What the goddamn fucking shit is going on with this past week, am I on some sort of reality TV show right now?

Just absorb the message of that email:

I’ve gotten three reviews from this exact boss before. This is first time she’s ever requested we do so on a Saturday…and for the specific reason that she wants to do it when no one else is there…..BUT WHY.

I guess if I walk in on Saturday and someone from HR is with her I’ll know. She said it’ll take “approximately thirty minutes.” I’m literally filled with questions and confusion and dread. OMFG it’s been the week for those feelings, hasn’t it???

Like, I would love to say I’m not upset and angry about shit. But I am. I wish I wasn’t. If there was something I could magically fucking do to stop consistently thinking about the same shit, I would do it. I mean I tried rage stigmata, but my hands aren’t strong enough not like they were when I was a kid. At least now I just have to hold it together at work. My husband is good, VERY good, about emotional support. That and his unique status as the first/only guy to ever EVER appreciate me for the awesome person I am are why I’m still with him AND married to him AND took his last name. Again, these things did not occur magically, they are possibly my hardest “earned things that aren’t things” as I like to call them. Like my friendship with my best friend, which most people don’t have with someone from the 8th grade. Or the fact that my ENTIRE life people have been telling me I’m a strong/talented/good writer. Or that my husband tells me all the time that I’ll always have a husband who loves me.

Oh my fucking god, like WHAT IS THIS WEEK? Do you realize how normal and happy and excited I felt last Thursday compared to today?

You know what I found TRULY unfair? How misery doesn’t burn calories. I mean, it should, right? You can say the whole lost-my-appetite-due-to-sadness and yes that does happen to me all the time but I’m still an alcoholic who truly prefers beer. Jesus I haven’t worked out in like a week. But it’s cool because I haven’t been able to afford pole classes in a month. It’s $75 for 4, and it’s $ I just haven’t had. Which is so fucking embarrassing and pathetic. I’m thirty, I’ve been working since I was 16, I worked full time through a bachelors and a masters….and I’ve been living paycheck to paycheck the entire time. My husband is a barista. Yeah. I work REALLY hard at not comparing myself to others…which is good….because I really often think about how no one else I know rents anymore or drives the car they had when they were 19. But whatever. I’d trade actual, genuine friendships/FWB over that other shit. But spoiler I don’t get that either. I see my best friend roughly three times a year, on a good year.

Why doesn’t crying burn calories? It goddamn should. All it does is make my under-eye area super puffy, then the next day it’s a little more wrinkled than it was. How DEEPLY unfair is it that crying causes eye wrinkles???? Like…clearly I already HAVE problems please no more.

Speaking of, I read something that said donating blood burns a shit ton of calories and prevents cancer.

Do you think that last one is true, or is it like Red Cross propaganda? The calories makes sense because like…they steal a pint of your blood and all.

The game plan.

I am on my first tall can.

I have one more.

Before he goes to spar, I’m going to ask my husband to get my the shit for my favorite mixed drink. Prepare yourselves, because I’m about to reveal how trash I really am. It’s rum (a cheap one, because we’re broke AF like always on Thursdays, so probably Castillo…yeah….Castillo.) and wild cherry pepsi on ice. Don’t tell me that isn’t perfect and amazing. But it’s probably just as calorie-laden as beer.

BUT the drunk from booze is different than beer drunk. Personally, I HATE wine drunk. I know, revoke my vagina right now. Like most people I don’t like who I become on tequila, I don’t like any of the “brown” liquors (despite LOVING the phrase “stuff it down with brown,” I just pretend it pertains to beer…although I only like light beers like pilsners or heffeweizens or kolsch. OMFG I love Kolsch beer. Okay I sound like one of the pretension douches. Get this straight, 90% of the time I drink Coors Light from the can. I don’t even pour it in a glass because then I have to wash that glass.

So I’m going to get very, very drunk tonight. I work at 6am tomorrow, and it’s going to be a day spent ENTIRELY thinking about how my boss is making me drive to work an EIGHTH time this week to give me my review when no one else is around. There’s literally no chance it’s for a GOOD reason. W used to do this to me. He’d have to break away from a lecture/screaming session because the POS needs to chill out all the time (by “chill out” I mean sit and watch TV and drink coffee and chew tobacco and get high on pain meds/booze) THEN when he’s done chilling out…if he doesn’t feel the need to nap (thank god W never had a job to get in the way of his lifestyle) it was right back to it. I’d be in my room, or watching TV in a room separate from the room HE watched TV in…and there he’d come, charging in, all angry (even moreso this time because you know, heightened level of fucked up-ed-ness) just to bring it up all over again, and just keep saying the same shit over and over. That’s part of his I’m-going-to-wear-you-down-mentally play. W never stopped being a shitbag cop. No one knows this more than his family. With my mom, he’d come charging into the room where she was attempting to dissociate and say, “AND ANOTHER THING,” that’s how he always started it. Like…keep that fight going…don’t let bad feelings die…bring up mistakes someone made 5 years ago when you’re mad at them for something completely unrelated….just you know, the mean (WOW that was a mistype but a spooky one…) the MANY things he did on a constant basis that I grew up thinking were normal. I was the only one smart enough to get away out of the four of us. I guess W’s way out is a little dark, but you know what the fucker chose his lot in life when he ruined my childhood and my brother’s sanity.

This is why, more than ANYTHING else, I’ve so far controlled my urges to contact N again. Because I’m seriously obsessed by the idea.

Not over sex.

Please.

Do I LOOK desperate? Look at my ass in this dress. You could crack walnuts with that thing.

IMG_0150_Moment.jpg

BUT, like….I fucking NEED beta readers. And who else do I know who’s smart besides my very busy best friend? My husband is already my very first reader.

Is this me lying to myself?

IDK. I don’t think so?

I don’t mean to be mean but like….it’s not like the guy is SO good-looking I can’t be around him without it getting weird for my hypersexual self. Like the MEGA fine director who sits by me who says good morning to me on certain mornings. I literally cannot look at him and talk to him at the same time without turning SO red. We had a guy in sales, one who I had to work with because I remove sold units when the buyers come get them, and EVERY time he came over and talked to me, I could feel my face turning red as the conversation went on. Omg he was so cute. I added him on Linked In and he never accepted. He left the company kind of bitterly, but he bothered to come over and say good-bye to me when he said he was probably going to be leaving because he asked for more money and if he didn’t get it he was leaving. SO tragic the day Donnie left. I said his name. It’s common enough I guess. So, I don’t have all that going on with N. Plus I’m great at looking terrible when I want to. It’s a skill if you’re trying not to get creeped on. Not saying N was creepy with me…in fact the opposite…if taunting someone with sex (twice!) is the opposite of being a creeper.

So. I could potentially see asking him to read CF (nickname clusterfuck).

But then part of my brain is like What are you doing? Do you WANT to have to kick yourself later? Why do you love that SO Cassie, mmm? Do you know? Why are you intent on pursuing the men who behave as if you couldn’t possibly matter that much to them?

I always know.

I’d say that’s the deepest loss in all of this.

God I CANNOT stop obsessing over this.

It’s just like when I was like….8-12 years younger than I am now.
Well that’s probably not the best sign.

SIGH.

Well, I think I’m going to finish this night out by writing maybe another page – because side note I want to try and write every day in November – then I’m going to drink heavily and play Friday the 13th online, which is a dope game, if you’re so inclined to gaming.

‘Til next time

The soon to be unemployed

~Cassie

It’s always been the same

So I was working out and watching Six Feet Under and the cliche troubled baby of the family was getting an even more cliche talk from a high school guidance counselor (did anyone else get totally mislead by media and think they would actually be sitting down and having heart to hearts with a guidance counselor in high school? Literally never did that once, never once did I discuss my plans for the future with anyone. I had to figure it all out on my own. I did pretty good though) and while said cliche baby of the family was saying she didn’t want to go to college to get a good job to work until she dropped dead of exhaustion (I was like..yep…yep, sounds accurate) the counselor asked what she wanted to do instead.

Whenever someone is a television show is having an angsty existential crisis about the meaning and purpose of life, or they’re just feeling familial and societal pressure to pick a career path for the rest of your life when your brain isn’t even fully developed yet, I always have the same answer for the trite questions they get asked. Like, if you didn’t have to worry about money, what would you do? If it was solely about doing something constructive that you loved the most, what would that constructive thing be? You can’t say marijuana strain tester or your personal equivalent of that, either.

So, what’s my answer? I would write. Like no matter what the status of my life. That’s always been the case. And I’ll admit, there’s been some LONG lulls. I started writing I’d say roughly a year or two after I learned to read. I remember doing it by hand then on an electric typewriter. We didn’t own a computer until I was in the second or third grade. But then of course, having an in-home, then later on in-room computer was very conducive to writing being a major pastime of my childhood. I remember quite distinctly, many pleasant Saturday evenings spent by myself in my room, writing on my computer. Honestly, I had next to nothing of a social life in high school, but I don’t think I bothered to make much time for it. My plan was to keep the files I had managed to start and use them to write during (ha) college.  Of course that didn’t go incredibly well because timewise one doesn’t have a lot to go around for personal writing between working and college and needing to sleep. And at one point I even thought I would take a career path that led me far away from writing or anything to do with it, I was an accounting major for awhile…blegh. That’s like…the tiny part of me that wanted to act basic to fit in…that’s what that was. I remember receiving encouragement from an academic adviser at my undergraduate school and being like…well that’s at least one person to not shit on the concept. And it was like finally hearing what I wanted to hear made me realize that I already KNEW what I wanted to hear. Like they say when you need to make a decision you should flip a coin, because you’ll realize while the coin is turning mid-air that you already know which side you hope to see.

So, like the beginning of Goodfellas, a movie I watched again and again as a teen, you know this whole, I always wanted to be a writer kind of thing.

So I guess I should be spending my evenings writing then, huh? I should. But instead I’m on WordPress, taking 600 words to get to that run-on sentence in the paragraph before this one.
I am the master of run-ons. If you think two degrees in English changed that, I don’t feel like you know me well enough yet. Which I mean, most people don’t so you can feel good about being part of the majority on that one.

This week was a personal best. I budgeted us down to $0.06. That’s how much we have left until my husband gets paid on Friday. I do too but his money will be there first because I work for a company that thinks people won’t show up to work on Friday if they direct deposit our paychecks. True story.

Have I mentioned how incredibly sick I am of being poor? Of being fucking broke, rather? Like I feel like I exist like a bum on certain levels, but like…I don’t know I know I’m smart, but I also feel fucking TRAPPED in a poor person’s shit cycle.
How did it start? Well, I CERTAINLY grew up in a home that was not financially solvent. It’s SO awkward when people ask about vacations you took as a child and you’re like…uhhh….what?  Everyone was too busy being dysfunctional and taking out their negative emotions on one another and being hyper critical of one another, plus we were POOR. My Grandma would buy us school clothes and give my mom money to make ends meet, but she certainly wasn’t going to pay for us to take vacations. She was NOT a frivolous person. Remember, she grew up the only child of an alcoholic shell shock probably gay WW1 veteran farmer, and her parents got married after she’d been conceived…so….yeah, she thought people who had big houses and more than one car per adult and who went on frequent vacations were ungodly, and I mean that in the most serious terms. I’m not at all talking shit about her but the woman certainly had a narrow view of the word. I mean…she was from an all white town (that’s a generous word for it) in Wisconsin, she was born in 1918…she never went to college. She was very well read though, and volunteered as a teacher’s aide for most of her adult life. She was also very into donating blood, for some reason. I do that too, when I can. I have the most common blood type so it’s important.
SO, anyway, growing up poor kind of influences you into being used to always just scraping by, nothing more, of using credit cards to pay for things you couldn’t otherwise afford. AND, of course, there was nothing saved up for my college. My dad implied I should’ve just gotten a full ride scholarship. That’s the thing, no matter how much he praised me, he also had this way of undermining everything everyone else did or liked. That wears on a person, after awhile. And I got some scholarships, but certainly not a free ride. I went to the cheapest state school in my state though…so that helped I guess. So I started accumulating debt right at 18. What else was I supposed to do, not go to college? The only cheaper option that would have worked would have been the community college in my town….but why would I do that when I didn’t have to? I’m fucking above community college caliber, even if I am poor white trash when you look at my credit score. Which I need to start doing soon.
Then, the debt just kept snowballing from there. I took out a lot of credit cards. I remember taking out one and maxing it out immediately to pay my rent. What else was I supposed to do? Then, as the years passed and I was still totally supporting myself and living by myself I took out a few personal student loans as well, in addition to the money from the federal government. A lot more credit cards were gotten. At one point, I had to use one of those credit card debt repayment help services. They turn off all of your credit cards, but collections processes stop, they stop calling you, and you start paying them off at a reduced rate. It really did help. But there were a few I didn’t enroll in that service, and then I just started accumulating more and more as the years passed. The Mattress World one when we bought our bed together a week before we got engaged. The Menards one when we desperately needed window air conditioners for our rental house and we had no other means to purchase them. The Target one the night I bought my 2DS with R (blegh again). The JC Penney one when I realized the same card could be used for Sephora make up and work clothes. Then Care credit we’ve used to get our cats to the vet for years now. Then the three regular credit cards that are pretty much always maxed out. Then I obviously have student loan payments. THEN all the money it takes to just exist.
Ugh, just writing that makes me realize how impossible it all is. We’re making more now that we ever have, but maybe it hasn’t happened long enough for me to notice. It’s like we can’t figure it out. We’re broke AF all the time but literally the only extraneous thing we spend money on is weed. And we used to both smoke cigarettes and drink every single day in addition to always smoking weed, so I’m quite uncertain how there’s less now. And that’s with my in laws still paying for both of our cell phones and my husband’s car insurance. We only so recently started paying our rent ourselves. What, like you’re too good to take free rent money when it’s offered? Please. When people get weird when I tell them that, they’re just jealous. I’d be jealous and hateful too, so I deem it fine.
But, I mean, I feel kind of trapped when it comes to money. Maybe that’s my problem. I always manage to get us just through the week, and that’s all I’m able to do it would seem.
BUT, the huge bright side to my financial complaints is that it doesn’t cost anything to be a writer. I mean sure it takes my time, but what other potentially profitable thing could I really be fitting into post working out after work and making dinner? That’s a whopping 1-3 hour window, also of course it’s my only me time.

Wow, it’s really late, and this has gotten really long. I am beginning to strongly doubt that I’ll bother making dinner tonight.

But like I said, always wanted to be a writer, despite my MANY, MANY other horrid life choices and preferences and decisions, I will always stay true to this one pursuit and it seems so natural and right I can’t explain it to anyone.

See, I can be succinct when I want, but where’s the real craftsmanship in that?

~Cassie