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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lates

~Cassie

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