I can spend all of my spare time wishing I didn’t feel the way I feel…about everything……..about you
Or I could just get fucked up
Which would you do?
I can spend all of my spare time wishing I didn’t feel the way I feel…about everything……..about you
Or I could just get fucked up
Which would you do?
I forgot to put a new one in my purse.
So THIS has been a week.
In my brilliance I felt, with the impending move next month, it would be nice to hand my book off to an editor on June 1. Not have it to worry about. Sure makes sense, just now I have to have it ready for them in a week. Time to breathe into a bag.
But that’s fun enough stress, and I’m BEYOND excited that someone other than me is reading it, a literary someone at that! Ahhhhh!
But then. There’s finding a place to live. It’s draining the life out of me. Here are our criteria:
Must allow cats (NON NEGOTIABLE)
Laundry in unit (exception could be made for affordable enough place because laundry services, or a place with just hookups)
Minimum two bedroom. Minimum square footage, eh at least 750.
Not in an area where I’ll be afraid to walk out to my car alone in the morning Or afraid to be home alone at night.
Rent $1000 or less
Uninvolved landlord resulting in my husband’s ability to grow pot (for HIM this is non-negotiable)
Must at least come with a fridge and stove and garbage disposal
A dishwasher and central air is OUT of the fucking question.
You like how ALL of those could be fulfilled with A FUCKING APARTMENT including the fantasy appliances, except the ONLY thing that matters to my husband.
Then, if those two things weren’t enough…..
Last week I noticed my cat Oscar was walking strangely. I took him to the vet on Monday, they took an X-ray and said there was no visible damage, but a blood test he had while he was there revealed kidney failure, so now he has to eat prescription food. BUT, his walking is SO much worse now. He’s on a supplement and a painkiller and can barely move his back legs, he sleeps on a cardboard scratcher shaped like a couch and gets up to eat and piss, that’s it. It’s like he’s dying. I don’t know what to do. How did he get so bad so fast? Why did the rude ass judgmental vet and the BRAINLESS vet tech (this bitch couldn’t find my cats asshole to take his temperature, THATS how dumb she was….) seem to make him worse???? Should I pay another $150 at a different vet to find out if they lied to me? Is it like a mechanic that lets a problem go because they’ll know you’ll be back with a way more expensive repair in a month????? My poor little man.
I’ve had Oscar since I was 17. Thinking about not having him in my life makes me start to cry, in the break room at work. Any time I think of it. Idk.
Things are shit right now.
Next months I’m sure I’ll be better
“You ever think nothing good is going to happen to you?”
“Yeah, and nothing did. And I made it, I survived.”
That’s a quote from a good show, between two of whom I consider to be their best characters.
Work made me go talk to HR again, so I could, for a second time, tell them to go fuck off. I think they were hoping I changed my mind. Goes to show they don’t know me at all.
A lot of days I wonder how worthwhile therapy is. Does it help? Would I notice? Sometimes it’s not easy to part with $30 a week and two hours of evening time. Other days I’m like…really Cassie…because you’d make such wise decisions with that time and money otherwise….
I’m still working on my book of course, essentially every day. But lately I’ve been hyper discouraged about the whole situation. There are scenes I like. The beginning is solid. But there are parts that are years and years old, and parts that are so new I haven’t even edited them once yet. So at this point I’m trying to smash together finely honed properly aged greatness with unedited and raw information that is probably necessary. And I mean. Also still pretty irritated with my husband. My therapist was like, I don’t understand how he could have let the copy hit the table, much less let it sit for so long. Honestly I don’t even know how to bring it up. The last time I tried talking to him about it he just got pissy. And that was like two weeks ago.
What I’ve truly learned from therapy since I started is the notion that I’m ambivalent about everything and there’s never been a man in my life to do anything besides disappoint me.
Great. I’ll just get to fixing all that.
Seriously confused who’s connecting to this blog via Facebook, but whatever. I don’t plaster this shit all over the place for someone to not come by and see it. It’s a graffiti sort of thing, I think. But at the same time, it’s a bit more private than graffiti. I can’t believe I grew up into someone who pays for a blog.
Ambivalence, like sarcasm, is the language of the weak.
It’s funny, because I’m not bad at
making decisions. And I know what I like. For example, I have
eyeliner tattooed on my upper eyelids. I knew for certain I wanted
black. Even though the woman who did it seemed to question this,
since I’m not very dark, and she had so many shades to choose from.
Yeah no. I already have like nonexistant eyelashes, I’m not doing a
soft brown eyeliner on a permanent basis. I’d worn nothing but solid
black eyeliner for so many years, it wasn’t a question. Stuff like
that isn’t hard for me. But feelings? Ha!
Like my Grandma. On the one hand, she was the only reason I had even a remotely normal childhood. She paid my tuition so I didn’t have to go to the shitty public school by my house. She bought me school clothes. When I was 19 she bought me a car. Now that I’m older and can appreciate these things, I see my Grandma probably helped protect my mom in many ways over the years, since my Grandma was the one with the money. Not a ton, but SIGNIFICANTLY more than my parents. BUT, my Grandma was also pretty hateful and demanding and frigid and sure to criticize and talk shit and judge, not to mention she was the kind of racist one might assume someone born in 1918 Wisconsin. She also held everything she bought for us over our heads, and used them as examples of why we weren’t allowed to ever do anything she didn’t like or “talk back” (i.e. defend myself) in any way. THIS was the source of genuine love and compassion in my life. This was the normal part of my family. The “good” part, I guess. My father’s side is a MUCH closer brush against your genuine northern trash. Not to mention, if you look at just how terrible and fucked my father and his sisters are….it’s really shocking to consider what their parents must have been like. Just a special sort of fucked. Not that I care. Or that makes anything he did okay. I just understand the cycle of abuse probably didn’t start with him.
It’s a nice day out, I’m as broke as ever. But the days you don’t eat a lot you’re just like…eh, I wanted to lose weight anyway. Then you pay for a $22 pole dancing class because it’s the one fucking fun thing you do all week and you wear clothing from higher end retail to work because of your mother in law or your credit cards. The only two reasons you have any nice things. Which they say won’t make you happy, and you’re like…okay…but they keep saying exercise makes you happy too…and I’m still waiting for that shit to kick in.
What do people who don’t smoke weed every day even do?
I reason with myself it’s an easy enough time to be in a good mood. It’s a Sunday that you wouldn’t call warm, but it’s finally not freezing, either. You have pole dance class at noon, in two and a half hours. It demarcates the single hour of your week you spend not at home or work or driving between the two. Now, since the beginning of February, I’ve been using an hour every Wednesday for therapy.
So now I have two things, two hours of my week, arguably the two most productive hours of my week, and they cost me $52, like clockwork. What’s a girl to do?
See now I’m thinking about money and I’m in less of a good mood. If my husband were here (he’s at work, like usual for Sundays, which is why I think of Sunday morning as more “my” time than Saturdays, when he’s here) he’d admonish me for bringing up something unpleasant so early in the morning. But he’s an expert at just never talking about or dealing with anything, because it’ll be unpleasant (not that he’s ever said that, but live with someone 10 years and tell me you don’t know them) so I tend to get irritated. But frankly I guess I get irritated about almost everything.
Which is why I’m trying to tell myself to be in a good mood.
It is a good morning. I’m drinking black coffee (yes, I’m one of those people) and sparkling water (because dear, I have an obsession) and smoking weed, and writing in CF. Well, editing. I have this cockamamie idea that I’ll have a polished draft to give to my best friend when I see her for my birthday. But that’s 13 days from now. Also this my last two weeks of being thirty. How weird. It wasn’t a great year, I won’t lie, but it had a lot of great moments. I will say that.
Today is one, I guess. I have nothing but writing time until I leave for pole.
After pole, I need to go to a Dollar Tree for painters’ masks, because you need those for my newest distraction endeavor.
Guess what it is.
It’s doing my nails.
See the long backstory is, I was jealous, really jealous, of the girls who went to my private high school whose mother’s were somehow willing to drop as much on their daughter’s beauty routines as on their own. Perhaps it was a bonding thing. I’m not judging, I’m just saying that looking at it right now, I can see why some mothers would be exasperated that these unrealistic $90 salon trips were the norm for some of their daughter’s peer group. So I saw A LOT of girls who got to get their nails done professionally (back then, in the early 00s, it was all acrylic pinks and fancy French tips, I refuse to do this style, for that reason). So I did what young Cassie was like to do, figure out a way around it using my inability to let something go when I’m into it.
So I learned how to do nails, and lo and fucking behold, it’s SUPER cheap (compartatively, to salon prices) to do them yourself. Plus the added grossness of a public place where hands and feet are cleaned and groomed and pampered is nonexistant if you do them at home. So in high school, I would at times have crazy long and fancily-painted nails, all of which I did at home by myself. People would ask me where I got them done.
It’s just another example of how you can get around a lot of the stuff that you want, if you try hard enough.
for awhile…let’s say….two years, right around the time I got
married until a little before things with R ended (thank God), I was
getting my nails done. When I interviewed for the job I have
currently, I remember having brown and clear glitter sparkle
alternating with a pointed gel job.
But, I got sick of having this extra errand to run at minimum twice a month, and one that involved a lot of time and being around strangers and in a public place and worst of all, coming into physical contact with someone else.
(HUGE SIDE NOTE/FOOTNOTE ON PHYSICAL CONTACT AND CASSIE: I hate, HATE, physical contact with other people. If you’re close enough to me for me to smell you, I do NOT want it to be happening….additional footnote – the ONLY time this is not true is if it’s someone I’m fucking, OR someone I would like to fuck….LITERALLY the only time I will ever ever ever touch someone. I don’t even mean in a sexual or intimate way, I mean in the world’s most professional handshake. In Hannibal at one point, after giving a rousing lecture on the connection between greed and death by hanging, Hannibal Lecter holds onto a pile of books so he isn’t obliged to shake anyone’s hand as they congratulate him on his stunning success at impressing them. I remember reading it and being like…smart..so smart…need to start doing that… So yeah, if someone I’m not fucking or want to fuck hugs me, on the inside, I’m fucking cringing, at best. It’s how I’ve always been. This isn’t to say I’m not physically affectionate…but again…with the people I have sex with. ANYWAY, I just thought I’d explain that, because it’s a huge part of my shit).
So now I’m going to start doing my nails.
I have pole class, then to buy painters’ masks so I don’t breathe in a ton of toxic nail dust.
I think about it…and I go WAY out of my way to not look like a poor person…don’t I….
At least as much as I can.
haven’t gotten my hair cut at a salon in at about four years. If you
read my disclaimer you might understand why I don’t like it. Also,
it’s expensive. Plus I like having super long hair and it’s NOT hair
to cut your own split ends and layer your own hair, it’s just not.
My clothing, the nicer pieces, were all gifts from my mother in law. I buy the random piece (on credit) but that’s about it. I tend to wear things for as long as possible.
With make up, I stopped wearing a ton of it every day, but what I wear every day is still top of the line. Two years ago I had eyeliner tattooed on my eyelids, so that saves money and is the best in many other ways, like it’s always perfect.
But, honestly, since college, when I was FINALLY free of the fucking dress code restrictions of my grade school and high school, people have always noticed/remembered me by my wardrobe. And makeup. Time to add nails, is it not?
Plus idk, it’s something I kind of miss having done, and I’m yet again at a point in my life where I could never afford getting them on the regular basis that they need. My husband took a lower paying job, the lowest paying one he’s had since he graduated college, for better insurance. So we could go to therapy. Which still costs us a combined $60 per week. Then my pole dance class is $22. His gym is $25 every other week and then a twice years $600 infusion, I believe. WHY DOES IT COST SO MUCH TO BE HEALTHY AND LOOK FABULOUS?
Wow that’s like literally the point of this blog and all of my thoughts that aren’t my book, CF. Which still isn’t as good as I want it to be, and I’ve read it BY MY FUCKING SELF so many times that I can’t even begin to look at it objectively.
Anyway, I should get some writing done before class, with the quiet and the cool spring morning and the dozens of active songbirds (so adorably trying to get laid by singing so prettily) and the weed high and all.
I keep myself on a strict cleaning schedule so I don’t neglect anything to grossness but also don’t lose all of my time and energy to cleaning (because instinctively, that’s what I want to do…) and I’m caught up for the weekend. So I can spend the whole afternoon while dinner crockpots itself doing my nails and writing. I’ve been on a vodka kick but I bought some of those Fosters fat boys for this afternoon as well.
Sometimes, I can’t tell
If it’s the weed and the booze and my general state of numbed acquiescence that I brought with me from childhood
Or if my life isn’t actually so bad
I guess it depends on perspective
and your list of needs
All I know is
My best friend, and now my therapist, they both don’t like my husband
Is there something I can’t see?
Or is it just how I put things to them? That I have the same shit-talking negative bent every other member of my family has? I had someone else straight up ask me if I was being abused, from reading this blog.
So I’m literally super confused
And like. Depending on how I feel in any given moment dictates how I feel about my life
AND THAT, dear readers,
is a rare gift from my mother.
See, that’s the thing.
That’s the fucking problem
She, the one with the SUPER depressive personality, and massive inferiority issues, and the mood swings and the stress eating, she was the one example of love I had
Sure, everyone, EVERYONE, always commented on how nice she was. Yeah. In public. When she was around people she was worried about keeping up the facade around. That was NOT the case at home, especially not when it was just her and I.
Anyway. Back to my book.
Well, I’ve done it this time.
So, here’s a recap (also, sorry blog, with a human therapist, I don’t need you as much…..I feel like I’ve mentioned this already, but, alcohol…).
October 2018: Told about potential new job I am prime candidate for in different department
January 2019: Told I am interviewing for said job
February 12 2019: Interview for job
March 22 2019: Am told it is unknown to everyone involved except my future boss as to what the hold up is….am given vague idea that he doesn’t want to fire people to make room for me, and that’s exactly what would have to happen…so president of company is pushing future boss to make appointment, telling president of HR it’s “not up to [future boss]”
ME: SO WHAT YOU’RE TELLING ME IS….my new boss is being forced to take me on as an employee, AND people who have been in that department for years are getting fired because I’ll be taking on this new position…….WOW. What a great way to start off! Who wouldn’t be fucking stoked, at this point? WTF is wrong with me?
So like, I guess it’s my fault for not seeing how too good to be true this is.
BUt today, that thing…that thing I do…it happened….like….ahhhhh why am I like this, BUT ALSO, WHY DO OTHER PEOPLE ALWAYS DRIVE ME TO THIS KIND OF BEHAVIOR?
But today my boss came over and asked for my port number, which they ask when your desk is moving, and for ONE second I was like…OMG is it really happening????? Then I hear it being discussed…….no, the girl they hired who used to work for the company back when I started who left, SHE’S getting my spot…and a job in a department with one of the hottest human beings I’ve ever seen as its director…..And I have to be the only employee at the empty pod at the very front of our department. I AM SO EXCITED FOR THE IDIOT COMMENTS. THE “OH, WHAT, ARE YOU IN TIME OUT? DID THEY HAVE TO SEPARATE YOU FROM THE OTHERS?” AH AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA. jESUS fuck I hate people.
When I was 16, I JUST HAD to go get a job RIGHT AWAY, even before I had a car, so I was a cashier at a Jo-Anns, they make the new cashiers wear “In Training” name badges.
To this day, I am literally sickened by the number of people who made some sort of “Boy, that’s sure a strange name for your mom to have picked out.” comments. IT WAS CONSTANT. Or the “UH OH, an IN TRAINING cashier, I’ll be sure to check my receipt twice!!!”
I am NOT the sort of person who should have worked 11 years of retail.
People are so goddamn shitty and worthless.
Wait, you, too, Cassie?
In my own way, I’d like to think.
So, today, when I realized I wasn’t going anywhere, that all the other people who were promoted at the same time as me are officially gone, and that now that fucking cunt from years ago is taking MY spot, and gets to work for that gorgeous piece of human being…while I get stuck at the desks we use as a buffet for potluck days ALONE, for who knows how long.
Well. After that, I was in a BAD MOOD. And….yeah…UNFORTUNATELY, I was thrown into a situation where I had to interact closely with my boss and….YEAH, jesus fuck, I literally lost control of myself. LIke…what did I do? Did I fake my way through way too much as a kid, now as an adult I fucking show my real emotions like some lunatic? I have a theory that you get so many hours of hiding your feelings. It’s something you’re born with. One of your stats. And MINE IS FUCKING GONE MAN. It was gone a long time ago.
So now, now I just have to keep an ACTUAL handle on myself. Do you realize how impossible this is? LIke….dude……DUDE today was so bad.
So, my boss can see how pissed I am.
And I was unable to fake my way out of it, like i normally do when confronted in this manner. She ended up making me go in her office to talk about it . Pretty quickly she was like “Cassie, you look like you’re about to cry.”
I literally don’t remember what even came of it. AT the end, she said something along the lines of “Well I think the world of you, and let me know if there’s anything I can do for you.”
Which I’m aware this is a nice thing for her to say. At no point did I say she was a bad boss, she’s always been exceedingly nice to me. Unsure as to why, perhaps she can sense what’s so horribly wrong with me? I’m like this pretty wounded deer that like some people instinctively want to bash with a shovel while probably an equal number of people would want to nurture and rehabilitate. Not that my boss is an animal person, at all, it’s a metaphor. Simile. One time R was a HUGE ass when I mixed those two up, and honestly it lowered him in my estimation forever. FUNNY that N couldn’t even reach the very very very nearly subterranean bar that R set, isn’t it? Like why? Because you know R never lied to me. FUCKED as he was in every other way (he even got progressively less hot as the 8 months went by, because alcohol) but he NEVER LIED TO ME. N fucking smooth talked me from the get go. You just DON’T expect that from someone who says they’re in an open marriage. Like…why would those guys need game? They can just be cool and honest. Oh wait, no, even in that situation, most of them are absolute garbage. Bonus points for one you actually enjoy talking to who cites that as a reason not to pursue anything…..I mean that alone…that and the CLEARLY misleading me….not over it, never will be. Am literally disgusted I almost let him read CF1. I mean, sex is one thing, that that happened, or anything even remotely physical. Now it’s just an annoyance of a memory of something that never was. I don’t do second chances. No one fucks with me, not twice. One might attempt to argue I did indeed give N a second chance….well, you’re wrong, that was all part of the same chance. I didn’t say the first ones weren’t quite prolonged.
I guess a good way to put it – when I’m done with you, I’M FUCKING DONE. I ghosted my parents. Once you do that, you realize you can be drastic about pretty much anything that’s irking you.
Dude I am so sick of crying. I’ve been crying since I got home from work. At first my husband was being nice, but IDK, he just kind of walked off after I said something along the lines of “well maybe if EVERYTHING in our life wasn’t dependent on where I work.” It’s true though. I make 4x what he does. We’re insured through him, which is a relief in a way. Like part of me just wants to no call no show this shit.
Because, also, haven’t mentioned yet:
about a month ago, on a friday the whole department was gathered in the training lab for these stupid quizzes they give us that we’re not allowed to call quizzes, someone else from the department announced for me to everyone, without my consent or knowledge, that I’d be leaving. And I guess a few people had already heard that it was happening from our boss, and I’m just like…well, as long as people have all heard about it….from someone who isn’t me…..and now she’s had me train other people how to do my stuff…and other people now do my stuff…so I’m literally hard pressed to find things to do throughout the day. Even today, and I was covering for someone out sick.
So. IDK, the idea of having to move from my spot NOT into my new job that ALLEGEDLY is a thing, but instead the effing outskirts of my former/current department, for WHO knows how long? And my boss sent me an email chain with the forward “I’m not lying to you.” that was her inquiring with my HR person and the president of the company about it. and I mean first of all, I never ONCE thought she was, like none of this is really her doing, I’m aware it’s not up to her. But I mean, really, why would I go work for this guy? Who’s dying to be like, HEY, YEAH, ME, I’m the one they forced you to hire! HEY! BE COOL TO ME, RIGHT?
My whole face hurts from crying. My husband gave up on being nice to me when I started doing the thing where I let one upset snowball into all the upsets. Is it my fault there’s so many?
-haven’t seen own mother in years
-have no friends (1 bff I see about once/year)
-90k student loan debt (THAT GETS WORSE EVERY MONTH)
-Soulless job that have 0% to do with my EXPENSIVE academic pursuits
-General mental turmoil of the job application process
-What i like to call moderate alcoholism
-Near constant weed use (ANOTHER HUGE DETRIMENT WHILST JOB HUNTING)
-have been working very hard for very long time, with nothing to show for it
-no kids, idea that time will run out on this endeavor, similarly also relief I don’t have any kids because I can barely take care of my own shit.
-idea that scarring childhood actively hinders/ruins adult situations/relationships is literally the cruelest sort of insult one could hurl forth. Like N, and his “we got along TOO well” arugment. Will I ever not be mad about that? I guess time will tell.
-general notion that anything i ever am excited about is ruined (good example: my wedding)
I am so tired. If there’s a thought I didn’t finish, sorry, my head hurts, need sleep. must deal with work garbage tomorrow………….
Well blog, I don’t know what to say, other than, now that I have a human therapist, I feel a significantly smaller need for you. Sorry. You’re a positively lovely archive of my mental illness, which makes me treasure you, but, there are only so many hours in the fucking day, am I right?
Therapy is going well. I always am a mix of having no idea what to say and being amazed I have yet to bring certain topics up. I mention my book about 756 times per session, but I still haven’t brought up R, even though I’m not avoiding it, it just hasn’t happened yet.
CF1 is still coming along, although at times I feel like my original date of December 2019 for completion might be far-fetched. Not to mention, between you and I, blog, I’ve been getting fucked like crazy, so like effing hopefuly I get pregnant soon? Like I don’t want to be an old mom, and it would be REALLY smart of me to have kids while my MIL is still living, because she will help tremendously with paying for things. And I’ve always, always imagined having children. I mean at this point, even one child (even though as a rule, when I was young, I hated only children).
I have to tell you guys, my book in insanely good. Like I really, really love it. It’s fun to read, and I’ve read it roughly 8500 times.
Isn’t it funny that out of all of my paranoia, I’m not at all convinced I’m delusional instead of arrogant?
I wonder at what age my face begn betraying my anger. It wasn’t until I was well into my twenties.
I have the next three days off. I want to write as much as possible. Sooner or later, if not December them shortly after, I’ll be done with this first book. I have so many ideas. I have some problems, but not knowing what to write isn’t one of them. I’m set through two different series. After that, I’ll figure it out, like I figure everything out.
I wonder what it is that I do to alienate everyone
it sure is something