OPINIONS NEEDED – You can disagree and hate on me, or you can validate my feelings, but I seriously need external opinions.

All right, the hard part, this is a story about me and my coworkers. The fun part is there’s a lot of sexual tension (I think?? I need your guys’ help).

I sit at a “pod” with a guy (okay fine it’s the one I talk about wanting to bang sometimes) and a chick that’s 7 years younger than me. She’s really cool and usually very nice.

So, on more than on occasion, in fact I’d say on many occasions, the two podmates and I have gone out to lunch together. It’s been awhile since we’ve done so. So today, guy says to girl across from me, “Are we doing Chinese today?” There’s a Chinese restaurant we sometimes frequent. She said she couldn’t due to a prearranged lunch errand she had to take care of. A little bit later, like forty minutes, I say to male coworker, “Oh, if you still want to get Chinese, I’m down.” At which he replied, “I’m just going to eat my packed lunch, this pasta salad is going to go bad if I don’t eat it today.” And I was like…..(internally)….uhhhhhhhh whaaaat? PRETTY SURE you just asked other chick while I was sitting right here if she wanted to get Chinese…and I fucking assumed I would be invited because we’ve gotten lunch together as a group about a dozen times at least……. Right. Okay. Sure. Like, in WHAT way was I not supposed to be offended by this? I mean really? Like….am I wrong here? How does this situation strike anyone else?

The only things I can figure are as follows:
Scenario 1 – Male coworker seriously dislikes me. It’s possible. I mean, given the number of people in my life who’ve been shitty/mean/malicious towards me for like no real freaking reason…I guess there’s something about me that people hate? IDK. I guess. He’s usually very nice and talkative and we joke around a lot and have a decent amount to converse about…but…yeah not enough for him to tolerate dealing with me for an hour? So confused.
Scenario 2 – HIGHLY unlikely – he’s into other girl at pod and without her presence wasn’t willing to spend the money. I say it’s unlikely because…well….IDK I don’t want to be mean but in a world were I am…let’s say a 7.5….to those who prefer a curvy girl I’m an 8.5, for certain, because everything else is great … then other girl coworker is…like a 5. Maybe 6 if you’re feeling generous. She’s VERY thin and tiny, which of course many men find preferable. But I don’t think that’s true of male coworker…given the one time I met his wife.
Scenario 3 – There is some rule between male coworker and his wife about how he can’t go out to lunch alone with me because one or both of them is aware of my active desire to fuck him. Maybe they have a general rule about not going to lunch alone with a female coworker?????? The mysteries abound.
Scenario 4 – Male coworker is wildly attracted to me and doesn’t trust himself alone with me, even for that amount of time. I mean. As much as I WANT this to be true, I just don’t think it is. I wouldn’t ever start anything, not on my own. As much as I fucking love fucking, I just DON’T make the first move. I just don’t. I don’t like it. It’s a strong preference. It prevails through sexual and emotional and complimentary transactions. Any praise. Any anything. I ain’t starting it. I’m sure this harkens back to some banal childhood trauma I endured. So, unless something was said that REALLY encouraged me, more than once, like a whole conversation was had or something – INTERESTING side note that I can’t resist…you know the movie Jaws? Well it’s a tight-ass book, written by a guy named Peter Benchley who felt guilty about the shark misinformation he spread and spent the rest of his life advocating for sharks because let’s be real they don’t mean any harm, their attacks on humans are due to their horrid eyesight and our ability to look like a seal or maybe a sea turtle. Well IN Jaws the book, the wife of the the main character fucks the oceanographer. He’s the younger brother of a guy she dated but never fucked back when she was a debutante. They go out for lunch, spend the whole time flirting hard, talking about what it’d be like if they did sleep together, all the while pretending they were only speaking hypothetically. But, honestly, the sex he describes isn’t nearly as good as the anticipation you know is running through her as she prepares for her lunch date with him. Her husband figures it out right away. You feel for the guy, you really do. But I also never blamed the wife, not at all. What’s a person to do? Sometimes opportunities present themselves. It’s better to pretend you don’t feel something rather than admit it? I mean, is that right? How could it be? ANYWAY, in case you wanted to know about that, right?

So, what do you think? Was I being snubbed hard? Because I feel like that’s what happened. Like how was I not supposed to be offended? I was very reticent for the rest of the day after he said that. Like very much so, for me. I hope my displeasure was conveyed. It should have been. The more I think about it the more miffed I am. I know by Tuesday I’ll probably not give a fuck anymore…but maybe I will…because part of me REALLY wants to know why the fuck this happened.

So – how would anyone else have felt? Am I at all justified or should I get over it? I feel like that’s a kind of shitty thing to do to someone. Clearly. Look at how much I’m talking about it.

Anyway, have a good holiday weekend if you’re lucky enough to get extra time off for it. ~

Au Revoir

~Cassie

I have several startling confessions I’d like to make in a row

I’m happy, you know? I spend every day doing about the same thing and it’s great. I’m going to be completely honest and tell you because this is my weird, boring diary:

5:20 A.M. (4:30 on Mondays and Fridays): Wake up

7am (6am M & F) – 4 pm : Work

Have 12pm-1pm lunch break, spent either editing a few pages of my current book in progress (code name – CF) or reading. This week I’ve mostly been reading Silence of the Lambs. I read Red Dragon and clearly 100% had to read SOTL right away after.

4-6ish – work out – I come home and handle a few household things, then change into my work out clothes and smoke weed. Then I either use my indoor bike, do yoga, or do a pole dance warm up and practice because I can do all of that while watching TV in my living room. I’ve been watching the subtitled version of Sailor Moon on Hulu. It’s amazing. I watched most of the entire series when I was between I think 9th and 10th grade, and it’s meant a lot to me even before then. I went through a LOT of fixations/obsessions of things when I was younger. One day I’ll give you a list.

6-8ish – Writing – Right now I’m transcribing. So I printed my first rough draft that I already showed y’all a picture of, then I edit it with pen (in my car, as mentioned above or at my kitchen table), then I type all of that from scratch. It’s a TON of extra time, but it really helps with pacing and catching typos that your eye doesn’t catch, at least at first.

8-10 – Sometimes this bleeds into writing time, but this is why I feed us. So either making dinner at home, or procuring it some other way. I get hella shameful sometimes with how often we eat out. I’ve been trying to get way better at it…but let me tell you, it’s really easy to just not make dinner and have a mess to clean up, especially in my no-dishwasher rental house.

Then, as you can tell by the time I get up in the morning, I need to get to bed at a reasonable time every night.

And that’s my life. I write as much as I can, and I don’t get how anyone with kids or any sort of life could possibly do such a thing. I know they do, though, that’s what I’m saying.

The weekends…honestly…this is depressing to admit any everything, but pretty much every single weekend, I go TWO places:
1) Either Friday night, if I’m not too exhausted after working 6am-4pm, or on Saturday morning between 7-11am I will get groceries. I will NOT go to a grocery store when it is busy. I WILL NOT. I worked too many hours retail to be able to handle that anymore.

2) Sunday at noon, for one hour, I’m at my pole dancing gym. It’s $18.75/class so I really can’t afford to go more often than that.

But other than that, most weekends, I do nothing else. So as you can see, I’m afforded many hours to write. Thank god I don’t have any friends to hang out with or social obligations or children to look after……

I’m an odd mix, because I really do crave normal, healthy relationships with other people…but I mean, how does one go about forging such things in adulthood?
Look at anyone’s groups of friends/people they spend time with – take away coworkers, relatives and people from high school, and then let me know how many are left. Because I have a hunch. Well, I don’t have any of those people. Well I have coworkers but I do NOT have a hang-out relationship with any them, which was untrue of all of my previous jobs. I was crazy close with coworkers for certain periods of time in my life. I lived with and worked with the same chick. We’re still acquaint-a-friends. And, again, of course no kids. I am WELL aware how much spare time that affords me.

Every weekend I have to stop myself from losing myself in a cleaning black hole. I have a tiny house and five cats, my husband is messy, I cook dinner all the time. I’m more an obsessively organized person, sometimes I let cleanliness slack, only a little. I kind of have to because it would take all of my energy to keep up on it to the point where I’m happy with it. I have to content myself with malcontent, like always, right? I’m so many different fucking oxymorons rolls into one, aren’t I? Like cynical optimist and organized chaos…need I mention well-organized disarray? I’ve also got this arrogant/insecure thing down pat. Plus I am a fucking WEIRD mix of cool and nerdy. Also, have a few random really high-class traits, but also a mildly trashy upbringing and disposition, but I’m also obsessed with TALKING about how trashy I am…which…is weird…

While I’m listing shit, my most favorite concept is unity and variety. I also love form v. content.

I should go. I’m so drunk. Yeah, GUESS what else I should list. How often I’m fucked up:

1) Smoke weed between getting ready for, and leaving for, work. See this is why this is my super secret super honest anonablog.
2) Smoke weed before working out after getting home
3) Smoke weed and drink beer while writing and then while cooking dinner
4) Smoke weed and drink beer after dinner/before bed

GUESS what I do on the weekend…yes in fact it’s more of the same.
Do you all realize how lucky you are that you’re following this blog? One day, I’m going to be a famous author. I feel it. I can’t tell you more than that. OH wait, also that I’ve openly and privately dedicated my heart and soul to the written word, first and foremost expressed in my debut novel. I was writing when I was eight years old on an electric typewriter. I got a Masters in literature for pretty much no practical reason. I guess some people might not feel like they have a destiny, and that’s too bad for them. But that alone is a part of my life that’s never been unclear or disappointing.

Time for some bad memories AKA I’ve been neglecting you because I’m busy writing a huge fantasy novel

I have a title for it, now. AND I named both the countries. Both of those items have been on the To Do list for so long, I’m almost shocked I’m at this point. Now all that’s left is having the draw the maps, then color them. Then once I’m certain I’ve gotten the exact placements I need, I’m going to paint them. I was actually very into painting (mostly acrylic and watercolor) as a hobby for a few years, pretty much when I was finishing undergrad and for the first year I was out of college before I was like eh this is stupid lets move downstate and I’ll go to grad school. I still have all the supplies, I could get back into it in a minute. Plus I’ve always wanted detailed maps for my own reference, so I don’t factually contradict myself. These are things to be considered. But anyway.

They say the two things that make people most unhappy are living in the past, and comparing yourself to others. I don’t disagree. But, at the same time, isn’t it kind of hard to deal with something that still upsets you, say 14 years after it happened? Also, I’ve always wanted to be able to give two concise stories that sum up the general tone/atmosphere/feeling of my entire life, from like 6th-12th grade. Right when high school ended, well, you all know what I did. But here I’d like to offer two examples, picked at random from my numerous memories of life be truly horrible and shitty to me during that time in my life. Being myself got me punished, big time, on all fronts, so I learned to hide then I never came back out, again on all fronts. It’s fine, because if you’re smart enough you can use that to your incredible advantage. My whole life people have been telling me they can’t tell how I really feel about something, that I seem like I kind of just go along with whatever and am chill about it. Yeah, well good, I guess, but that is NOT AT ALL what’s happening in my mind. But like, my exterior is a good calm over the storm, or something, I guess? Anyway, here’s two examples of how shitty everyone was to me, unprovoked for the most part, when I was a teenager.

First example – how I was treated at school. I’m going to use real names here because, even all these years later, I really don’t care if I offend them. Two friends (who shall remain nameless because I actually still like these two, and they didn’t hear what was said to me, for some reason) were in first hour chemistry, I was not, but they would convene in the chem lab  before school started in the morning along with another friend of theirs who was a MEAN fucking controlling mega-cunt named Alaine who I’D known since the 1st grade, and my friends’ boy interests –  Ben who was in our grade from a different city and Josh, who a senior but someone I had also known for most of my life because he went to my grade school and church.

Well, teenage Cassie made the horrible mistake of starting to join this merry band — I didn’t care for either guy, they were both usually pretty rude/mean to me — or Alaine, but I liked the two other people so I went in to hang out with them and not to stand about the lockers by myself, or go sit alone in my first hour classroom with the teacher. Well, I guess Josh and Ben didn’t like that I started doing that, because the three of them never wanted anyone in their group other than the select 5 — Josh, Alaine, Ben and the other two, who were really, overly, weirdly complacent when they were younger. I know why, now. So, one morning, shortly I developed this habit of conversing with that group in the chem lab before school started, I walk in about two seconds into my morning, Ben says, “Cassie, you’re loud and obnoxious and no one likes you.” Josh immediately adds, “I second that.” I looked over to Alaine, who was sitting very nearby, she makes a BARELY audible, “Aw,” noise, like in some TINY part she felt a little bit bad that that had happened, but she wasn’t about to REFUTE that statement in any way. My other two friends, like I said, didn’t seem to notice or hear.
I don’t think they were expecting me to walk out of the classroom without saying anything else, and then remain completely mute during lunch. Because, you guessed it, they were there then too. Josh actually repeatedly said things about how he couldn’t stand how loud my friend Beth and I were at lunch, but luckily he didn’t have the pull to make my friend (his girlfriend, this is actually my Best Friend, this is what I went through in order to have anything to do with her in high school. She was literally surrounded by shitty people who wanted to control her, like her mother and Alaine and Josh. I don’t mean to sound pompously fucking full of myself but I was the actual true, real friendship out of all of that. Maybe they others could sense that, because they did what they could to keep me away.
I remember so well, the night after Ben/Josh said that to me, I was on AIM like always, and Josh IMs me out of the blue and says something like “I see you were quite stung by something I said today.” Like, I think that is it, verbatim. He literally instant messaged me to rub salt in the wound. I did what I did best and completely deflected him. I was deeply obsessed with this guy named Mike who was my brother’s age, and he came into the high school after class had let out (his dad was a teacher there) and I got to see him. So I told Josh that it didn’t matter anymore because I got to see Mike. I was REALLY open about being into him. But in keeping with the overall shitty quality of my life, he talked to me and hung out with me just enough to lead me on. But, I’ve already told you about him, though I doubt I used him real name. Anyway.

I KNOW this isn’t SO cruel or traumatizing, but I don’t know man, I’m 30 and that shit still bothers me. I know it shouldn’t. But it does. So, what do I do with that? Because any idiot knows pretending that something doesn’t bother you, when it does, it probably what gives you cancer. Or at least a lot of problems stemming from your repressed shit. I mean, I guess it’s why I’m so creative and industrious. If you’re both of those things, once you get firing on all cylinders you’re remarkably capable. There’s drawbacks, of course. I mean my biggest issue is all my “substance abuse” if you will. And then the emotional problems, but I mean…tomato/tomato am I right?

So yeah, that’s about how I got treated by everyone for most of high school. And, I fucking promise, I was NOT mean enough or a big enough of a bitch EVER to deserve the way I was treated.

That’s what it was. What condemned me and saved me, and it’s still doing both to this day. is my constant internal notion that I deserved better than what I had in life, in all regards. My brother has it too. The difference between us is that I am most willing to work very hard to get what I deserve, therefore making it something I earned on my fucking own just like I always had to do everything anyway.

So, now, the second story, of the general tone and feeling one had being a member of my family.

Second Example: This was my junior year in high school. I have a job at the same pet store company I would work for until I was 24, I was on my way to a closing 4-9:30 shift after having gone to school all day. We had 4 cars in a single lane driveway at the time, and it was winter. My dad needed to move my car in a hurry, and for some reason I couldn’t do it. He refused to scrape the ice from car windows, instead he would use a Double Gulp cup to dump hot water from the kitchen sink onto the windshield until it was acceptable. He does exactly that, to my car, to move it. He throws the empty (he thinks) Double Gulp cup onto my passenger seat. On that seat is a paper I need to turn in the next day. I unwisely did not save it. I forget why. I was a child. Forgive me. I somehow see the state my paper is in (illegible) and realize that after I get home from work at 9:50 I have to rewrite this whole thing from memory, because I can’t turn it in as is, and a LOT of it is really blurry.
HERE is where I make a fatal error. Well, not literally fatal, but bear with me. I show that I am upset over something my dad did. You CANNOT understand, this was not done. 1) I was to always be the perfect golden angel child. When I was really young, my dad would ask me if I still loved him and try to hug me in front of my mom when they were fighting. She would get SO angry. I still haven’t figured that one out. But I mean asking her would only upset her, and her life is still so shitty, guys, and he would just say, “That never happened” because that’s literally what he says about everything. But I also will never speak to him for so long as he’s alive, so, you know. Guess I’ll have to  leave that alone until I can afford intensive therapy. Maybe one day. Back to this shitty winter day that just got way worse because of my father’s laziness.
Well, he sees that I’m upset, and I tell you it’s like a mother fucking light switch, he instantly gets REALLY angry with ME for being angry. That’s not allowed. I CANNOT show negative emotions. Like, you don’t understand how true this is. I’m to be out of the way and not taking up any time/money/attention, but if I’m around I better be fucking perfect AND capable to absorbing whatever level of toxic shit any of THEM felt like spewing at me, and believe me with those three it was a lot of the time.
So now I’m getting more and more upset, because now he’s screaming at me, telling me it wasn’t him because the cup was EMPTY when he threw it on the seat. But if you know DG cups, they had an inside ridge, or at least they did back then, and water collects on it, when you first dumps it out, and doesn’t make it out on the first empty, I’m  telling you it was a thing, also, what else could’ve spilled 1/2 cup of water all over my paper? But he refused to believe it, because NOTHING can be his fault, ever (more on that in a moment).
Then, he tells me I better “smarten up about my mood” (I was angry and crying and telling him I had to go to work) or else “we can have this conversation at your work.”
When I was a teenager, on my way to work after going to school all day, my dad got SO pissed at me for getting upset with him for making a mistake, he started threatening to show up at my work to scream at me to embarrass me in front of my boss/coworkers/customers. Because that was VERY much what his threat insinuated. He had a way of doing that.
And, I mention this story, because it’s a time when my brother was actually the cool one. He took the water damaged paper and managed to retype the whole thing for me, so I didn’t have to do it when I got home. So it was over after that, but I remember crying so hard the whole way to work, which wasn’t a long enough drive just then.

 

Yes, those two stories capture it all right. I guess all fine things go through a refining process, don’t they? I guess that’s what my deal is. Like I’m strangely arrogant about certain things, I do get that, but you don’t understand what I’ve done to even get to where I’m at. Most bitches with highly abusive fathers end up marrying their father (so to speak) and that’s like the opposite of what I did.

But, I have a small snippet of an email to show you, so you can see firsthand how little my mother’s suffering because of him is over. And, I mean, I don’t have people in my life who are shitty to me, friend or surrogate friend, because I have like no one in my life. My best friend is distant in every possible way, which is just her way so it’s fine, but you know, I have no regular companions, besides my husband. If I had to choose between him and friends, I would choose him, but thing is I don’t have to. He isn’t at all the reason I have no one in my life. He’s actually always encouraging me to make friends, but that’s kind of hard because I pretty go to 1) work, 2) grocery store 3) pole dancing gym. I thought maybe I’d meet someone there, but alas, that doesn’t seem meant to be.

I mean, I’m writing a book in additional to a regular working adult life, who kind of lives paycheck to paycheck. I mean, I get the bills paid, but aside from my 10% unmatched 401K I have no savings. Hopefully this book thing turns out, right? Even though, I mean, the only real reason I want to write it is a selfish one. Like, it’s all for me. All the writing, this, the books I’ll produce as the years go on. It’s all for me. I need it, and I like doing it, and I’m good at it. It’s a sword that can be ever-sharpened, writing is. I mean, duh. Look at what I do for funsies on my Saturdays. I get REALLY stoned and watch some Orange is the New Black then get guilty about not editing, then four pages in of editing CF (my book, I’ll tell you what they stand for one day) I realize I haven’t blogged in a minute. So, here I am, a million words in, like always.

So yeah, things that happened to me a long time ago still upset me to this day. I’m not perfect.
ALSO – Josh and Ben and Alaine all grew up to be a special sort of loser, especially the guys. And Josh, who was always SO arrogant about how skinny he was, always saying shit like “Oh, I just don’t like feeling full, so I don’t eat much.” when really he had a typical teenager diet more or less he just had a fast metabolism like so many teenagers do, Josh is fat now. And he still lives in our hometown, unmarried, hosting Magic the Gathering tournaments at the same greasy comic book store I went to a few times with my brother. And he’s fat. Ben, I don’t know much about him beyond the random interactions I had with him in college. He went to my undergrad school for a few semesters the same time I did. I had a sociology class in the mornings twice a week, and I would walk past him on my way out as he waited to be let into a classroom. He messaged me a few times on facebook, because I’m sure when he was fucked up he went through his friends list to see who might be willing to date him. Ben was not at all attractive to me, BUT he’d landed my best friend’s twin as a girlfriend two different times in high school, so I can see why he thought he had a shot. He didn’t.
That’s another thing, I never understood why so few guys were into my in high school. I was attractive, especially junior and senior year. I never understood it. I guess it was a REALLY small sampling of human beings (76 in my graduating class). My husband doesn’t understand it either. To hear him tell it, and I am sure he’s being honest by the way he still acts, 9 years later, that he was attracted to me, a lot, from the first moment he saw me. The same thing happened with Drew (that’s Doug’s real name, for those keeping up), because that was really shortly before I met my husband. My husband never understood why Doug wasn’t into me/wanted to date me. I was like ha me neither. But it all worked out anyway.

 

So as you can see, no matter what happens now, things are so much better than when I was younger. So there’s that. All right it’s getting kind of late, and Sundays are kind of weird. I only get 3 hours after I get home from pole class before it’s just another work night.

 

Well, hope you’re all doing well. Love you.

Wow. That was on instinct, but I’m going to keep it.

 

~Cassie

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lates

~Cassie

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

~Cassie

No time. Better write 1700 word blog for no reason

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

~Peace

~Cassie

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I’ve never told anyone that.

So. Feel special. I guess.

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

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

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

~Cassie