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

By now you can probably tell what happened

I have this selective inspiration, it’s been fucking with me since high school. I get my first job, and only on the awful days I had to work 4-9 after school would I feel the genuine rush of inspiration necessary to try and write eloquent thought at 16. In college, much the same. Of course I was working much more by then, but when you spend roughly eight months out of the year in college full time, when you just have to work full time during the summer, it’s almost like you’re on vacation…and I would go entire summers without writing a fucking thing…only to be DYING to the second the fall semester started.

So as an adult, I would have to come up  with something really clever to get myself to actually write, right?

Well, maybe I did it.

Because one of the obnoxiously fucked things about me is how I’m really good at putting in whatever effort I need to to exist and provide for myself and my cats, but deep down I’m perpetually disappointed with how lazy I am. And how fruitless and pointless MOST things seem. But mainly that first thing. And I’m a special sort of fucked, from my dad’s side to be certain, where I’m always going to sabotage myself a little bit. It’s like they’re all the same sort of person who not only think of the shitty thing to say, they also ALWAYS say the shitty thing. You know the type I mean.

But, I think I figured some loophole. Remember the at-home job I got recently through my current job? Well, at first I had a very gung-ho spirit about the endeavor, but now it’s been a month and I keep finding excuses not to do it. Because, more than anything, I want to spend my spare time writing.

Let me tell you about last weekend.

I spent most of Sunday writing. I got like 14 pages. I guess that doesn’t sound like a lot. But when i say “most of Sunday” I mean the few spare hours I could have spent cleaning or some shit. I did do other things, like take out the trash and cook dinner, but I could have gotten more intense with the cleaning because it seems and feels and looks like this house always needs it. And fuck knows I won’t get assistance from anywhere else. But my husband works at least 56 hours a week now, and he leaves when I leave (which is at 6am twice a week and 7am the other days) but gets home hours after I do. So it’s a lot easier for me to be complacent about constantly looking after all aspects of life except his going to work now.

So, garbled long story short, I wrote 14 pages of fiction on Sunday. When I was done for the day I asked my husband if he wanted to read it. He said yes but then he also actually read some of it too. He seemed really positive about it, he had genuinely nice things to say it, and specific compliments are always good to know. I mean maybe it was a smoke show, but more likely not.

And I do the opposite writing of what I do with food. You start with the best parts writing. So of course by the best parts, I mean the sex scenes. So that’s what I always start with. Or some other really intense scene, but mostly the sexual ones. I can’t help it, it’s entirely a part of my nature. It was during English class in the seventh grade when I realized I could daydream sexual fantasies. Not of myself at that age with anyone, but of characters that I would carry with me mentally for years and would still be writing about here at the end of my twenties. I was 13 when I was watching a Disney movie in theater (The Princess Diaries, if you must know) when I realized the adrenaline of sexual tension was a drug of its very own. This isn’t to say I was overly indulgent in sexual excursions at a young age. I wouldn’t have sex for the first time until after I was 18. Like all other true aspects of my personality, this was almost entirely in my head. I only say almost because I was writing from time to time, but I recall tapering off by the end of high school. I’d feel inspired on work days but sometimes it seemed like that only was because I couldn’t. Don’t we all self-sabotage by yearning after that which we know we shouldn’t?

So, I spent a whole day writing, then a whole Monday thinking about a different sex scene I wanted to write about. But the time it takes to get into that mode, it’s hard to come by on a weekday. I think I’ve mentioned a few thousand times about that, by this point. And now, throw the fact that I wanted to work from home and make extra money eating even more of my time….it can make it rough to be creative. I’m trying to resolve to dedicate large blocks of time on the weekends to writing. Because honestly I’ll just spend it cleaning or watching TV or maybe making something crafty. And the house is just going to be gross again the next week anyway, so a lot of the time it’s like is this even worth it, even a little?

So, in conclusion, I spent as much time as I could after work writing, instead of working my second job. Because there’s something more practical to do, my brain is just dying to write. I guess it’s a good thing. But I also feel so compelled to work as much as I can in an attempt to save myself from future financial drowning. But then, again, that also feels REALLY pointless because, guess, JUST GUESS, what my student loan balances are as of this month? In total, I’m at $111,666.88. So, an extra $180 every two weeks in exchange for ALL creative time….do you see why that’s so depressing to think about?

But other than all that, my life has been pretty good. To get kind of dear-diary with you, here are things in my life as of now:
I stopped taking birth control. To kind of see if I get knocked up without radically trying. Because I mean the reality that one can only have biological children before a certain age is there, no matter how fucked things were so shortly ago. I mean, no one knows more than me that I might really come to rue this remark, but I think my husband is actually getting better. He’s been sober since August 2015. So that’s something. Things have been good since they got SO fucking bad. Like we really haven’t gotten into any sort of a fight since then, beyond bickering while driving. He’s really into sex a lot more lately, which is always significantly easier for me on days I’ve been writing sex scenes for hours. I mean, is that hard to deduce? I’m not saying I can’t have sex whenever, I can, to the extent that I’ve already graphically described for you all. But, truth be told, mechanically speaking, my husband and I aren’t a perfect match, you know? Do you not? Okay, in case I’m being too cryptic. There’s a certain amount of puzzle-piece-like luck as far as genitals are concerned that’s involved when one bangs another person. We can’t help it when someone with a great dick for your vagina specifically is a shitty, alcoholic suck fest of a human being. A list of the great mistakes of my twenties would start with R, to be certain. And, while I actually love and respect my husband, sometimes we can have compatibility issues, at least as far as my personal enjoyment/comfort goes. It’s not the end of the world, and it is remarkably improved if I’m, you now, good to go from writing. My husband remarked on it a few times on Sunday, if you get my drift. Which by this point, you really should.

So, there’s that detail. That’s so not the sort of thing I’d ever talk about in my regular life. I mean I have discussions of that nature with my husband, but no one else.

Speaking of things that…I don’t know I couldn’t possibly tell anyone in my actual life, I have been SO into the idea of fantasizing about my one coworker. Like, I’m a little shocked by the level of time I put into it. And I can’t even place where it’s really coming from. So who knows where that’s headed. It’s nice to have an actual person to fantasize about, though. Thinking about characters while you’re actually masturbating is annoying, because I already fucking think about them enough could I catch a break?

 

Anyway, gotta go. As I’m sure you’ve surmised by now I’m as unstable yet very stable as ever.

 

~Cassie