma and I would be talking about if she WERE here, so *tongue sticking out emoji*
I’m going to write and smoke weed all day. At some point we’ll make like bacon and eggs to tide us over. Who the fuck knows when my husband will get up, he went to bed at 5am reeking like vodka. He shaved his pubes in the bathroom sink. I didn’t see him do it, but I can assure you it happened. Oh well. That’s really not that bad it’s just like…okay THIS is why the house can never be up to my personal standards of clean, set by none other than, you guessed it, my Grandma.

I guess my memory palace is mostly just her apartment, then the playground at my grade school in the spring. Then my room when it was filled wall to wall with stuffed animals and Barbies and my Lite Brite and my enormous Fischer Price dollhouse. And I think about her apartment the most. It was like…eerily spotless. The carpet was always perfect. The bathroom was always perfect. I guess I run through the whole place A LOT.

That salmon pink candy dish on the glass and wood end table with the seasonally alternating candies. Root beer barrels. Anise squares. Chocolate peanut clusters. Those squishy pastel after dinner mints. Spice drops. Tiny Reese’s peanut butter cups. Individual Andes mints. It’s strange, for being NOT fat (she was about 5’7” and 140#, so like not a tiny old woman by any means, but she talked about herself like she was 340#, it drove everyone crazy) herself, my Grandma was surely talented at making other people emotionally connect with food. But I also never eat candy. Because it’s bad for your teeth. My teeth need all the help they can get, I can’t control myself from grinding them. I mean I do, but I fucking catch myself doing it all the time. So I can’t be so good then. But, it definitely wore off on my mom. To be certain. When I was a kid, she described overeating after dinner as a “release” I would, years later, realize just how fucked that was of a thing to say. Like. EGH my parents were way too like “Let’s be friends and confidants” with me, and that KIND of fucks up your perception of propriety and boundaries and makes you really grating to some of the other adults in your life, because to them you seem like a petulant, spoiled, arrogant little shit who thinks they can say and do whatever they want as their doormat mother and absent father do nothing. That was a little true, but I don’t think anyone would stop to wonder why my mother and I had that sort of relationship. Plus I was a good kid. I wasn’t fool enough to try and get away with anything under W’s watch, in that tiny house. Besides, I knew I was getting out soon.

It’s it hilarious that I didn’t even like start getting fucked up until I was 21? Like I’d been drunk on rare occasion before then, and I started smoking when I was 19 (weed and cigarettes) but I didn’t start drinking on the reg until I met my husband.
I’m not blaming him, at all.

Because I don’t blame anyone for my actions. Because, that’s stupid. I’m just pointing out these things coincided.

It wasn’t until I started getting fucked up that I realized I could get away from them.

What the sweet fuck does that even mean though?

Like does growing up in a fucked situation make your brain want that feeling, even though it knows it’s bad? Because I fucking promise you, I’m the last person to cause drama. Like. That’s just NOT an activity I participate in. I do everything I can to avoid it, BUT, I’m not great at backing down if I get challenged. I feel a little bit like a proverbial bulldog with something in its jaw in those moments. But anyway.

I think I might just be trying to blame my drinking on my childhood. What shocking, new behavior, for an addict.

Can’t figure out if I’m a sex addict. Probably not? I feel like I’d be getting laid more if I were, right? Pfft.

Just like I tried blaming the fact that I was married and had my side relationship with R happening right at the same time as my final break with my parents. Like I wanted a distraction from thinking about shit, and boy spending three nights a week at his dad’s house was definitely that. And to me the whole time my husband said it was okay, to him the whole time he was begging me to stay and I was doing what I wanted anyway.

Well whatever.

Wow this does not have a Thanksgiving theme to it at all. Sorry, anyone in the festive spirit who reads this. I honestly don’t like this holiday. It’s about “giving thanks” but also overeating and consumerism? Bleh. We’re going to my sister-in-laws. I am not pumped about the email I’ll probably get from my mom on Monday. But that’s awhile from now so whatever.

I was shopping online for Christmas gifts and kind of drunkenly bought myself three pairs of black boots……………whoops. I kind of remembered it this morning and was like…wow Cassie, maybe a bit excessive. But also, they were on hella sale because Black Friday started like a week ago, sale wise. So whatever. I went on innocently enough to get a scarf to match my new coat with rewards I’d earned from buying the coat. But, alcohol. So three pairs of boots, a hat/glove set, a velour/sherpa scarf and moisturizer later….i was done. But I also finished my best friend’s birthday and Christmas shopping too, so, actual gift buying also happening.

Jeez, I sound like I have a shopping problem. Well going shopping and eating were the two joys in life, so my Grandma taught me. So maybe I’m more like her than I realize. Plus I don’t do this often. Of course I earned another reward..so….we’ll see….I WISH I had a fucking reason to need sexy lingerie. Younger Cassie would be distraught over how far my undie situation has fallen. I mean for one, I weigh a great deal more than I did when I was 21, so the all Victoria’s Secret collection I had going pretty much all had to go, a loooong time ago. I used to always be wearing matching underwear/bra. Now, the only time that happens is when they’re both black, which is likely, because black is practical when you’re me and pretty much only wear black clothing. The underwear I brought out of special hiding to wear that one Saturday back in October worked their way into the normal rotation but now when I wear them I’m like….well some luck you were. Not that I really believe in having “lucky” objects, I’m really not superstitious. I own a book entitled The Encyclopedia of Superstition, but never mind all that. That was a Barnes and Noble find when I was a child, that had a spooky dust jacket that I threw out because it scared me more than once at night. I’m actually proud I kept it all this time. My copy of Homeless Bird, my SIGNED copy, was water damaged from my transporting it to and from work for Halloween. That made me sad.

Okay. This has been a WEIRD blog post. Enjoy your holidays, and your families, if you are so inclined. Just because I seem to sneer at “normal” people doesn’t mean I don’t get why it’s fun to be normal. I just…hate football, and the Pilgrims were murderers, and turkey tastes like napkins. That last part is a Brooklyn 99 quote, before I get sued.

Well, enjoy your long weekends. Fuck knows I am. Yesterday I got the hashtags of death with my book. I corrupted the file of it I had on my laptop beyond repair. BUT, I had it on a flash drive, so all was not lost. I need to buy Microsoft Word. Yeah I get I know I bought all the boots, but that was with a store charge (duh). I need cold hard cash for Word. I refuse to use “real” credit cards. Store charges make it worth your while, and honestly buying small increments of make up and work clothing isn’t SO bad, now is it? Anyway.

I need to get back to my real writing, that I now back up A LOT more frequently. I spent 1pm-4pm yesterday BARELY holding my shit together. Like just barely. But it’s all good now. Yet again, my worst freak out recently has been over nothing. Which is funny, because I DON’T freak out over the shit I should. Soooo funny how that works….ahhhhhh.

When this new insurance from my husband’s new job kicks in, we’re both looking into therapy, don’t worry.

Peace.

~Cassie

If you knew me even a little you’d be well aware I don’t understand the concept of “moderation”

OKAY this is getting weird. I literally am awake and drunk and can’t concentrate on CF enough to work on editing draft #2. I want to talk about myself too much. It’s an astounding problem I have. I get I’m self absorbed. I promise that I have to be. I still feel incredible amounts of compassion for others, I’m just certain that I’m terrible at showing it. Like. I fucking wish I was a sociopath like W. Do you realize how convenient it must be to not feel feelings? OMF they’re what’s been holding me back all this time. But, then, if it’s the last part of yourself that still feels human (that is, unviolated) should you really fight it so? The same goes for how jealous I am of atheists. Must be nice to be sure of yourself. I hope for your sake that you’re right, but I don’t really think so. Like. Think about how vast and profound and infinite and pointless and small and all-encompassing and affirming and destroying and EVERY other combination of contradictions you can muster, think of the true awe-inducing beauty we have access to, even in our everyday lives. You’re telling me we’ve evolved as we have all on our own? I feel like life is WAY too complex for all of that.

And I mean. I get it. I get the notion that, like, okay if there is a God, where were they when [X]? Yeah. I don’t know. I fucking wonder myself. But. I don’t know how to say it other than this: there’s an answer, and I don’t know it, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist. I’ve been really confused on the specifics of religion for a long time, myself.

TO digress onto a weird ass topic. I was raised Lutheran. I went a Lutheran grade school and high school, ages 3-18. I was confirmed in a Lutheran church and was active in my church youth group for the first two years of high school. BUT, in keeping with W’s typical narcissistic egomania, he was REALLY into “born-again” Pentecostal Christianity. The people who “speak in tongues” and generally act a fool in church. He watched (and probably still does) televangelists. I mean, of course, right? Why wouldn’t he have this weird, horrible, weird, embarrassing habit/trait? Why wouldn’t he somehow manage to ruin religion for his family? He didn’t give a fuck about going to church with his kids until they were teenagers, then all of a sudden it was a matter of life and death that they attended his church as well as my still being very active in the Lutheran church I went to with my mother. But you know what W’s constant comment about that church was? “Well that’s a dead church.” He had this BELOVED analogy about church’s being like meals, spiritual sustenance (just talking about this is giving me a tension headache, btw) He was OBSESSED with calling it that, every chance he got.

And you know what?
You know that car accident that ruined my brother’s life? Like moreso than W did?

It happened because my brother was driving to a nearby city separately from W to attend W’s church with him. The teenager who caused the accident was speeding on the highway in the rain because it was Sunday, the first day of summer camp where she and her two friends who were in the car with her were going to be counselors. They were all fine. My brother who was the only one who was hurt. Then you know, the Vicodin problem that naturally progressed into a heroin problem. He’s on methadone to this day, if you want perspective here. And the getting $100,000 in an insurance settlement and pissing it all away in like…two years. And having nothing to show for it. W pushed/worked/connived for my brother to get that money because he’s a greedy worthless lazy fuck and he knew he’d be able to get his hands on some of it. According to what my brother at one point told me, he gave W about $10,000. My brother claims he never would have agreed to this much if he hadn’t been high on Vicodin when W asked.

Yep.

That’s my family all right.

But no, be weird and judgmental that I have nothing to do with them, everyone I tell about the situation. It’s fine.

Like whatever. I honestly and literally do not care what people think. But sometimes I’m like…HA if only people knew the real truth.

That’s what CF is. It’s someone writing an expose on what REALLY happened with all these rich/powerful/famous people in these two small countries. The rest is just fucking backdrop, my dears. Not that it isn’t excellently and fearfully made. Jeeeeez I’m drunk. I’m not used to alcohol. I’m really not.

So things I’m excited about:
I’m sure I’ll see best friend for holiday season.
Three day work week next week

New glasses are dope and fit well (I have a VERY shallow bridge to my nose, not that I’m complaining, but it makes glasses hard).

Writing process is going well, getting chipped away at every day.

New coat is also dope, makes me feel mildly like a drug dealer/pimp, which is an aesthetic I’m into so it’s tight

If CF seems good enough to N, then maybe it’ll be good enough for Professor I. And just having even a slight chance of seeing him again fills me with a euphoria ecstasy cannot match. Or acid. Or shrooms. What can I say, I’m pretty cool, I’ve done some drugs. Not like my brother though. He got the opiod gene, I got the booze gene, these are just fucking goddamn facts. Opiates me sick. I got a Vicodin prescription for my wisdom teeth, just like 20 or so, I think I took three, and they made me feel worse than the surgery. I took too Vicodin for fun the day I went to an Eminem concert in Detroit (the one with Jay Z) and I puked all over the parking lot at Comerica. Someone walking by shouted, “Bring it up, girl!” I waved at him but kept puking. Fucking Vicodin. That night ended up getting ruined by my husband’s near psychotic behavior whilst wasted on expensive ballpark beer, but I digress.

So these are the things I look forward to, or at least am curious about. With CF it’s not so much blind hopefulness, as I’m thinking all of my hard work will pay off one day. It’s not about money, in the slightest, it’s about people reading it and liking it. It’s about being a good fucking writer. Which is all I’ve ever wanted or cared about. It’s always what’s mattered most. It’s always been the biggest part of my identity, since I fucking learned to read. I’ve always felt like a writer, since I was a child, it’s not something I grew into or chose to become. It’s just been there. I guess I knew I needed an outlet, and naturally I would have to find a silent one that I could keep hidden.

Holy shit, is that what we all have in common? It’s something. It’s got to be something. Again, I know there’s an answer but I can’t help you with specifics.

I don’t like Thanksgiving, family holidays make me sad. But we only have to drive to my husband’s sister’s about 40 minutes away, so that’s nice. And they’re doing Thanksgiving at actual dinner time, so we don’t have to leave our place until like 4 or 5pm that day. Then I’m off the following day. It’s a rare long weekend for me, so naturally I have huge writing goals. And I need to put out Christmas decorations, because I like decorating. And crafting. I’m a little like my mother, what can I say. So the long weekend is a thing to look forward too at any rate. Also of course any and all progression on writing one’s first novel is also exciting.

Other than that, not much is happening. I’m back in the swing of things (ha) at pole. One of these days I’m going to take the time to get done up at home and record some new pole videos. Maybe I’ll wait until I’m in slightly better shape. But don’t I always say that? Anyway, I guess I’ll be off.

Write it when? Fucking First.

For who? For fucking you.

~Cassie