This is what happens when I drink vodka.

I love you, and I miss you. And I don’t even know who you are.

I’ve felt this way before. Sort the clutter, man the chaos, recognize the longing that’s been there since you were old enough to recognize emptiness (all around you).

Persevere. Be strong. That’s all you’ve ever needed.

Most days you aren’t hopeful, but you at least wonder what’s to come.

I’m at it again. I’d say someone stop me, but in the past I have NOT responded well to that.

I did one of the weird things that I do. Like I began to notice patterns in my behavior years ago (when I left my parents house, when I was away from the grating racket long enough to hear my thoughts, so on and so forth) but I’m still kind of like….but why? At most of it.

But the thing I did?

Even though I knew it wouldn’t make me happy, I did it anyway.

It’s always some weird version of consumption with me, anyway, isn’t it?

I spent a bunch of money, knowing that it wouldn’t make me feel better, but in fact might make it worse due to guilt, but I still did it anyway. Because nothing actually makes you feel better, but like, you might as well get/have shit you want, right? So goes my poor person for life logic.

What’s got me down? Nothing more than the usual shit. I’m always lonely. I really miss my mom. She’s two hours away but I haven’t seen her in three years. I think my husband has an undiagnosed psychological disorder…possibly plural there. I’m kind of (or just am) a raging alcoholic. The arduous work and turmoil that’s been the general tone of my life up until this point. The total lack of friends. The idea that I’ve worked a lot and for a long time and have no financial indication of such effort going on. The idea that if I want to actually have children I should probably get on that soon but also the idea of having an infant/child to care for and raise sounds HORRIBLE and life-ruining and most days I’m like eh, can’t afford kids anyway…darn…guess I better keep doing what I like with my time.

But that’s all pretty normal, I think, except for the my mom stuff. And there’s nothing I can do about that situation, so I’ve kind of moved on. Sort of. It still makes me really sad. But I mean, so? Some things suck.

But, lets discuss WAY more interesting shit, what I bought:

1) New winter coat. I wore a boring puffy coat the past two winters. I wanted a fancy pea coat that isn’t as warm but looks way nicer. The one I bought has a faux fur collar. It was over half off (So $99)
2) Since I was already on JC Penney.com, I was like well, better get more concealer while I’m at it
3) Since I was on the Sephora section of JCP.com I was like…better get good mascara…..
4) Then, this one is more confusing, I was like…I should buy foundation. I haven’t purchased foundation in at least five years. Since before we got married. It’s obviously a cool thing to have, but I don’t really need it, because I have no reason to get ready for anything. The last time I did a full face of make up was Halloween…then that one Saturday right before Halloween I went out (and I don’t see that scenario occurring again) so…..why did I buy it? It might not seem like such an important question, but the shit I buy is $39. So. More important than $8 foundation.
5) Two new pairs of glasses. I paid out of pocket for an eye exam in February, and was like…yep…gonna get on buying glasses off Zenni with that prescription anytime here…. and finally was like you know what fuck it. I haven’t purchased new glasses in….at least seven years. The prescription is pretty much still the same so that’s not the biggest deal in the world, but still. I didn’t know what kind of glasses to buy for my face shape, namely because I didn’t know my face shape. It’s diamond. That’s why I didn’t know it, that’s not one of the common ones.

So yeah. I’m at it again like always I guess. I at least bought some practical stuff. Not stuff I TOTALLY needed…but…eh. Stuff I sort of needed.
So you could take this as a weird list of stuff I spent $300 on.

Or you could see what I see. That I picked up on patterns of love/affection from the only stable people in my life when I was a child, that things/food=love. I’d blame my Grandma, it sort of is her fault, with her cold ass German upbringing, But she was the only reason I had a remotely normal childhood…so…should I really be finding fault with this woman?

I tried building a memory palace once. It seemed like a good idea. But, idk, it’s so visual. If I’m visualizing something, it’s CF, or the story for after the CF series, or me fucking, I’m not building a memory palace. Maybe I don’t need one? I feel like I should. If you aren’t awesome like me and DON’T know what one of those is…well first I would STRONGLY recommend you purchase these books and read them in this order (Red Dragon, Silence of the Lambs, Hannibal, Hannibal Rising). If you don’t want to read all that, which, I wouldn’t get why, but okay, Hannibal Lecter has a memory palace that he visits, and most of it is the expected hyper classy fanciness, but there’s parts he can’t control. Oubliettes, they’re called. What’s fucking eerie is I read Silence of the Lambs, where Hannibal describes them as “bottle shaped rooms with a trap door at the top” – in Hannibal’s memory palace, there are oubliettes that he cannot contain, filled with shit, with the memories he can’t stop, and when he’s distressed, particularly when his sense of smell is assaulted. And then right after SOL I read Daisy Miller…and what the fuck gets mentioned in there? Fucking oubliettes again. When Daisy and the narrator go visit that one castle together, Daisy stands at the edge of the of an oubliette and cries with dismay or whatever, and the footnote says something along the lines, “dungeons accessible through a trap door at the top, for forgetting prisoners.”

So, that weird foray into literature is brought to you by the idea that I tried to make a memory palace. But the only positive places from my childhood are my Grandma’s apartment, and my bedroom, alone, all by myself, with my cat and all my toys. Those are the two places. I mean I liked the library in my school, and the public library by my house, but the other kids/people, the my mom bitching that she had to drive me to and from the library….so lesser than the first two places I mentioned.

So what I’m saying is, in Hannibal Lecter terms, saying someone’s apartment is the largest portion of your memory palace is really making a statement.

So I try not to fault my Grandma for the ways she specifically made me fucked up. Or my mom. The two of them were/are actual humans who loved me. W is just a fucking monster and J is just soooo fucked up and saddening. And that’s the list, besides my best friend and husband, and that’s different.

So, I’m using my positive relationship with my Grandma as a means of excusing spending excessive amounts of money on myself, because that’s how she showed affection, that and overfeeding. That’s a grandparent thing, and a German thing, so there was no hope there.

At the same time, whatever. I work a lot. Possibly I deserve some nice things.

That’s all I got.

I literally have ZERO idea how I’m still awake.

I did a standard Friday caffeine intake. First pot of coffee from 6am-8am, second pot of coffee 8am-10am, third 1pm-3pm, then I had four shots of espresso in a drink from Starbucks around 8:30pm. This is standard level for me. Beer wise, I had one tall can (Coors light) before the grocery store (Starbucks and grocery store coincided, duh) then two more tall cans after, and I just finished a regular bottle of Modelo especial. I’m going to be pissed if I drink all of my Saturday beer tonight. But like I don’t feel fucked up or tired. Am I magic? Of course I’ve been smoking weed…but…it’s been a LONG LONG time since I’ve legit felt fucked up from weed. Like. For real. But anyway. I SHOULD go to bed.

I’m going to try and truly crank out the writing this weekend.

OH.

Something else I bought, finally, pole classes! I’m going back on Sunday. It feels like it’s been 10,000 years. I think it’s been 6 weeks. But up until 6 week ago, I was going EVERY Sunday for like eight months. But back to it on Sunday. So excited, but also unexcited about how sore my arms are going to be. But so worth it.

Well, I should be off.

Have a good weekend. Enjoy the cold weather. I like how it makes me want to cuddle. All summer long I was like “Get the fuck away from me,” whenever my cats or my husband were trying to get affectionate. Now it’s enjoyable. Plus it makes you want to be inside more, which is appealing to me in many ways as it is. Clearly all of my life activities revolve around being inside.

Anyway. Have a good weekend. Love you.
~Cassie

Squish

Well. We all know what it’s time for. More obsessing. I tried to not think about it all day, some pleasant distractions helped, but I mean….I’m still kind of like oh my god what the fuck about tomorrow. And today didn’t help…

The head of security, the ex-cop (gee….yes….hard to imagine why I don’t like those….why maybe even the sight of the standard navy blue uniform with the shiny black shoes and belt and the hat, makes my insides cringe and I’m suddenly wondering why I’m sweating) said good morning to me as he walked past my desk…his office is quite near my desk. This is the first morning he’s ever done that. Could be a coincidence. Could be my stoner paranoia. Could be that he’s totally in on whatever is happening tomorrow morning.

I don’t do well with dread.

I mean, do I seem like I do well with ANY negative emotions? I’ve just had my fill, I guess. Plus like…I feel like I go out of my way to not be shitty to other people. I’m generally in a good mood. Like whatever. We’ll see.

My boss, the one giving this review I have to come in on a fucking Saturday for, was like…almost strangely nice towards me today. I acted totally normal. At one point when I was alone with a different boss and wanted to ask if it was normal to come in on a Saturday for a review. I just don’t get it.

It’s either going to be really bad or really good.

Wouldn’t it be hilarious if it was something really awesome? Like they want me to head up a new Creative Department? That’s not a thing, it’s just something my mind came up with when I was trying to explore all possible scenarios so I don’t freak out.

My husband is like…your boss knows you “get emotional”….she might need to broach a topic with you that she knows you’re going to react badly to.

I was like………ohhhhhhh

So that might be it

Maybe I come in smelling like pot and the ex-cop smells it.

Maybe I’ve like…been a cunt too many times to too many people. I seldom put up with shit. I know I’ve pulled some idiotic moves before too. I get upset. I start thinking irrationally, or not at all. I can’t possibly process my emotions, let alone say what I want to say when I’m upset. I’m just not. I have the relationships that I have because I just don’t get emotional with my best friend, ever, and my husband knows how to handle me, after all of this time. It only takes so much exposure to W to really be able to explain away like 90% of my shitty behavior (for an emotionally intelligent person).

Maybe I’m the only one who hasn’t gone anywhere in the department since I got there. Which is true.

I have no idea.

Can you tell how little I like not knowing something I want to know?

My in-laws are in town this weekend for a convention for one of my MIL’s hobbies, and I REALLY don’t feel like dealing with the random comments about the lack of cleanliness in one/more parts of the house…and the near-constant criticism of my husband. She always irks the shit out of me, but obviously I just hide it and act normal then hate her for it afterwards. Because. That’s Cassie.

So. Oddly enough, N read the blogs about him.

That’s also something rare with him.

He’s the only real life person who’s read my blog.

Aside from the select ones I’ve let my husband see.

There are some he can’t see.

He doesn’t want to. He knows that. I know that. I don’t really want to relive those memories. Who the fuck would?

So N like contacts me and apologizes and explains more of wtf was going on in a way that makes toooootal sense. So like…perhaps I’m just less pissed.

When an INTJ figures out why they’re feeling an emotion, they tend to let a lot of anger go.

See my issue is, I think INTJ tends to come out of like…a sharp mind under less than idea conditions. Being strikingly uncommon and generally reclusive doesn’t help matters. If I wasn’t also an alcoholic I feel like I would have zero chance, socially. I guess being attractive helps a little.

So. Idk. I guess I feel better about the N situation. I mean if I can like mock up a non-disclosure agreement about CF that he’s willing to sign…maybe we can talk (lol…but not joking, they’re standard boiler plate). I’m serious. I don’t email my work. I don’t talk about it online EVER. My personal computer is RARELY online. I use my phone for all of that. It’s not that hard to use your phone as a laptop and your laptop as a word processor, which is what I do. If my husband and I text about it we use initials only to regard characters. I won’t let anyone know the title. I’m only going to give it to my best friend in person. How could I trust the mail? How much scanning is involved, these days?

I know this sounds absurb. But idk. I have some pretty dope ideas.

Again. I know how I sound.

I just don’t care.

Like whatever. Fucking hate me.

Some days I hate me too. But most days I’m like…damn Cassie, look at you always at least trying as fucking hard as possible.

Again. I’ve spent every waking moment since Thursday morning worried about tomorrow. This is all pretty dumb. In a weird way it’d be exciting to be thinking about Monday with a very dfferent outlook than my usual.

That old, annoying adage is proving true yet again. The one my impatient, impulsive self grinds at most.

Time will tell.

~Cassie

OPINIONS NEEDED – You can disagree and hate on me, or you can validate my feelings, but I seriously need external opinions.

All right, the hard part, this is a story about me and my coworkers. The fun part is there’s a lot of sexual tension (I think?? I need your guys’ help).

I sit at a “pod” with a guy (okay fine it’s the one I talk about wanting to bang sometimes) and a chick that’s 7 years younger than me. She’s really cool and usually very nice.

So, on more than on occasion, in fact I’d say on many occasions, the two podmates and I have gone out to lunch together. It’s been awhile since we’ve done so. So today, guy says to girl across from me, “Are we doing Chinese today?” There’s a Chinese restaurant we sometimes frequent. She said she couldn’t due to a prearranged lunch errand she had to take care of. A little bit later, like forty minutes, I say to male coworker, “Oh, if you still want to get Chinese, I’m down.” At which he replied, “I’m just going to eat my packed lunch, this pasta salad is going to go bad if I don’t eat it today.” And I was like…..(internally)….uhhhhhhhh whaaaat? PRETTY SURE you just asked other chick while I was sitting right here if she wanted to get Chinese…and I fucking assumed I would be invited because we’ve gotten lunch together as a group about a dozen times at least……. Right. Okay. Sure. Like, in WHAT way was I not supposed to be offended by this? I mean really? Like….am I wrong here? How does this situation strike anyone else?

The only things I can figure are as follows:
Scenario 1 – Male coworker seriously dislikes me. It’s possible. I mean, given the number of people in my life who’ve been shitty/mean/malicious towards me for like no real freaking reason…I guess there’s something about me that people hate? IDK. I guess. He’s usually very nice and talkative and we joke around a lot and have a decent amount to converse about…but…yeah not enough for him to tolerate dealing with me for an hour? So confused.
Scenario 2 – HIGHLY unlikely – he’s into other girl at pod and without her presence wasn’t willing to spend the money. I say it’s unlikely because…well….IDK I don’t want to be mean but in a world were I am…let’s say a 7.5….to those who prefer a curvy girl I’m an 8.5, for certain, because everything else is great … then other girl coworker is…like a 5. Maybe 6 if you’re feeling generous. She’s VERY thin and tiny, which of course many men find preferable. But I don’t think that’s true of male coworker…given the one time I met his wife.
Scenario 3 – There is some rule between male coworker and his wife about how he can’t go out to lunch alone with me because one or both of them is aware of my active desire to fuck him. Maybe they have a general rule about not going to lunch alone with a female coworker?????? The mysteries abound.
Scenario 4 – Male coworker is wildly attracted to me and doesn’t trust himself alone with me, even for that amount of time. I mean. As much as I WANT this to be true, I just don’t think it is. I wouldn’t ever start anything, not on my own. As much as I fucking love fucking, I just DON’T make the first move. I just don’t. I don’t like it. It’s a strong preference. It prevails through sexual and emotional and complimentary transactions. Any praise. Any anything. I ain’t starting it. I’m sure this harkens back to some banal childhood trauma I endured. So, unless something was said that REALLY encouraged me, more than once, like a whole conversation was had or something – INTERESTING side note that I can’t resist…you know the movie Jaws? Well it’s a tight-ass book, written by a guy named Peter Benchley who felt guilty about the shark misinformation he spread and spent the rest of his life advocating for sharks because let’s be real they don’t mean any harm, their attacks on humans are due to their horrid eyesight and our ability to look like a seal or maybe a sea turtle. Well IN Jaws the book, the wife of the the main character fucks the oceanographer. He’s the younger brother of a guy she dated but never fucked back when she was a debutante. They go out for lunch, spend the whole time flirting hard, talking about what it’d be like if they did sleep together, all the while pretending they were only speaking hypothetically. But, honestly, the sex he describes isn’t nearly as good as the anticipation you know is running through her as she prepares for her lunch date with him. Her husband figures it out right away. You feel for the guy, you really do. But I also never blamed the wife, not at all. What’s a person to do? Sometimes opportunities present themselves. It’s better to pretend you don’t feel something rather than admit it? I mean, is that right? How could it be? ANYWAY, in case you wanted to know about that, right?

So, what do you think? Was I being snubbed hard? Because I feel like that’s what happened. Like how was I not supposed to be offended? I was very reticent for the rest of the day after he said that. Like very much so, for me. I hope my displeasure was conveyed. It should have been. The more I think about it the more miffed I am. I know by Tuesday I’ll probably not give a fuck anymore…but maybe I will…because part of me REALLY wants to know why the fuck this happened.

So – how would anyone else have felt? Am I at all justified or should I get over it? I feel like that’s a kind of shitty thing to do to someone. Clearly. Look at how much I’m talking about it.

Anyway, have a good holiday weekend if you’re lucky enough to get extra time off for it. ~

Au Revoir

~Cassie

Every once in awhile someone’s bound to come along who isn’t total garbage. That was Paul.

Well it hit me at work today that I never told you about Paul. Of course that’s not his real name, but it does start with the same letter. I started dating my first boyfriend right around my 18th birthday, he was useful, so i had a boyfriend for prom, and my grad party, and he had a truck and was a huge help when i moved out of my parents house. But in no way was i using this guy, i really liked him, i definitely was not the one who wanted things to end when they did, which shockingly was when he left for college. But his college was only about thirty minutes from my apartment, and we never dropped off communicating, so we still got together for sex that first semester we were in college. But, during that same time, i met Paul, through the same avenue that i met my first boyfriend- myspace. Paul messages me out of the blue on myspace, claiming that he searched through myspace for anyone going to our college and my page was the only one he found interesting. Which i can kind of understand, i exhibited way more personality at 18 than most will their whole lives. So Paul and i started talking on AIM, and as it turned out we had a lot in common, especially not being over our recently ended relationships with other people.A few months pass, Paul and i talk online on occasion, then when it came out that neither of us reconciled with our exes like we’d hoped, Paul asked me to a movie. It was The Departed. Ill never not think of him when i see or hear about that movie. While we were watching it (in theatre) he asked me “would it be weird or wrong if i put my arm around you?”After months of my ex, who texted me when he was horny (like i wasn’t going to invite him over every single time) then bailed as soon as we were done, it was kind of hard not to start liking Paul, a lot. But, he was 21 and i was 18, and sometime between that first movie and anything else happening, a long time friend of his who was his age came out with feelings she had for him, so naturally he tossed me like rotted fruit. It kind of destroyed me a little bit more than the rest of my life already had, because here was the THIRD guy i’d invested my emotions in and was led on by when all the while someone from their past already had a hold on them (how does one compete with history? I mean really). And i really liked Paul, he was intelligent and kind and i could just sense this stable goodness about him because I was good at sensing that sort of thing, even back then. And, most importantly, he was the first person i met who made me think someone could like me for who I am, not how i looked. His interest in me generated from my personality. At 18 this was the first real life example i had of such a thing, at least happening to me. I remember so distinctly, when we were in the movie, it was The Departed, his heart started beating really fast during the sex scene, and i could feel it because his arm was around me and my god was that arousing, it still kind of is. It still is.Of course, 18 year old Cassie couldn’t leave herself with a speck of dignity so i tried telling him how i felt after he’d already started dating her. I got “i had no idea you felt so strongly” which…yeah….of course 18 year old me had NO idea how to express herself. I’m a fucking font of constant self aware expression now compared with then, back then i was so scrambled i couldn’t understand my own feelings. Trauma does that. The inevitable happened and Paul and i stopped communicating. It’s really not hard to see, now, why things happened as they did. But, truth be told, I was way more emotionally invested than he could have possibly known. But, I mean, what do you expect from a teenager? I was mature for my age, but I had very little experience with boys, because my pretty much a terrible human being first boyfriend. I found it especially funny that I didn’t know it when we were talking, but Paul and I would end up having the same major in college, this was when I was trying to deny my authorly intentions in life, when I was like “Oh I’ll be an accountant and write in my free time” (ha ha) this was the most hollow, pointless, vapid point in my life as well. I was also very skinny. Which I do miss, but man are my boobs way bigger now. Anyway. I guess a little bit of me will always be vapid, huh?

So, in conclusion, do I blame Paul for what he did? No. He was a good guy. That’s why I liked him so much. And, I mean, like three years later I met my future husband…so it was just three more years of crap and bullshit and guys like Doug: “You’re gonna want to strap yourself in for this next one.”

But, while I’m being perversely honest like I love to be, I would definitely put Paul on the Fucking Guest List, as I like to call it. Who else is on there? Well, that one professor I told you about (duh), and my one coworker, and my neighbor, and that one other guy from the company, and then the guy who used to work for us. Their names are Daniel, Sean, Noah, Joe and Donnie. But are you going to remember that? Those are actually real names, but like, does that matter? I mean, even IF someone in my real life found this, I would just be like “way to read my hundreds and hundreds of pages of blogs, you stalker” because we all know that’s what it takes to get to anything REALLY interesting about me. This is like my 102nd blog…which is almost an accomplishment because you cannot understand how compulsively I destroy my journals and diaries…because…IDK it’s like I didn’t want evidence of any kind of emotion or thought lying around…because somehow it felt like it was going to be used against me….yes, let’s all take the ten seconds it takes to sleuth that one out.

Also, have I admitted that I actually like hentai? Like, not the fucking weird tentacle porn, but like a LOT of hentai has an actual plot to it, and because the actors are just doing voices, they’re actually still good actors. To get people who look good and are willing to fuck on camera for money…you’re going to filter out all the talent, are you not? I guess because if I’m watching porn it can’t just be some weird amateur POV slapping sounds and nothing else BS. Like, it needs an actual story. If I ever had the $ I would totally produce a porno, just because I have a pretty kinky period (historical, not menstrual, I get why you might confuse the two given this new topic) piece I want to make. Not telling you about it here, sorry. Maybe one day I’ll get to be like hey guys guess what I did.

Also, what I did today was write less than a page (of my book) because I wanted to do this blog justice, I started it on my phone on my lunch break. I should try and get to it a little bit more done tonight. That’s moving along as steadily as ever. I’m pretty diligent about going at it as much as possible. (ha)

Anyway, hope you had a good Monday back from a holiday weekend – aka a bunch of people are sun burned and pissy.

 

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

You’ll have to speak up, I’m wearing a towel

Yeah I don’t know, it’s a Simpsons quote. And the fact that no one I know, not even my husband, ever gets my sundry references depresses me.

I was thinking about it the other day, and my fantasy guy is just a male clone of myself. Someone who’s smart but pulls these major idiot moves, and like a 7.5 on the scale of attractiveness (I’d be an 8 if I were more in shape. I know this. I used to be a 7 but then I finally had the orthodontia I so desperately needed. This is all coming from me, not anyone else. I’m not even remotely sure of how attractive other people find me. I think it’s somewhat). But anyway, we all know how much I can go on about my appearance. I don’t think it’s so hard to figure out just why that might be. It’s just interesting, to me, because I truly am a fucking disturbing grab bag of traits, am I not? So, back to my fantasy guy. He’d have my facial bone structure (only a masculine one, but the same lovely cheekbones pls) but a super heavy brow, and a way thicker jaw, and really thick black hair. That’s kind of how R looked but he had a prettiness to him, that some men have, and he always had this like…brooding look…even when he was fucking. Plus R was JUST barely taller than me, and weighed less than me, and that’s already the exact parameters my husband meets, so my fantasy guy would NOT be R’s size. He’d be NOTICEABLY taller than me, like I can wear whatever heels and STILL not have to worry about towering over him. I’ve only been with one guy that met that guideline, and he was the WOW boyfriend…and….every time I think about how much shit I ate from that guy it fills me with a special kind of rage, the kind where I’m just infuriated at myself for putting up with being treated bad, like way to think well of yourself, fucking idiot. So a guy who’s just definitely bigger than me, but by NO means do I want a fatty. I mean, I like skinny guys. Duh. Especially, honestly, my husband is way ripped, in that “I’m skinny af” kind of way, and it’s nice because he doesn’t do a whole lot else for his appearance, i think in part because he works landscape and we’re broke as fuck ALL the fucking time and he drives a 16 year old Bonneville and and and and and you all the shit by now I should hope.

So, there you have it, I spent like three hours at work this week thinking about how my fantasy guy and I would interact. I’m not describing it here, because there could fucking come a day when I need to write that shit into a novel, and so, yeah. We all know how I get about the idea of someone stealing my ideas. I truly pity them, because IF they got away with it, I would pour my heart and soul, the pieces left of both of them, into destroying them in whatever way my relatively intelligent (yet impulsive) mind could think of.

SPEAKING of my writing – I am like nearing what we could almost call the completion of my first rough draft. So much work lies ahead, but I feel pretty comfortable thinking that, by January 2019, I will have a polished first draft. At that point, I have three people who had volunteered to read it for critiquing (none of these three are school friends either, so this will be more “is this a good enough/interesting enough plot to keep a normal person with kids reading?” sort of endeavor with them). Then I have a few other people I might ask. Like my best friend, hopefully she’s not too busy, she starts working as a doctor officially, for real, on her own in five days! I’m honestly excited for her, and I never feel that way for anyone but myself. And like, idk, there’s like no one else in my life that I’m actually proud of, besides her. Maybe one day I’ll tell her the many, many positive things I’ve said about her here. I’m not one to do that though. Like that one Professor from my undergrad college probably doesn’t have the faintest notion that I would like….LOVE to fuck him, like so much and a lot. But, what am I going to do? Out of the blue email him that? I don’t know how to have anything to do with people. I think there’s a reason I have ONE friend, and I see her like twice a year because she’s busy living far away (well, sort of) and being a doctor and traveling out of country all the damned time. I mean, truly, in some fucked, weird way, it’s a good thing I don’t have any friends, and I haven’t seen anyone biologically related to me in over four years, and we’re literally paycheck to paycheck af and we rent and we have a ton of credit card debt AND student loan debt (all mine, sorry babe). We own our cars, I guess. We have PLPD on them, too. But anyway I don’t want to start complaining. We started growing our own weed, so that saves us like $5000 per year, give or take minus expenses. Other than that….I really don’t live so extravagantly. I cook dinner five nights a week, the other two nights we’re definitely not going anywhere nice.  But anyway. All of this seemingly sad shit in my life is actually a strange, good thing because it means I have an inordinate amount of time to write. And I mean…aren’t writers supposed to be sad and poor and depressed and addicted to shit?

OH, have I mentioned how I’m totally back to drinking every day. Yeah. After doing so well for like…months. I’ve got it down to 2 tall cans per day. Which is way too much on a fucking 7 day a week basis, I get that, but yeah, my husband…dude…he’s doing exactly what you think someone coming off three years’ sobriety would do. Nothing’s happened. Yet. Yet. He’d be SO offended by that yet, but let me tell you, and I know I have, you know what that’s all about.

Only other interesting shit – I’m kind of into the idea of fucking my neighbor. He lives with his long time girlfriend, who’s this cute, friendly little thing, she reminds me SO much of a friend of mine from my retail days. I like, in no way want to harm their situation, but if he was like us, then yeah, that’d be so awesome. And don’t get me wrong, this guy is like a…hmm…okay 6 I guess? There’s just nothing all that remarkable about him, not that he’s bad-looking in any way. But, idk, sometimes i can sense when someone finds me attractive. And you know who REALLY likes that? Drunk me. And I’m usually plastered when I see this guy. So who knows, maybe that will pan out.

Don’t tell me about how anonymous sex won’t make me feel better. I fucking know. It’s still fun and distracting to pursue. So lay off me, I’m…..well I hate the word “horny” but that would’ve worked well there.

Okay, stopping, for real this time. This weekend is supposed to be sweltering and I’m going to spend the whole time in my white trash pop up pool, drinking coors light, reading henry james The Bostonians in an inner tube. Because summer.

~Cassie