Anything Goes

Today was our fam damily reunion. I got to see all of the people I normally only see at funerals and their kids, and their kids, and their kids.

My 2nd cousin, Shannon, and I were talking about how our children, his two girls, Sydney and Regan, were playing with Nate and how… damn, that used to be us. Although I believe I had seen Shannon since our last family reunion over 10 years ago, I was not prepared for how deep his voice was or the fact he had two little ones. Even worse, what a piece of crap his hopefully-soon-to-be-ex-wife is.

He was telling me how she had him arrested in front of his daughters on a trumped up domestic violence charge, how they had her on videotape locking the girls out of the house and the oldest, Syd, having to use the bathroom in the yard because she refused to open the door, no one being home when Syd gets home from school, and she’s tested positive for meth, etc. etc. Yet… they don’t have enough evidence to support a neglect and abuse petition.

Exactly what does it take???

Syd can’t be more than six or seven years old and RayRay is even younger.

Exactly what does it take???

So now Shannon has the girls four days a week and every holiday. He has them every holiday because his wife doesn’t want them. (Does this sound familiar?) He even has them Mother’s Day because she said that is her chance to get away from them. They appear to be very typical little girls and are well-behaved and well-mannered. Of course, I’m sure they can go at it, just as typical siblings do. Regan is more outgoing than Sydney but both are fairly talkative. In short, adorable.

On our way to the cars, Regan came up beside of me and said, “I’m going home with you.”

“You are?”

“Yep. I’m coming to live with you.”

“But Regan, I don’t have any little girl things. I only have boy stuff.”

“That doesn’t matter. I’ll go to my mommy’s and get all my stuff from there.”

If that doesn’t speak volumes, nothing does.

“Well, I’m not really prepared for anyone to move in right now. I would have to make some plans for that.”

“Oh no, I can come right now.”

“Regan, we can visit each other, maybe at the park Daddy takes you to sometimes.” (They live about ten miles from me, although neither of us knew it.) Shannon intervened and told her she needed to get in the truck. Regan continued to chatter away at him as he closed the door. He turned around and said, “She said she’s not going to visit, she’s coming to live with you.” We laughed and I gave Shannon my number in case he wanted to call and we could take the kids to the park or he just needed an ear to bend. I will give him credit, knowing him growing up as I did, I never thought I would see him so responsible, mature, and, frankly, such a great dad. I know he’s made a lot of sacrifices to be in their lives. Let’s just say, when the price is right…

Exactly, what does it take?

********************************************

If you would like to see the town I work in, please check out rickleephoto.blogspot.com. He’s a wonderful photographer.

Today was our fam damily reunion. I got to see all of the people I normally only see at funerals and their kids, and their kids, and their kids.

My 2nd cousin, Shannon, and I were talking about how our children, his two girls, Sydney and Regan, were playing with Nate and how… damn, that used to be us. Although I believe I had seen Shannon since our last family reunion over 10 years ago, I was not prepared for how deep his voice was or the fact he had two little ones. Even worse, what a piece of crap his hopefully-soon-to-be-ex-wife is.

He was telling me how she had him arrested in front of his daughters on a trumped up domestic violence charge, how they had her on videotape locking the girls out of the house and the oldest, Syd, having to use the bathroom in the yard because she refused to open the door, no one being home when Syd gets home from school, and she’s tested positive for meth, etc. etc. Yet… they don’t have enough evidence to support a neglect and abuse petition.

Exactly what does it take???

Syd can’t be more than six or seven years old and RayRay is even younger.

Exactly what does it take???

So now Shannon has the girls four days a week and every holiday. He has them every holiday because his wife doesn’t want them. (Does this sound familiar?) He even has them Mother’s Day because she said that is her chance to get away from them. They appear to be very typical little girls and are well-behaved and well-mannered. Of course, I’m sure they can go at it, just as typical siblings do. Regan is more outgoing than Sydney but both are fairly talkative. In short, adorable.

On our way to the cars, Regan came up beside of me and said, “I’m going home with you.”

“You are?”

“Yep. I’m coming to live with you.”

“But Regan, I don’t have any little girl things. I only have boy stuff.”

“That doesn’t matter. I’ll go to my mommy’s and get all my stuff from there.”

If that doesn’t speak volumes, nothing does.

“Well, I’m not really prepared for anyone to move in right now. I would have to make some plans for that.”

“Oh no, I can come right now.”

“Regan, we can visit each other, maybe at the park Daddy takes you to sometimes.” (They live about ten miles from me, although neither of us knew it.) Shannon intervened and told her she needed to get in the truck. Regan continued to chatter away at him as he closed the door. He turned around and said, “She said she’s not going to visit, she’s coming to live with you.” We laughed and I gave Shannon my number in case he wanted to call and we could take the kids to the park or he just needed an ear to bend. I will give him credit, knowing him growing up as I did, I never thought I would see him so responsible, mature, and, frankly, such a great dad. I know he’s made a lot of sacrifices to be in their lives. Let’s just say, when the price is right…

Exactly, what does it take?

********************************************

If you would like to see the town I work in, please check out rickleephoto.blogspot.com. He’s a wonderful photographer.

The spot on my dad’s lung is not a tumor. They’re not sure why anything showed up on the x-ray. Maybe some of Trashman’s mom’s luck rubbed off on us.

Smokey is still hanging in there, cranky as ever.

One of our new four week old kittens had a seizure this morning (Nate was hysterical) and appeared to be at least partially paralyzed on his left side. He has since pretty much come out of it and is getting around better.

I saw three rainbows today.

Yet, I’ve been on the verge of tears all day. I can’t get motivated to do anything, barely even beading. I started another project today with four others to do. Sigh. And no inspiration.

I know I’m stressed over the day camp thing with Nate. I also angry about it and the reasons why its hard for me, realizing that had I not been such a dumbass before I wouldn’t be paying off the debt I am now, which means I could afford to send him easily. That sucks. Its over and done but it still sticks in my crawl.

And then there’s the forgotten lower middle class. I’m not poor enough to get any assistance but I’m not rich enough to afford many opportunities for Nate that I want. So, if I were more poor I could get more help and if I were richer I wouldn’t have to worry, so here I sit, the poor middle class.

I should quit my bitchin’. I have a lot to be thankful for. It won’t always be this way. And when I say that, I hope that my situation continues to improve.

When I worry like this, it means I just need to give it over to the Goddess. Sometimes we can try way to hard to control things in our lives. Sometimes we need to remember all we have to do is ask and we shall receive.

The spot on my dad’s lung is not a tumor. They’re not sure why anything showed up on the x-ray. Maybe some of Trashman’s mom’s luck rubbed off on us.

Smokey is still hanging in there, cranky as ever.

One of our new four week old kittens had a seizure this morning (Nate was hysterical) and appeared to be at least partially paralyzed on his left side. He has since pretty much come out of it and is getting around better.

I saw three rainbows today.

Yet, I’ve been on the verge of tears all day. I can’t get motivated to do anything, barely even beading. I started another project today with four others to do. Sigh. And no inspiration.

I know I’m stressed over the day camp thing with Nate. I also angry about it and the reasons why its hard for me, realizing that had I not been such a dumbass before I wouldn’t be paying off the debt I am now, which means I could afford to send him easily. That sucks. Its over and done but it still sticks in my crawl.

And then there’s the forgotten lower middle class. I’m not poor enough to get any assistance but I’m not rich enough to afford many opportunities for Nate that I want. So, if I were more poor I could get more help and if I were richer I wouldn’t have to worry, so here I sit, the poor middle class.

I should quit my bitchin’. I have a lot to be thankful for. It won’t always be this way. And when I say that, I hope that my situation continues to improve.

When I worry like this, it means I just need to give it over to the Goddess. Sometimes we can try way to hard to control things in our lives. Sometimes we need to remember all we have to do is ask and we shall receive.

This is it. One year ago today I started this blog with a post called Signal Ahead. I had intended this blog to be a place I could post my literary efforts. It became a journey of self-discovery and personal growth. I don’t know how many posts I have, only that it’s a lot.

Before I got ready to write “Clothesline” yesterday I had planned to post about my meeting with the school and my discussion with Nate’s current babysitter. Trust me, school cannot come to an end quick enough for either of us. I applied for a scholarship for Nate to attend the high-end YMCA summer day camp which is directed activities with children in his age group with a theme for each week . Its $500 a month. The deposit for him to attend is $475. We were turned down for the scholarship. Not one dime.

Tears welled in my eyes when they called to tell me. I was able to steady my voice enough to ask about the deposit and when was the last day I could pay it. The woman on the phone didn’t do a very good job of disguising her surprise that I was still interested in the program. This is not a sleep-away camp in the Hamptons, it’s a day camp in West Virginia. Get over yourself lady. I think it was her attitude that since I hadn’t qualified for the scholarship program that I just couldn’t and wouldn’t place him in the program anyway.

I got news for Ms. Priss. This just happens to be a month where I have THREE PAYCHECKS. So, I will have her funky ass deposit. If I didn’t think this program might have the potential of helping Nate a great deal with his social skills and self-esteem I wouldn’t do it. Now, how am I going to pay the $500 a month bill on this? Working a lot. Luckily, pre-camp and post-camp are included in that bill so I’ll have plenty of time to work to keep him there.

As far as Nate’s current babysitter, after June 7th, I hope I never have a reason to ask her to watch my son again. Her girls, especially the oldest, are mean to Nate, gang up on him, and she constantly wants me to believe that her almost four year doesn’t understand that she shouldn’t take things out of his hands and she can swat and smack around on Nate but when he retaliates then he’s the one who has to always give in or make concessions. She says she doesn’t make differences between the kids but I can obviously see that she does.

Its been a long time coming but when she asked me, “Well, were you able to get him into another program, you said you were going to.” It was, again, the tone of her voice, the look on her face, that powerful wave of …. I just don’t like your kid because he doesn’t fit in my box … feeling. I turned back to her and said, “Yes, I did. You won’t have him much longer.”

I try to look at this objectively. Is Nate an asshole kid? I know how he can be. I know his anxiety can make him behave in ways that are irritating at best but he’s not a mean kid. He gets his back up pretty easy when he’s made fun of and I know the babysitter’s daughters, especially the oldest one, get their jabs in behind Mama’s back… because I’ve heard them and then of course, she excuses them for it because of their personalities, yet Nate is made to tow the line? Bullshitbullshitbullshit.

Of course Nate has the Goldilocks Syndrome (sorry Kim), he wants everything just right. At the same time, its sad. I can’t be honest with him when he asks certain questions. This morning he asked why he had to go to Jackie’s instead of his dad’s or Lori’s (his sister’s mom). The truth is, they don’t want him. They’re too busy for him. He’s too much kid to take care of. Its too much trouble. It interrupts their lives. Asking either of them to do anything has become a, “Can’t Lori/Jeff do it?” Yet, they have no trouble expecting me to change plans or assist in watching the kids at any given time.

Last week, the babysitter was off with her youngest daughter’s tonsillectomy so I needed help with after school care and since I had already paid the babysitter once I really couldn’t afford to pay AGAIN. His dad said he would help but then HIS mother got pissy because then she would have to take over turn out for their greyhound kennel so then Jeff said he couldn’t pick Nate up. I then have to leave work, drive the 15 miles to the school, pick him up, drive him to the greyhound farm, and then come back to work.

So, Jeff’s mother is on my shit list. Her snide comments about me have come back around. I guarantee I won’t be jumping up to help her when she comes asking, which she has in the past.

I attended a meeting on Nate’s testing at the high school. This was to get an IQ and to see where he was academically. So, he has a Superior IQ. Of the individual IQ scores, the highest was 125 in abstract reasoning. That helps me understand him better. How he thinks. Naturally, his lowest scores were in anything timed and anything written. I asked about written expression dyslexia, which they danced all around but never quite got their groove on. I asked if there was some way I could help him.

The woman sitting to my right snapped at me.

“You can’t cure him. He has a diagnosis of ADHD. This is a common problem with kids like that.”

I wasn’t sitting close enough to kick her, nor punch her. I looked her in the eyes with my best “fuck you” look until she turned away. I figured it was a waste of my time. I still didn’t find out what I needed to know. I think they just don’t care. Its like they act like they care but then they don’t care. What is up with that? And why do I allow myself to become so frustrated that I don’t force them to explain why he won’t be tested for dyslexia? Because I was distracted and not as prepared as I should have been. I’ll review the criteria again and see if he meets it. Then start over.

I’m glad summer is here.

Thanks for being here. Peace.

This is it. One year ago today I started this blog with a post called Signal Ahead. I had intended this blog to be a place I could post my literary efforts. It became a journey of self-discovery and personal growth. I don’t know how many posts I have, only that it’s a lot.

Before I got ready to write “Clothesline” yesterday I had planned to post about my meeting with the school and my discussion with Nate’s current babysitter. Trust me, school cannot come to an end quick enough for either of us. I applied for a scholarship for Nate to attend the high-end YMCA summer day camp which is directed activities with children in his age group with a theme for each week . Its $500 a month. The deposit for him to attend is $475. We were turned down for the scholarship. Not one dime.

Tears welled in my eyes when they called to tell me. I was able to steady my voice enough to ask about the deposit and when was the last day I could pay it. The woman on the phone didn’t do a very good job of disguising her surprise that I was still interested in the program. This is not a sleep-away camp in the Hamptons, it’s a day camp in West Virginia. Get over yourself lady. I think it was her attitude that since I hadn’t qualified for the scholarship program that I just couldn’t and wouldn’t place him in the program anyway.

I got news for Ms. Priss. This just happens to be a month where I have THREE PAYCHECKS. So, I will have her funky ass deposit. If I didn’t think this program might have the potential of helping Nate a great deal with his social skills and self-esteem I wouldn’t do it. Now, how am I going to pay the $500 a month bill on this? Working a lot. Luckily, pre-camp and post-camp are included in that bill so I’ll have plenty of time to work to keep him there.

As far as Nate’s current babysitter, after June 7th, I hope I never have a reason to ask her to watch my son again. Her girls, especially the oldest, are mean to Nate, gang up on him, and she constantly wants me to believe that her almost four year doesn’t understand that she shouldn’t take things out of his hands and she can swat and smack around on Nate but when he retaliates then he’s the one who has to always give in or make concessions. She says she doesn’t make differences between the kids but I can obviously see that she does.

Its been a long time coming but when she asked me, “Well, were you able to get him into another program, you said you were going to.” It was, again, the tone of her voice, the look on her face, that powerful wave of …. I just don’t like your kid because he doesn’t fit in my box … feeling. I turned back to her and said, “Yes, I did. You won’t have him much longer.”

I try to look at this objectively. Is Nate an asshole kid? I know how he can be. I know his anxiety can make him behave in ways that are irritating at best but he’s not a mean kid. He gets his back up pretty easy when he’s made fun of and I know the babysitter’s daughters, especially the oldest one, get their jabs in behind Mama’s back… because I’ve heard them and then of course, she excuses them for it because of their personalities, yet Nate is made to tow the line? Bullshitbullshitbullshit.

Of course Nate has the Goldilocks Syndrome (sorry Kim), he wants everything just right. At the same time, its sad. I can’t be honest with him when he asks certain questions. This morning he asked why he had to go to Jackie’s instead of his dad’s or Lori’s (his sister’s mom). The truth is, they don’t want him. They’re too busy for him. He’s too much kid to take care of. Its too much trouble. It interrupts their lives. Asking either of them to do anything has become a, “Can’t Lori/Jeff do it?” Yet, they have no trouble expecting me to change plans or assist in watching the kids at any given time.

Last week, the babysitter was off with her youngest daughter’s tonsillectomy so I needed help with after school care and since I had already paid the babysitter once I really couldn’t afford to pay AGAIN. His dad said he would help but then HIS mother got pissy because then she would have to take over turn out for their greyhound kennel so then Jeff said he couldn’t pick Nate up. I then have to leave work, drive the 15 miles to the school, pick him up, drive him to the greyhound farm, and then come back to work.

So, Jeff’s mother is on my shit list. Her snide comments about me have come back around. I guarantee I won’t be jumping up to help her when she comes asking, which she has in the past.

I attended a meeting on Nate’s testing at the high school. This was to get an IQ and to see where he was academically. So, he has a Superior IQ. Of the individual IQ scores, the highest was 125 in abstract reasoning. That helps me understand him better. How he thinks. Naturally, his lowest scores were in anything timed and anything written. I asked about written expression dyslexia, which they danced all around but never quite got their groove on. I asked if there was some way I could help him.

The woman sitting to my right snapped at me.

“You can’t cure him. He has a diagnosis of ADHD. This is a common problem with kids like that.”

I wasn’t sitting close enough to kick her, nor punch her. I looked her in the eyes with my best “fuck you” look until she turned away. I figured it was a waste of my time. I still didn’t find out what I needed to know. I think they just don’t care. Its like they act like they care but then they don’t care. What is up with that? And why do I allow myself to become so frustrated that I don’t force them to explain why he won’t be tested for dyslexia? Because I was distracted and not as prepared as I should have been. I’ll review the criteria again and see if he meets it. Then start over.

I’m glad summer is here.

Thanks for being here. Peace.

*Edited*

There is something therapeutic about hanging clothes out to dry. The repetition of bending and picking and shaking and smoothing wrinkles from the wet material. The acrobatics of plucking the clothespin from its place, either from the clothesline or the hem of my shirt or the edge of the laundry basket, and merging the three, the line, the material, the pin, and moving to the next corner of the jeans or shirt.

The sun is just beginning to hit my yard, although the pin oak on the edge of my neighbor’s property casts a long shadow as its exactly due east. As the sun arcs over the earth today, it, and the light breeze, will evaporate all of the water from the clothes and so the cycle of water to earth will be complete. All I could hear were the birds twittering and nothing else. My shoes and the hem of my pants are damp with dew but methodically I keep putting the clothes on the line.

I miss my big fat cat Smokey. He’s in the house. He’s in renal failure. I think of how he would just pee on the clothes or my leg as he’s old and cantankerous and for some reason has become quite rude. I’m perhaps the most empathic with animals. I tried to get him in the cat carrier and he fought me, which just stressed both of us.

He refused to come in the house last night. He just sat on the porch and drooled because of the mouth ulcers. Perhaps he wanted to lay in the moonlight. The other cats know he’s not well and are scorning him, if not being mean to him, but he came in this morning, or rather I picked him up and brought him in. I’m afraid if someone sees him drooling like that they will think he’s rabid, which I know he’s not. He’s not stressed. For now, he’s doing things his way. When he looked up into my eyes this morning, I saw “good-bye.”

I look over into the neighbor’s yard, which is choked with weeds and baby trees where the seedlings have survived. The trees are not on my property yet their limbs lean over and some, more daring than others, grow through the chain links, their roots frustratingly in someone else’s soil. I can see a thin layer of trash under the bramble. They don’t do anything about it.

I duck under the line and come up too quickly and catch my hair on a clothespin. I scoot the basket along in front of me. The sun is warm on my back, illuminating the hair around the sides of my face. I feel a bit of the material from my pants clinging to my ankle, cold and uncomfortable, but the breeze is in my face. I clip the last pin, push the basket a little further, duck out from under the lines, and walk away. When I look back, the clothes are waving.

*Edited*

There is something therapeutic about hanging clothes out to dry. The repetition of bending and picking and shaking and smoothing wrinkles from the wet material. The acrobatics of plucking the clothespin from its place, either from the clothesline or the hem of my shirt or the edge of the laundry basket, and merging the three, the line, the material, the pin, and moving to the next corner of the jeans or shirt.

The sun is just beginning to hit my yard, although the pin oak on the edge of my neighbor’s property casts a long shadow as its exactly due east. As the sun arcs over the earth today, it, and the light breeze, will evaporate all of the water from the clothes and so the cycle of water to earth will be complete. All I could hear were the birds twittering and nothing else. My shoes and the hem of my pants are damp with dew but methodically I keep putting the clothes on the line.

I miss my big fat cat Smokey. He’s in the house. He’s in renal failure. I think of how he would just pee on the clothes or my leg as he’s old and cantankerous and for some reason has become quite rude. I’m perhaps the most empathic with animals. I tried to get him in the cat carrier and he fought me, which just stressed both of us.

He refused to come in the house last night. He just sat on the porch and drooled because of the mouth ulcers. Perhaps he wanted to lay in the moonlight. The other cats know he’s not well and are scorning him, if not being mean to him, but he came in this morning, or rather I picked him up and brought him in. I’m afraid if someone sees him drooling like that they will think he’s rabid, which I know he’s not. He’s not stressed. For now, he’s doing things his way. When he looked up into my eyes this morning, I saw “good-bye.”

I look over into the neighbor’s yard, which is choked with weeds and baby trees where the seedlings have survived. The trees are not on my property yet their limbs lean over and some, more daring than others, grow through the chain links, their roots frustratingly in someone else’s soil. I can see a thin layer of trash under the bramble. They don’t do anything about it.

I duck under the line and come up too quickly and catch my hair on a clothespin. I scoot the basket along in front of me. The sun is warm on my back, illuminating the hair around the sides of my face. I feel a bit of the material from my pants clinging to my ankle, cold and uncomfortable, but the breeze is in my face. I clip the last pin, push the basket a little further, duck out from under the lines, and walk away. When I look back, the clothes are waving.

For the past three or four weeks, or months, hell, I lose track of time, my neighbors have been coming over and using the phone or sending TLC to get it. Hagar wants it especially first thing in the morning while I’m rushing trying to get ready to go to work and get Nate off to school. The absolute worst time of the day. I’ve heard them banging on the door while I’m in the shower even.

I am a giving person and I try to help my neighbors in any way I can. However, as in the past, they don’t know when to stop. I hadn’t had my new $20 weedeater for ten minutes that Hagar wasn’t running over to ask to borrow it. I shit you not. Last week they didn’t have gas. They have a gas water tank so they want to borrow my big pot to heat water in. I think they have all of my big pots over there already and if I did have one I guarantee in my kitchen, it was probably dirty. So, on pay day they get the gas turned back on - I’m assuming - but then buy some, uhhhhhh, okay, drugs. Painkillers. I know their drug dealer very well and no its not me.

Digression

So, I got up late, of course, and I needed to hang clothes out on the line because this may be the only day I get to. I guess TLC came over while I was outside in the backyard because Hagar came over and BANGED on the door like maybe he thought I was asleep or in the shower since he needed to use the phone. So, I come into the living room from putting laundry in the basket to take outside and I open the door and he says, “Lemme have the phone.”

Peeps, that flew all over me. I retorted with, “May you use my phone? Yeess.” Hagar says, “Oh, just forget it. Just forget it. *mumble* *mumble*” I leaned out the door and said, “EXCUSE ME?” He said, “Fuck you!” Fuck me? No, no, no… fuck you Hagar.

Just when did I become his bitch? I didn’t, you see, and therein lies the problem. While it may be irritating that he wants to use the phone every fucking morning, it may be irritating that he wants to use my pots and pans and weedeater, and it may be irritating that J.A. comes over and uses the phone in the evenings, but it never reached any type of level which actually made me mad. Pissed me off? Yeah. Made me mad? No. There is no fine line between me being pissed off and me being angry. It’s a chasm.

I’m mad because Hagar’s reaction to what I said was meant to invoke a response of GUILT in me. GUILT!! The “fine, fine, alright then,” is a manipulative phrase. As if I should feel GUILTY because I expect respect on my own porch and in my own home. I did not take them to fucking raise. I am not anyone’s bitch. They make about 20K more a year than I do. Yeah, they have one more person, yeah, I know their house payment is more than mine but it sure as hell doesn’t equal 20K a year.

Fucking forgive me but if you’re going to spend $45 on illegally begotten painkillers instead of buying time for one of your cell phones, so you can stop harassing your neighbor, and keep your utilities turned on then you may want to politely fucking ASK for something as opposed to demanding it. Then tossing a guilt trip towards me? I may not deserve any fucking humanitarian awards but I’ll be damned if I lay down and be someone’s rug.

I’m no one’s bitch.

For the past three or four weeks, or months, hell, I lose track of time, my neighbors have been coming over and using the phone or sending TLC to get it. Hagar wants it especially first thing in the morning while I’m rushing trying to get ready to go to work and get Nate off to school. The absolute worst time of the day. I’ve heard them banging on the door while I’m in the shower even.

I am a giving person and I try to help my neighbors in any way I can. However, as in the past, they don’t know when to stop. I hadn’t had my new $20 weedeater for ten minutes that Hagar wasn’t running over to ask to borrow it. I shit you not. Last week they didn’t have gas. They have a gas water tank so they want to borrow my big pot to heat water in. I think they have all of my big pots over there already and if I did have one I guarantee in my kitchen, it was probably dirty. So, on pay day they get the gas turned back on - I’m assuming - but then buy some, uhhhhhh, okay, drugs. Painkillers. I know their drug dealer very well and no its not me.

Digression

So, I got up late, of course, and I needed to hang clothes out on the line because this may be the only day I get to. I guess TLC came over while I was outside in the backyard because Hagar came over and BANGED on the door like maybe he thought I was asleep or in the shower since he needed to use the phone. So, I come into the living room from putting laundry in the basket to take outside and I open the door and he says, “Lemme have the phone.”

Peeps, that flew all over me. I retorted with, “May you use my phone? Yeess.” Hagar says, “Oh, just forget it. Just forget it. *mumble* *mumble*” I leaned out the door and said, “EXCUSE ME?” He said, “Fuck you!” Fuck me? No, no, no… fuck you Hagar.

Just when did I become his bitch? I didn’t, you see, and therein lies the problem. While it may be irritating that he wants to use the phone every fucking morning, it may be irritating that he wants to use my pots and pans and weedeater, and it may be irritating that J.A. comes over and uses the phone in the evenings, but it never reached any type of level which actually made me mad. Pissed me off? Yeah. Made me mad? No. There is no fine line between me being pissed off and me being angry. It’s a chasm.

I’m mad because Hagar’s reaction to what I said was meant to invoke a response of GUILT in me. GUILT!! The “fine, fine, alright then,” is a manipulative phrase. As if I should feel GUILTY because I expect respect on my own porch and in my own home. I did not take them to fucking raise. I am not anyone’s bitch. They make about 20K more a year than I do. Yeah, they have one more person, yeah, I know their house payment is more than mine but it sure as hell doesn’t equal 20K a year.

Fucking forgive me but if you’re going to spend $45 on illegally begotten painkillers instead of buying time for one of your cell phones, so you can stop harassing your neighbor, and keep your utilities turned on then you may want to politely fucking ASK for something as opposed to demanding it. Then tossing a guilt trip towards me? I may not deserve any fucking humanitarian awards but I’ll be damned if I lay down and be someone’s rug.

I’m no one’s bitch.