No time. Better write 1700 word blog for no reason

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

~Peace

~Cassie

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hope all of you are doing well.

 

~Cassie

What the fuck answer do you think I’m about to give here?

Exactly ten days ago, right before bed, my husband asked me where my feelings stood on his pursuing an extramarital situation that has been ‘in the works’ for years now. It began after my situation with R had already begun. It never came to fruition, if you catch my drift.

The previous day, I’d sent my husband a meme conveying the sentiment “I don’t want what I have with you with anyone else.” Because it is true, despite everything. And somehow that made him think it a wise time to ask where I stood on letting him go off and fuck  her. IF she ever stops playing this weeeeeird cat and mouse back and forth head game shit that makes me want to scream. I couldn’t fucking stand it when I was single, I really don’t like seeing it happen to my husband from some thirty-something bitch who’s NEVER had to work hard a day in her fucking life and just gets handed amazing shit in life because her family is wealthy and well-connected. And, if my personal judgment has any value to it, she fucking knows I despise her and mirrors the reflection. Could this be my possible insanity talking? I guess. I could also just be totally wrong….but…..I’m usually not wrong about these things. If there’s one thing I grew up alongside, it’s hate. It was one of those the-lady-doth-protest-too-much situations with W and hate. He ALWAYS told us we were NOT allowed to say we hated anything, because hating something is “dancing in the courtyard of the devil” (god it sickens me to quote him because you still fucking hear it, all these years later). So, I might just be too warped, or I’m fucking cynical and astute. All three more like.

So, he asks me how I would feel if things progressed between them in a sexual way. IF she ever actually admits that’s what she’s looking for. IF she’s purposely been building tension all these years. He kept reminding me that he gave me “a lot of space”  – meaning he told me it was okay every time i went and spent the night at R’s but really he was letting it tear him up inside but didn’t want to tell me that because then I’d get mad at him so he let it build and build and build to the point where he literally scared me. And he hadn’t done that since our wedding night. And it’s not fair. I spent so many nights terrified as a child, I can’t have it. So, because he was giving me all of this space, that he really didn’t want to be giving at all despite his constantly saying so otherwise, I should do the same now.

NOW.

After I ended things with R on my own over a year ago because I realized I could NOT fucking stand him as  a human being and willingly keeping him in my life was like choosing to have cancer (like my mom and her shit husband, right?). I strongly suspect unresolved issues with my father caused that year long fucked up fucking fuck fest but that worries me because them issues is still unresolved…you know?

After he did the Craigs List thing.

After he lost his mind and bashed his head so many times into our coffee table I really thought he probably did permanent damage as his own emotional reaction to when I got justifiably angry over the Craigs List thing. The thing he was going to lie to me about until his own blundering revealed the truth to me. It’s like he couldn’t stand for me getting be the one freaking out, screaming, losing my mind. That’s HIS role. HE gets to be the fucking lunatic and I better shut the fuck up and deal with it and be 100% merry sunshine the second it’s fucking over because I exist to please him.

Do you hear it? Because you are very stupid if you don’t hear it by now. I do and I’m supposed to be the one in denial. I mean I like to pretend like I’m in denial. Most people don’t know me. It took me a LONG time to realize that it’s because they don’t fucking deserve too. I used to think my husband did. But then he pulls shit like what he did last June..and last July…and what he asked me about a week ago Sunday….

After all of that, after we finally started to get better for real. All of sudden this bitch needs volunteers so she’s texting my husband like crazy, constantly asking for him to come out to different shit (yes I went through his texts. oh that’s a sign I don’t trust him? well i fucking don’t, so).

It’s hard to respect someone who does things that seem so goddamn stupid.

And, what, exactly, does he think my answer would be? Go ahead and fuck her, I owe you because you WERE SO COOL the entire time I was with R….OH FUCKING WAIT NO, THAT’S NOT AT ALL WHAT HAPPENED, YOU PSYCHO. [AND EVEN IF HE WAS, which is untrue, why would he want to go back to things being like that between us? He can never shut the fuck up about how great things are, until you find out he’s wallowing in perpetual misery and sorrow and loneliness caused by my being a frigid bitch who’s only sexually interested in other men and he hates me and he wants to kill himself because he’s tried to change his mind and his body all to please me, DESPITE the fact that he also once admitted he started getting really worried about getting into shape when he thought fucking that stupid bitch was a possibility, but I guess he’s hoping I forgot that like he forgets 80% of what he hears]

Like, really, in my heart of hearts, inside, where no one will ever hurt me because I won’t fucking let them (in), I expect two things now 1) He’ll get horny and cheat again, because he was able to talk himself into it being okay once before, why would things have changed? Because he can just fling his “addict” self towards me as a justification. 2) He’ll have another freak out, another fucking scary one, and THIS TIME, THIS TIME, he might hurt someone. More than likely it’d be himself, but who knows when he’s “lost control.”

I guess you can and promise and promise, but when your actions never back your words up, when you keep getting worse despite claims otherwise….Like I always am under the impression things are better, things are getting better…but for how long?

Like that’s the cruel truth to my life, there will ALWAYS be a “But for how long?” in my head. And you know, for a very long time my relationship with my husband didn’t get that question. But now, I feel like I’m just waiting for something more to set him off. I’m not saying I live in constant fear. It wouldn’t come out of nowhere. That’s how it was with my dad. Because of the pharmaceutical cocktail he’s been on for so long, he could have DISTURBING mood swings, like wake up from a nap and just come rampaging out of his room, screaming at me to pick up the living room and turn down the TV, when on any other day neither of those things would be issues. But with my husband, say there’s a situation where I, as a human fucking being, might be getting upset and saying mean/hurtful things. But no, that’s not to be allowed. Only the men get to say hateful, horrible things, if women DARE to match them, or do better as is usually the case, nope, that’ll make the shitty ones flare up, EVERY TIME. I know because I’ve lived it my whole life.

And now, as I near the end of my twenties…my husband’s on that list.

But, I’m not all despair and gloom, after all. I’m willing to keep trying. I feel like we actually do love each other. It’s not his fault I have weird intimacy issues. Not sex issues. But it’s not just sex with him, now is it? But try telling a guy that, please, let me know how it goes for you.

But now, ten days ago, he’s asking if I would be cool with his fucking college girl, while heavily implying I SHOULD be cool about it because he was just SO COOL towards me during the horror show that was my situation with R. I guess it was kind of like a relationship, but the kind a girl with zero self respect would get into. I can’t tell if i have self respect or not, because I have these DEEPLY ingrained reflexes that behave contrarily to my true feelings. Like, if someone is making you angry and they’re a male you have any sort of a personal relationship with, tolerate EVERYTHING they do, using the tried and true method of abused women from a millennia before you: GRIN AND BEAR IT.

But, all right, if you somehow read this far into my dark, dark woods, you’re probably wondering why I don’t just tell him no, right? Well, he’s leading me into telling him no, he’s making it seem like he’s cool with my saying I’m not cool with it. And, have you followed well enough, can you see why I might suspect he doesn’t actually mean the things he assures me of? Which, all right, I guess. I guess I can internally decipher everything you say to me. If you can imagine, I’ve had practice at that.

I figured I would write today, because I know I won’t have a chance for awhile. Next week besides working 7-4 I have to take a training class every day from 7-9 for a part time at home job. It’ll be like a week of being in college again. My federal student loan payments increased by $200/month, so I wasn’t one to reject this offer when it came my way. I’d only thrown my hat into the ring for it August 2016. I have to process 600 bills every month to make my student loan payment.

I also wanted to write today because I really needed to map out my feelings about my husband asking me about this situation. He suggested I write my answer out, but somehow I don’t think this would be received well. I might still print this one post for him and give it to him. Because I mean

  1. Doesn’t he think the whole Craigs List stranger AND our wedding night might balance out my situation with R? How can he feel he’s still owed something in all this? I had group sex with strangers I wasn’t all that attracted to for him, but seeing that I’M still the wronged party is WAY beyond his willingness/capabilities
  2. He is WELL AWARE how upset/angry his continued devotion to the conceited college cunt’s cause makes me, I do nothing to hide it. Which of course means I go very far out of my way to show how I feel, and it’s rarely received warmly I might add because you guessed it I’m bad at it.
  3. Somehow bringing up a time that was horrible for us as justification for why he wants to ruin a time that’s good for us is logical to him, and frankly that just worries me.
  4. Even WITH his Craigs list endeavor, I am WAY more upset and haunted by the memory of his freak out about 8 days later. I can check the exact date, because I took the day off work. I didn’t even do that for finding out about the craigs list thing. I was just so emotionally frazzled, I was more than willingly to use a sick day to not deal with talking to other people. I wrote a freakishly long blog, if you can imagine. So that’s something to think about
  5. The ratio of fucked up behavior tolerated : dished out between the two of us is ASTRONOMICALLY different. Another thing that’s not fair that makes me resent him. These are the things that kill a sex drive. That and the whole adult-with-college-degree-unemployed-seemingly-in-no-hurry-to-be-employed thing that he had going on for a long time following unemployed college years. I’m NOT saying I have some deep desire to like have the same number of drunken freak out/storm outs but I’m saying it would be GREAT if my UNENDING patience could be acknowledged at some point. Yeah, he’s had to be patient with me, like emotionally…obviously…..but I’m SO many other functional/rational/good things, things I fucking made myself, I can make up for a lot. But HE, HE, gets to be the irrational emotional child? And if I ever dare sink to his level, he just has this next one coming for me to show me who’s in power here, and it’s all so eerily familiar.

I’m not trying to say I fear for my safety, I don’t. But part of me now wonders, and it’s a larger part than I’d like, it wonders when it’ll happen again. See,  it already knows, it just wonders when. And aren’t we all like that? Those of us living with something we shouldn’t? Something we need to fix, in one way or another? I mean, we all know what it is, we just thought of it. I would have, at least, if I’d read it. Not that I would ever tell anyone.

No one wants to be good at keeping secrets, to have it stem from a lifetime of doing so. And not because they’re interesting just because they’re terrible and you feel this unending source of judgment and shame should stem from any revelations on your part.

I don’t have a whole lot of hope to offer if you also feel this way. But, with hope, you don’t need much, really. Because, there’s at least other people out there who can truly sympathize with you. That means more than you’d realize, particularly when most of your life has been isolating. It’s part of controlling a family, spouse and kids, you isolate the nuclear family as much as possible, no adult friends for the parents, keep the kids on the outs with everyone by encouraging awful behavior, keep mother and brother in laws away…. So the loneliness was certain.

Holy shit it’s late. I’m going to be SO tired during these training classes next week….also I’m very concerned that I probably shouldn’t show up really high and that’s going to get in the way of my usual evening plans.

Well, I hope you’re all doing well. I will let you know what happens if I let him read this.

~Cassie

Fucking scrapbooks

Long story kind of short – by way of my mother in law and then my husband, scrapbooks my mother who I haven’t seen in three years lovingly made for me are now in my possession.
One was a wedding scrapbook. It took her three years to make the wedding scrapbooks. Because she made three simultaneously, and she covers the engagement, both showers, the entire wedding day and the day after. One was for my mother in law, one for my mom and one for me. If you remember the July that I had, I remember distinctly thinking about how if I did get divorced it would be so fucking tragic that my mom hadn’t even finished the wedding scrapbooks and we were already getting divorced. That’s exactly the sort of thing my brother or father would point out, too. They were always belittling my mom (and to a lesser extent, me). And scrapbooking and picture-taking have been lifelong pursuits for my mom, so obviously making the wedding scrapbook for her only daughter was a huge deal for her. I’ve always noticed and appreciated that every year of my entire life has been scrapbooked.
But let me say that after I looked through the wedding scrapbook, I couldn’t look through the rest. She really did put her heart and soul into it, and it shows. And I mean obviously that sort of thing is going to make someone in my position sad. I’m grateful we can email at least, but it sucks missing out of years of each other’s lives, and knowing that one day sometime in the future when she’s no longer with us all these days will especially haunt me.
But what am I supposed to do? Pretend I cannot ever EVER be in the presence of my father, or communicate with him in any way, yet my mom won’t/can’t leave him. And he’s a horrible sociopathic alcoholic opiate addict narcissist who literally is SO disturbingly lazy AND selfish AND negative all at the same time to the point where it’s downright creepy to observe him.
Because I was looking through one of the other scrapbooks that was sent my way, and I couldn’t finish leafing through. There were too many pictures of my dad. Somehow seeing the image of someone brings them more to mind…particularly when you haven’t seen them in years. It just fucking disgusted me to think about him.

If you ever think “well, she’s emotional and exaggerating” or “oh he couldn’t have been that bad” please know this  – the words do not exist to express how angry someone thinking that makes me. Because victims get taught/told to keep their mouths shut around “outsiders.” Whoever is outside the locus of control is to be abused and mistrusted, even if like the case of my Grandma where that person is your financial lifeline 10/10 times. I feel so bad for my Grandma, she got the WORST possible son in law you could get for your daughter. My dad was always SO awful to her, so fucking rude and as shitty as possible as much as possible, knowing she wouldn’t say anything to his face but would instead just lose her mind at my mom when they (we) were alone. I think about how her brother, the one who died of cancer very suddenly when I was 12, must have felt when he met my dad. One time, when my mo and dad had first met, she and her brother and my dad were all drinking at the hotel bar my parents met at. My mom was NOT a bar-going sort, but her brother was and she would go out with him. Over something involving control of my mother, my dad followed my uncle into the bathroom and like…when you grab someone’s collar and slam them into a wall and keep your fist balled up under their chin while you talk to them. He did that. My Grandma told me, because my uncle had told her, probably right after it happened because the two of them were abnormally close. There’s no way she made that up. She did some manipulative stuff but she did NOT blatantly lie. I remember telling my brother this tale, shortly after hearing it. I would put us around 9 and 12 years  of age. He flatly refuted the possibility that that was even true. When i was like, well Grandma told me that Uncle Bill (who cares if you know I had an Uncle Bill..who doesn’t?) told her, so they’re BOTH lying then? He refuted it again, because by that age he was a fucking hate factory like his old man.

See, that’s what disturbs me most of all. That, because i was raised in such a hellish environment, there’s an innate meanness to me that WILL rub off in any interpersonal relationships i might manage to cultivate. Not that there’s many of those. What if I have kids and i hear my fucking dad when I’m yelling at them? I’d literally rather not have kids than think for a moment there’s a possibility I could come off to my children like my dad did to me. Because I fucking despise him. I don’t recall the last day that went by where I didn’t think about how convenient and sort-of-like-a-movie it would be if he would just drink himself to death one of these days. I don’t get how his liver is still at it after all these years. My husband tells me that it’s fucked up in a sad way that I feel this way about my dad. I suppose that’s true.

What brings a lot of this about is that my mom is having knee replacement surgery at a hospital fifteen minutes from my house next week. I said something in an email about how I could visit her and she was silent on the topic in her response email. So I don’t know if that means she doesn’t want to bother or it’d be too upsetting or I don’t know..I guess I have 8 days to figure it out, though obviously she and I can only converse when she’s at work. So that also means for the six weeks she’s recovering at home I won’t have the slightest clue how she’s doing. The last time she was convalescing post MAJOR fucking ortho surgery was when my brother and sister in law were dating so I heard status updates vice-a-vie my sister in law. That’s why there was that one night when I was really strung out feeling and drunk of course and I called adult protective services about the conditions my mother was enduring because my dad wasn’t taking care of her and he was stealing her pain meds. When you’re like him I don’t think you’re capable of actually caring for/nurturing another being, because then you’d have expended some energy on something other than yourself and that’s just not fucking possible in a mind like that. Like he and my brother always had this HUGE concern that their precious asses were going to have do work that someone else then in turn didn’t have to do. Like I said before, pathologically lazy.
But now my mom will be stuck in bed for six weeks with only my dad and useless fuckhead fucked up brother to care for her. Last time my  brother “couldn’t deal” with our dad so he just lied in bed (in the basement) smoking tons and tons of weed while my mom went without basic needs being taken care of for days and days upstairs in his old bedroom. Yeah, of course as soon as she could my mom got her own bed and bedroom. That’s always a sign things are great. My dad always liked to lie and say it was because of his snoring. But really deep down they both fucking hate each other. My mom doesn’t want to admit it, probably in large part because in her mind a good Christian wife does not hate her husband but instead continues to tolerate his abuse with sometimes good humor hoping that he’ll change, banking on it even. My dad probably knows it, but would never admit it because that would take a modicum of self-awareness, and again, people like him aren’t capable of that. I use the terms “person” and “people” loosely when referring to my father, keep that in mind.
In other news, my student loan payments jumped $200 per month. Because someone who makes what I make allegedly had $300 to spare per month for NOTHING. I have to see my in-laws tomorrow. The pro is that it will involve free dinner. With how much I cook it’s genuinely something to look forward to, not cooking. Funny how that works.

But things have been really good with my husband, so there’s that. Our third anniversary was a very nice night. He’s significantly happier at the job he’s at right now than he was. So that’s nice to know. I’ve still been keeping at working on every week day. I’ve been doing my darnedest to write every day, but sometimes i need to write huge blogs about how fuckedy my life can be. In some aspects. I guess it’s good I’m not totally Type A. There’s enough like left brain creative spirit in me to turn down the “give a fuck” on a lot of situations.

But anyway, time to make dinner. Duty calls.

~Cassie

Nothing’s changed but everything’s better. Or something.

It’s been awhile, I’ll admit it. There’s a great deal to write, but not enough spare time in the day to match it. My natural instinct to form habits works out well on occasion. I end up with an hour or two of writing time every day. I truly should be producing more.
Because, as I’ve mentioned about 20 times, my 30th birthday isn’t that far off anymore. And I thought I’d have more done by the age. I’ve completed the level of work I feel like I want to put in education-wise. Though I guess that could change. Which brings me to my next thought. They told the female students pointedly in my Masters and Bachelors programs that if you wanted to have children, pursuing your ph. D. was not a viable option. I know someone who did it though, with four children. She’s married and had a working spouse bringing in money and helping with the kids the whole time, but still. But, I also had two different roomfuls of professors more or less telling English students not to expect to get jobs like theirs. The second time it didn’t phase me, because I’d heard it before. One professor from my grad school said that same ‘talk’ they gave out, about how it was nearly pointless to get your doctorate in English because getting a tenured professorship is like getting struck by golden lightning after pulling a winning lotto ticket, had made students cry. It’s easy enough to imagine, why English students would have already built this romantic picture of their older self bustling from class to class on some yet-to-be-witnessed campus in some better-than-this-one city long before graduating. Even with our other differences taken out of the equation, we were all imaginative.
So, I guess I’m trying to garble out that I’m not disappointed with myself school-wise. I think I might be done there. And I am married. I know you’re not supposed to say or think this, but this is an anonablog for a reason, and I would feel like an extremely huge loser if I weren’t married by my age. I have friends my age who aren’t married and I know their instant reaction would be to say something deprecating about me or specifically my marriage, because there’s a reason shitty people don’t get married! I’m actually very mean, deep down, I can’t help it. What would cut you to the core, that’s what I’m going to notice. And if you cross me I will spend the rest of our acquaintance/my life garnering information as possible fuel to the fire of hate I already carry for you. ON the flipside though, I always, always remember when someone did something (for me) that they didn’t have to. Because that’s what really matters, and what really makes a person. Is what you do when you’re actually free to choose. Because, sometimes you’re not. Even if the person asking you the question thinks you are. Don’t even think you’re always free to make all of your decisions, because nothing in life in absolute, including freedom.
What do I mean?
Well, take a kid who was emotionally and mentally abused, and emotionally and mentally neglected, and in general very socially maladjusted for an extensive portion of their first 18 years. By the time that kid is in their early teens, they are not going to have the ability to communicate their feelings in any way, effectively or otherwise. They’re going to be so clammed up and shut down, because they’re been living in a fucking war zone for so fucking long, they’re just going to seem fucked to anyone who’s normal and adjusted and happy and stable at home. NO, they’re not exaggerating or only remembering “the bad times” (THEY WERE ALL BAD TIMES). That’s what their narcissistic parent attempted to convince them of a few times. But they’re a little (A LOT) smarter than that. The other members of their family aren’t…but….well, they’ve known all of this for a long time. But they also aren’t FREE to express themselves, or even be who they’re meant to be.

And, obviously, that was me I was just describing…I mean who else would I get so passionate about? I haven’t drank in the past 8 days. I’m trying to not. Because 1) realistically, no one is going to lose weight if they drink every day. I refuse to believe otherwise and 2) I worry about my inability to not drink a lot when I do drink. Yes I’ve seen the pamphlets, I know that’s a huge telltale sign you’re an alcoholic…so…I mean I’ve known that for yeeeeears, even before we moved down here. I mean I think I’ve discussed a FEW times how alcohol poisoned my relationship with my husband. I’m not saying it wasn’t us, but it was us AND drinking. Which actually brings me around to today’s title, or subject or whatever.
I guess it’s only been a month, but things have been so much improved between my husband and I. Come to think of it, I was checking on how many vacation days I had left today and I saw the last day I took off, August 2nd, and I remembered why. That was a dark fucking time.
Fucking funny, isn’t it, that I start a blog to recall all my old dark times and new ones form anyway. I really am trying. And I’m not for a fucking second saying that his actions were my fault, but things weren’t like perfect for a very long time between my husband and I. And I mean now, whenever I think about the several months where I was with R and my husband pretty much an equal amount of time.and I just feel so shitty, MOSTLY because I can’t believe I put up with R’s shit. I mean, come on, what kind of person do you think is going to be available as much as he was/be into constantly having sex with a married chick? An unemployed ALCOHOLIC gamer who lived for free in his dad’s house, I capitalized to convey extremity. Sometimes I wonder how he’s doing, like if he’s gotten to DUI #3 yet, or if by some miracle (ha, remember miracles from last post?) he quit drinking for good and is doing something with his life. But I’d blocked him on Facebook before I deleted my Facebook. The idea that I’m not very hard to contact for people who don’t actually know me is pleasing to me. Of course he had my phone number, and he certainly tried calling/texting many times, but he eventually gave up because I refused to engage. That’s what you do when you’re dealing with shit (or with potential volatility), just DO NOT ENGAGE. No good will come of it, and you know that despite your DEEP need to pick at things.
And yes, I do feel really, really terrible about that situation. But my husband was trying to make sexual shit happen with girl from his college whom I dislike. There was one Friday night, after I’d had a monumentally horrid day at work, where he texted her to meet him at a bar near her place. She never responded that she was going, but he decided to just post up at the bar and hope she came through. This was when he was drinking, so he just got annihilated on straight alcohol, and he would become a DICKISH arrogant drunk sometimes, like he would get that whole “Do you know how much money I spend here?!” at a bar he frequented, and as a former retail horror live through-er I know how gratingly annoying those sorts of questions are. So he got thrown out of the bar, walked to a nearby park and ended up giving a bunch of cash he had to a homeless person and smoking crack with them. He only remembers bits and pieces of that. At one point, after 2am, he walked back to the bar and pounded on the door until someone answered, and got into a shouting match with the bartender who threatened to call the cops. He should have. But instead my husband slept for the night on a bench in the park. No one messed with him, his money was gone but his wallet itself and his debit card and cell phone were still with him when he came to. I woke up that next Saturday morning to an empty bed, thinking that the girl from college HAD shown up and my husband went home with her. This was distressing in its own way, but then I’m about to leave for work at 8am on a Saturday after bawling my eyes out on my lunch break the day before, with my husband out all night with another woman in between, and my husband comes home. He tells me she didn’t show up, but then he tells me what did happen. That was a lot to process. That was a fun drive to work. He’s always handing me all these opportunities to practice my reflexes at silently processing horror. It gives you migraines. Trust me. We didn’t have sex for a really long time after that, after he got checked for shit twice and talked to a doctor about how likely the possibility he’d gotten anything was. I’m not saying he had sex with a homeless person (that was a Craiglist person, and she had an apartment) but I really wasn’t too aware of how communicable hepatitis was through a crack pipe.
You know sometimes I think about how all the shit I just typed is 100% real, and I’m like….well….no one will eve be like “THIS boring bitch!” But at the same time, this isn’t something I’m trying for here. No one wants to have dealt with my shit, I mean I don’t. But you know, I picked up early on that sometimes you have to do shit you don’t want to. Jesus that’s the darkest thing I’ve ever said.
I guess this is the kind of mood I’m in this time of year. I have weird seasonal allergies that give me a sinus infection for several days out of a given three month span, twice a year. Other than that I really don’t get sick, but some days at work the sinus pressure when I stand is so extreme my eyes water. The migraines I get are something else. The reason I don’t go to a doctor about them is because the cause of them is always something INSANE going on in my life. But like I’m telling my boss that. Like, oh hey yeah that one day I started crying over seemingly nothing? Well, I’d spent the ENTIRE night the night before on the phone with adult protective services over the ill care my mother was receiving post-extreme-surgery. Who’s telling their boss that much about their life? NOPE. Plus…if I like…ever REALLY need it….I have the worst things that have happened in the last five years on deck as excuses for erratic behavior.

All right, I hear it, that made me sound crazy didn’t it?

Well, husband is home. Gotta jet.

~Cassie

Well, I didn’t go anywhere, if you were wondering

I’ve been busy writing creatively. This blog is where I go when I can’t find the motivation to work on my novel. I hate calling it that, it makes me feel like a douche. Like the kind of punk who sits in a Starbucks all day on their laptop writing. That sounds like a nightmare. I have an extreme peeve about people doing that. Every member of my family did it to me when I was writing as a child, on our trust Packard Bell, and it was one of the many things they all did to make me feel like I had ZERO personal privacy. Which…I guess if you need that pointer (for writing, or real life I guess if you’re a psycho who reads WordPress for fun…), that’s a REALLY good way to ruin someone’s regard for themselves as a human being with rights and feelings – take away any semblance of privacy while still somehow suppressing everything about them that doesn’t fit what you think is best.
Because that is definitely what my family did. ALL of them, even Grandma, and we all know I nostalgia-ify the crap out of my memories of her, did it.
And, the more I think about it, the more I realize that no matter what I did, I was fucking attacked for it. It’s hard because you think of stuff like this throughout your day, like you remember when you did a simple thing and your mom and dad and brother all started yelling at your simultaneously for making a simple mistake, for running into something, for misspeaking, for dropping something, like now that I think about it I realize it was the fucking recipe for developing anxiety about being around other people. They all made me value alone time so fucking much, I even managed to get over my extreme fears of being alone at night and the dark. I mean a lot of people never live alone. I did it at 18 because I had to be away from my family, I had to have a general independence from them. Though it would take me years to finally break all ties with my family, we’ve been over that a few times, I swear.
And now that I ponder on it, I realize that might be the same reason I am always unapologetically doing clumsy things. It’s like….does some terrible part of my brain that I have no conscious control over really crave negative attention, because that’s the only attention I got a lot of the time, like most of the time, as a child?

You’ll think of stuff like this if you try hard enough, and you get stoned enough if you’re like me, and you take the time to write it out.

So, I must take a moment to brag about my week, because I’ve been meeting personal goals lately, and that’s always exciting – so this week Monday-Thursday, I managed to every day:
1) Work 7-4 (6-4 on Monday, and that was after being emotionally distraught and drunk for that episode of Game of Thrones – am I right?)
2) Come home and immediately perform house-related tasks and work out for 30 minutes (translation – I rode my stationary bike for half an hour while I watched a chick-oriented show on Netflix that my husband would hate)
3) Eat a packed lunch and cook dinner from scratch/fresh ingredients at home – more or less, no eating out ever because it’s expensive and typically less healthy than what I make
4) Spend a minimum of 60 minutes per day writing – that’s about how much time I have between completing those first three tasks and when my husband gets home from work. He has a new job. During his extreme-major meltdown at me like three weeks ago now, I wrote about like crazy on here, he mentioned how he was just so demoralized by this job he got because I told him landscaping wasn’t good enough. Which I mean….really? He’s blaming all of his life’s issues on me? Somehow, his every decision has been made by me in secret somehow, and I’m still a cold bitch to him despite his acrobatic attempts at pleasing me….that was the summation of it really. I would count writing a blog as this one as well, because it counts it’s just not as important. I mean obviously. You don’t blast something truly dear to yourself all over the internet. My thoughts and feelings aren’t all that dear to me, if you were wondering why I would say that then keep such a personal blog. I change names to protect other people from my innate hostility
5) Possibly most important of all – STOP THINKING NEGATIVELY. It is and was and always will be my biggest issue. I definitely heard from more than one source throughout my childhood that I complained too much. I HAD A LOT TO COMPLAIN ABOUT, OKAY? Sorry for type-yelling. But I find that if I don’t constantly reminisce on bad shit, I am much happier. Fucking striking concept, right? BUT, that also means that I don’t think about things to blog about as much.
You could argue I could blog about positives in my life. But then I remember that I still haven’t seen my mom in almost three years because I can’t because I refuse to have anything to do with my father because he’s a fucking sociopath. ANYONE who really knows him, and has seen him in action would agree with that name for it. But then, even then, even now at this point, just like when a song you haven’t heard in years pops into your head, these rare, isolated memories you have, that few and far between times that were happy, are there to haunt you. There was a handful or two, I’d say, when I guess things were as close to normal as we could get them and everyone decided to get along and be happy. It became very rare the older my brother got. I was thinking about my brother on Thursday while I was watching that chick show on Netflix. A mom was freaking out about a baseball coach’s ability to influence her son’s formative years. And it made me think about how my brother just had no fucking chance.
There’s something to him…a narrowness…or like this stubbornness, or just this hard-headed idiocy brought about by emotional abuse that makes him do that same thing to others? It’s there…I just don’t know what to truly call it yet. It like…incapacitated him. Because what I did, what a person is going to have to do in our situation, is psychologically construct your OWN father figure in your mind, and use that to comfort yourself. I have this CREEPY fucking habit of stroking my own hair when I’m VERY upset. I mean it creeps me out when I do it, because I know why I’m doing it. And another huge peeve of mine is ANYONE touching my hair. I think that contributes to the fact that I no longer dye it (though I did that constantly from ages 14-26) and cut it myself. It’s been almost three years since I’ve had my hair cut professionally, though in part that is to save money. But also I really always resent stylists because they’re touching my hair, and inevitably snagging one of my many eccentric ear piercings on their combs. Egh, just thinking about it makes me cringe. Anyway.

So, I accomplished all of the above last week. And my husband’s new job entails different hours that allow him to leave when I leave in the morning. With his OCD, this is a huge blessing for him. It’s very hard for him to be the second one to leave the house. He becomes unsure if all of the cats are accounted for, and if the stove is off and the doors are locked. He spends too much time checking and rechecking, etc. And I like being the last one to leave, because then the house remains in the state of tidiness I so strongly prefer.

But, like I said, in doing so I don’t leave much time for writing blogs, because I’d rather attempt to dedicate my spare thoughts to my creative process, than obsessing over shitty things.

Also, in other rather superficial news, I found a skincare regime that works for me. And I mean when you’ve been trying for something for like 17 years, it feels like an accomplishment to be there. The process, you wonder? I use cold cream as a make up remover and face wash. Then rosewater as a toner. Then stupidly expensive moisturizer. That’s at night. In the morning I just apply moisturizer then concealer/blush on top of that as needed. Because I had my eyeliner tattooed on, I wear those two items and mascara, and that’s it. It’s so amazing having a simplified routine that works and it creates a look I enjoy. For so many years I wore such intense eye shadow every single day. I remember once in a college psych class a girl asked me if I did my own make up, implying I looked like I might be having it professionally done. All I said was “Yeah.” Because I was a weird, stoned twenty-one year old, and I felt bad because later on I identified that as a opportunity to socialize with someone about something I liked. But whatever.

And, in less superficial news but also something that hasn’t changed since I was young. Okay, I’ve probably already mentioned it, but I am weirdly attached to the psychological personality testing known as Myers-Briggs. I am deeply obsessed with researching my type and just basically always being like “SO TRUE!” at all of it after I look back at my behavior. And I actually took the Myers-Briggs test three different times from the age of 18-23 or so. Twice it came out INTJ, once INFJ. I took it again because I found a link to take it for free (which, you should because it’s so cool, at  16personalities.com) and it came out INTJ again, BUT on the thinking/feeling 3rd letter, I was a 60/40 split. So I’m on the fence there. This time it said I was an assertive INTJ…I was like….since when? I went to grad school for no reason, mostly just boredom. How wild am I? So it was exciting to think that that hasn’t changed. I already mentioned that I’m pretty well aware of why I’m introverted. Not that I don’t have this fake people-person persona that you develop when you have to wait on customers for 11 years. That’s why my desk job still is amazing to me. Just not having the general public in my face seems like a reward still. And I make way more money.
Speaking of making more money. My husband is actually going to be making more than me at this new job. He’s getting less person hour, but he’s getting far more hours, he even has to get 6 hours in today. It’s why I’m up and blogging so proficiently at 10am. I’ve been up since 6am because he needed my help getting up. Plus in all honesty I was awake before the alarm because that’s when I always get up during the week. I deeply splurged and went and got an iced coffee with all the extra caloric add-ons because I drink two pots of drip coffee per day and sometimes you’re just not in the mood. I justify it because black coffee with no sugar is good for your teeth (kills plaque, staining is just superficial anyway) and that’s how I drink it.

So, that’s it I guess. That’s my goal meeting for now.

My next major goal is to keep drinking confined to the weekends. In the 2 months that I’ve been trying to bike every day and count all calories using My Fitness Pal, you REALLY start to notice where your calories come from. And if you’re ashamed to tell an app how much you drank in one night, you might want to examine things? I mean, you probably knew that. I do. Did. Whatever. So that means I will need more weed. Which is fine if we can afford it. The dream is to be able to have enough to just make oil or butter and just always have that on hand/use that. Like I want to come home and make 1 piece of toast and just douse it with weed olive oil and get messed the fuck up on that, rather than smoking bowl after bowl. That’s the ideal dream, if you ever wondered what the ideal dream was. So I guess that’s another goal. Those are important, but so are plans to achieve these goals. But, I’ve always been great at having this REALLY long-term plan. I persevere. It’s what I do. But we might be closer to our weed goal with this new job. So that’s exciting too, because it’ll mean drinking less. Husband is still not drinking, of course. I just bought him a small gift for his 2 year AA anniversary, which is actually August 30th, but whatever I gave it to him early, it’s not like it’s Christmas. Plus no one else really acknowledges his AA-ness, not in his family. They really are the classic, reserved, rather not talk about it, types of people. Common to the middle and upper class I think. They’re used to trying to keep things nice, to admiring the surface value of shit, makes them want to keep a social front as well. Not always though.

Then, I would like to find a church I like down here. We moved downstate over five years ago, and we always said we’d find out. We tried for a little, but each one we visited acted very…odd….towards us. Like they’re a church, they should be freaking welcoming to strangers, not all like “HI, WHO ARE YOU?? WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE???” *artificial smiles*!! It’s weird. It happened three different times. These congregations need to get it together. It doesn’t take a genius to see their ever-dwindling memberships. It’s not shocking why, either. It’s hard, because I want to believe in it, but some of the absolutes of Christianity…like the concept of hell….I just….it’s really hard to actually comprehend an eternity of torture and damnation. Like….whaaaaaatttt?
But even THAT, that thing I just said that made my heart race to admit, that’s how DEEP those Lutherans manage to instill a terror of God in you, is a sign of an INTJ. We’re a small section of the population, especially the women, but of our tiny sliver of the pie, most are atheists, the ones that do believe in a higher power tend to be less accepting of all these contradictory absolutes. Literally one of the ‘celebrities’ that was an INTJ was Doubting Thomas. I remember a college counselor saying “Oh you went to [Lutheran high school] you’ll know who that is.” I was like…all right that’s not a great guy to be associated with…from the perspective I was taught to have……

Well, this have been a fulfilling hour and an a half spent, I guess, but I should be off. I truly do intend to spend more time writing today than I did on the weekdays. Because that only makes sense to me. But, it’s hard because there’s never not cleaning to do, am I right? I so value cleanliness and order that I know it hinders my creativity, especially my time for it….but I need organization in my life…so….you just have to learn to balance.

But I think for now, because I’m trying to not totally obsess all day about my shitty childhood, that maybe I’ll just use this blog to keep track of these goals I have. I think I’ll be pleased with the results and myself if I keep to them all and add more. Like most things in life. Like when I decided it was time to quit smoking and I actually (With Chantix, which I recommend, it didn’t give me nightmares, I swear it’s a suggestability thing. Yes I invented that word, but you get what I mean right? If you talk about having a certain kind of dream…you’re really like to have that dream for real. If you didn’t know that…try it. Your brain is more open to influence than you realize. And dreaming is just psychic file-sorting, so while cool and necessary it’s really not life-shattering stuff. Another peeve is hearing people describe their dreams. Newsflash – NO ONE CARES. Sorry, needed to be said.

So, hope all is well. Try and set goals for yourself. Don’t even write them down, just remember them. Know them well enough to note need a paper or digital reminder. Like showering and sleeping. Make the things you want to give a fuck about like that. That’s my suggestion. I’m not saying I think I’m like some superior being. I truly do not. I hope any long time readers have gathered that by now. Self-obsessed and arrogant are not the same thing.

~Cassie

I fucking hate the phrase ‘teachable moment’ but I think I need to use it anyway

Last Sunday, we had what I have come to think of as a teachable moment. And let me be clear, I really hate that phrase. Another phrase I cannot stand is when women describe abuse as “he put his hands on me.” Like….do you really have to somehow soften the action by being EXTRA vague? Others put their hands on you for not abusive reasons, so stop it with the turn of phrase, you’re talking about being abused. The two, my teachable moment and that annoying phrase, aren’t linked at all, except how I dislike their wording.

But this TM if you will happened on Sunday. My husband and I were leaving for some errand. He was looking for his socks. Because the moment he returns home from the outside world or from working out one of his first actions is to remove his socks and leave them balled up wherever he took them off. Obviously I will instinctively pick them up and put them in the hamper. I wash about twice as many of his socks as I should because of these separate habits of ours, but anyway. As he was inquiring to his socks’ presence he was pulling his shirt on (because he must be in his underwear only if he’s at home unless it’s the dead of winter) and he blinded himself as he walked past a wrought iron wall-mount candle holder I have, and have had since I was 16. I went though this weird wrought iron candle holder phase, but I got rid of all of them except this one. Just because I liked it the most and I bought it from the first place I ever worked (a Jo-Ann’s) and I don’t know when you move 7 times in 5 years you lose a lot of possessions due to breakage and necessity, so something I’ve had since 16 might matter more than it would to others. So he knocks into the candle holder and knocks one of the candles to the floor, which doesn’t matter. But I thought he’d knocked down a glass holder too. And I immediately got incredibly irritated because I’d managed to lug that thing along with me so many places and not break it, but because he was getting dressed and walking and asking his wife where his socks were HE had to fucking break it.

(I have two side stories for a minute that will maybe make my reaction seem less bitch like, but probably not)

But I just kind of went off. I don’t even remember what I said, but it was things along the lines of ‘can’t you be careful’ and ‘did you seriously just do that’ and like a ‘why would you do that’ attitude towards the idea. My husband was like “What the fuck? I didn’t mean to do it.”

And like, obviously I didn’t think he’d purposely tried to break anything of mine. That wasn’t where my anger was coming from. It was just on fucking instinct to like POUNCE on the person who done fucked up.

And….it takes no deep digging to know where that’s coming from.

And okay I’ve been watching this Netflix show called Girlfriend’s Guide to Divorce (I know I feel like a douche typing it, but I love any scripted TV anymore) and I am frequently just appalled at how lenient their parenting is. Like a six year old dumps a smoothie into his mother’s Mac book days before an important presentation of hers (saved solely on the laptop) and blames an imaginary friend. The stress registers, but not the fact that it was solely caused by a little brat’s cry for attention. And like….I think the reason I hate kids is tied in real strong with all of this. Because in my head I’m like “well you know what, [this] happened to me, so why shouldn’t it happen to others too?”

And that, THAT, is how really fucked up, abused people think. It’s how really terrible people think. I mean I kind of figured I was terrible by how I was always treated. And then you relate to those dickweed memes that are script that say “Why should I apologize for being a monster? No one apologized for making me this way” and then you REALLY know you’re the fucking worst. Because only very small, worthless people

We’re not all like that.

But I think I am. My brother sure is. That’s my test group. But I’m also like smart enough to see all this (spoiler, he is not). And we both got the addict gene, but he solely prefers opiates, I solely prefer alcohol, then we meet in the expected agreeable middle with weed. Whatever it is, I think I’ve identified it at its roots. If I were a poet or a painter I would have a much dreamier way of telling you, but all any addiction really ever is, is this voice that whispers ‘You need more.’

Didn’t mean to deviate but I’ve been meaning to write that one down because like every addict ever was just like yuuuuuup. I’m not trying to make light of it. I’m just at the point where I’m like, all right, let’s call everything what is it, be harshest to yourself first before anyone else steals that right. Because if history is any indicator, others are not going to be kind.

But then on the other hand I’m like….is ALL of this bull shit? Maybe I’m just a bitch and I can learn to not be if I want to actually try and stay with my husband. I mean he quit drinking maybe I could bother to not ALWAYS be mean, especially when I know I’m doing it. The problem is I’m always going to act first then realize how shitty I’m being after. Which sounds awful, but at least I know what’s happening.

If you’re wondering if I admit this to my husband, in part, yes. But not totally. In large part because I have to realize all of this by thinking about it all day at work. Less and less i think about my other writing. I can’t call it my novel, that sounds so douchey. I can’t with the ‘manuscript’ it’s its own thing, like contained chaos, at this point, so no labels and shit. And if I keep blogging at this rate, I’ll never get anywhere with all of that anyway and it’ll haunt me for all of my days. And so I don’t come to these conclusions until a few days later, and by then I really am not looking to restart an old fight so we can be upset with one another more.

No, I did not at any point say I think ANY of my behavior is healthy,* so please don’t start

*Disclaimer – when I say one of my recipes is healthy, it is. I do have this weird natural affinity for vegan/vegetarian dishes, though I am neither*

So I don’t always tell my husband I know how fucked my reactions are.

But I mean, as good as I am at obsessing over my own behavior like I’m observing some thought to be extinct animal I just don’t have the ability to call back anger. And anger is where I ALWAYS go. I don’t feel like that can helped. In part because okay remember my two parenting examples were a COMPLETE narcissist who was also a pretty incredible failure at life (think dishonorable discharge but that’s just a metaphor he definitely wasn’t in the military). Yet through it all, my mom stuck by him, and kept us, her innocent children, in the same house as him. What’s so fucking sad is how she thought she was doing the right, strong thing. But the abusive behavior started long before I was born. She told me. She didn’t mean to always tell me things a child shouldn’t hear. She just didn’t have anyone else. I’ve never doubted that my mother loves me, just that she probably was always too far gone to save herself, much less me. Which is actually an incredible gift to give someone, because when you get thrown off that dock you’re going to sink or swim, and us kids turned out to be a 50/50 split.

So those were my examples of adults growing up. The father I just described and have discussed so much before, who I haven’t seen in person in almost three years. And my sad, lonely, abused mother. Those were the options.

My brother had the revolting habit of acting SO much like our dad. It’s funny, because when someone hates someone as much as my brother hates my dad….and yet he acts so much like him….you’re just like….is it that invisible to the recipient of abuse? Does their trauma make some of them become just like their abuser but then tragically also blind to it, destined to always push normals away and repeat the cycle if they should have children?  That’s so fucked, if you think about it.

Because if they were strong enough, and smart enough, and have been handed just the right number of get-ahead-of-others passes in life, they’ll see that, they’ll see all of it. And then you’ll have someone like me. I’m still figuring out the rest as I go. But that’s always been my style.

So, I felt myself instantly jump into bad behavioral patterns instilled in me by my separately yet simultaneously abusive parents throughout my formative years. I’m not making an excuse, but rather an observation. It’s a bad, bad feeling, to realize this sort of shit. It just makes me yet again grateful I wasn’t dumb enough to have kids at a young age. It may well work for others, and great for them, but me? NO. NO NO NO. I would be an efficient mom, but I’m sure I would be just like my parents. Granted, if I’d just had my mom and Grandma’s damaging behaviors, I would’ve been all right, I just probably would’ve turned out a lot like them. It was my dad. He was and is and always will be the problem, the true cancer we need to extricate. I know that sounds harsh, but anyone who knows the truth knows I’m just being honest.

But, I should go, this much honesty takes times.

But really fast – if you recall a few scrolls ago I said I had two examples that would make my anger at my husband for potentially breaking something of mine seem less crazy:

1) The laptop – When I was a sophomore in college, my husband and I had just started living together. We were sitting down to watch a Youtube video of Trailer Park Boys, and he sat down too quickly with an open cup of water and sloshed water all over the keyboard of my laptop. It shorted out and I naturally freaked out. The laptop had been a once in a lifetime gift from my dad, and it had not only a final paper due in a few hours that I hadn’t submitted electronically yet but also all of my class notes for that semester, and it was obviously around the end of the semester. This was a final paper of the semester paper and it was an English literature class, so seriously. So I appropriately FREAKED THE FUCK OUT when those two things dawned on me. I recall this distinctly as the first time I told my husband “don’t fucking touch me” (I’d go on to say it so many times….). He had to go to class too, because it was like an exam day for him I think. And he came home with a stuffed monkey and a Choco Taco as an apology (And that ended up being a way more thoughtful gift than the nothing he got me for my birthday a few days later…but anyway….). It ended up working out, ONLY because I’d printed a really final rough draft of the paper a few days before, and it was unscathed in the recycling bin, so I just had to remember a few edits. I got it in before the deadline, but I remember being so mad that my husband had been so careless around such an important item.
2) The umbrella plant – I worked for years and years at a pet store. One day someone who no longer wished to possess a bearded dragon dropped one off at our store in a gross, dirty aquarium. The beardie was rehomed, but his tank needed to be thrown away. There was an umbrella plant that seemed to be doing pretty well, despite this family’s obvious neglect of their bearded dragon. I managed to call dibs on this umbrella plant, even though my one coworker usually managed to snag anything good in the employee freebies market at this store. And, for the FIRST TIME IN MY LIFE, I was able to keep a plant alive! I have a plant stand that was my Grandma’s (that has a very checkered history, because my mom and Grandma has to go to about eight different department stores before my Grandma picked one out, and it INFURIATED my mother that she kept being so fussy about it) that this umbrella plant lived on, where my five cats couldn’t bother it. And I know it sounds dumb, but I was seriously so proud I was keeping a plant around for years after trying and killing like three dozen different houseplants.
But then, nearly 6 years ago when we moved downstate, my husband left the plant I loved so dearly at my in-laws. We didn’t want to have to bother with the care moving a plant required when we were already moving so much so far. BUT, unbeknownst to me, my mother in law didn’t want a plant in the house because her cats would eat it. So she put it on their deck, where it promptly fried to death. I’d had the same plant for like 6 years and my mother in law killed it because she couldn’t bother to put it on a high shelf for a few days. It seriously still makes me angry. I should not care this much about a plant but I fucking do.

So, those are my two things. I know it makes me seem a little like a lunatic, but seriously, can’t I have anything? And there’s something so infuriating about the oblivious carelessness with which my husband conducts himself. And it makes me realize that he’s not used to the SHARP criticism I always endured. I was astounded when he said something wasn’t your fault if you didn’t mean to do it. How could that be? How could a person learn that accidents weren’t their fault? Is THAT fucking normal? If so, I am so off.

Wow, again, apologize for length. The short of it – I probably shouldn’t ever have kids.

 

~Cass