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rudegirl402 · 2 years ago

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Never a dull moment (pt 1.)

Happy Friday, my fellow degenerates! It's the weekend, time to ~~party hard~~ get blasted and not have to worry about losing your job.

This was supposed to be a 'mini' - mini for me anyway - post that I intended to put up *well* over a week ago, but with CAG coming around so frequently and spending all day here, me getting wasted almost immediately after she leaves, and something or other taking up my time, it was pushed further and further back with ever more shit heaped onto the flaming dumpster fire that is my life. Gather round, as I serve you up yet another rambling tale of misadventure and woe.

Picking up where I left off on my last post, I passed out relatively early on the Friday night, waking up with just enough time to make it down to the liquor store before closing. Some missed calls and messages from CAG on my phone. Didn't bother replying as I knew she'd already be asleep by then. I figured I'd just slam a few more drinks and hoped I passed out relatively soon. Got maybe a quarter of the way through the wine - with a little help from some mouthwash shooters - before I felt sleep finally beckon, and I shuffled off to the bedroom to hopefully get some shuteye.

Ended up waking up, though, what felt like only an hour or two later. Decided to finish off my last post and get it up before I (maybe) passed out again. But merciful oblivion never came. I hit my second wind. I think my tolerance level has reached the point where my normal, maintenance-level, drinking just isn't having the same soporific effect anymore, but paradoxically energizes me instead. My body is exhausted from a streak of sleepless nights, but Mistress Alcohol wants me to stay up and drink with her.

0700 rolls around and I'm still awake. CAG messages not long after. She's an early riser, and I normally don't see her morning messages until hours after she sends them, when I wake up. Perhaps I wasn't clear enough the day before; maybe I didn't want to come off as rude or mean, but I dropped some not-so-subtle hints I needed alone time, and I didn't want this - whatever *this* is - to be an everyday thing. I knew lack of sleep would eventually catch up with me and I was going to crash hard. Last thing I wanted was groggily waking up to her hammering at the door, or demolishing the anti-Jonesy barricade to climb through the window. I tell her straight up she can't come around that day, that I haven't gone to sleep yet, I'm fading, and I'm still drunk and don't want to trigger her with my drunkenness. Incoming call: CAG. I'm really not in the mood. She asks if she *really* can't come over, I confirm, yes, she *really* can't.

0-narcissistic temper tantrum in 60 microseconds. She moans we were supposed to be making vegan shepherd's pie together that day. I tell her we can do it the next day, that I'm really not in a fit state to entertain her. She immediately demands I gather up all the ingredients for the pie and leave them on the porch, so she can come and collect them and she'll do it herself at her halfway house. Gimme a break. She can't afford a Lyft here and back and she isn't coming *just* to get that stuff. "No, I can't do that," I not entirely fake-yawn, "I'm fading fast. Please just come around tomorrow instead." Her voice takes on a sinister tone. "Ya know, most of the pots and pans in there I bought. When I come around again I'm going to collect the things that are mine and I'm putting them into storage." Classic narcissistic carrot and stick: *do what I say or suffer the consequences*. I'm not having it though. "Ok," yawn again, "feel free to grab whatever you want *tomorrow*." She abruptly hangs up on me after demanding I call her a Lyft to get to her AA meeting.

Sleep continues to elude me and I'm left with an ongoing feeling of brain-fog. As the sun rises on a new day, I'm left with a few drinks' worth of mouthwash. I slam them in the hopes it does something, *anything*, to get me into bed and passed out. I'm just at the stage where I think I might be able to sleep, if even only for a little while when CAG chimes in again. She's back from AA and meekly apologizes for the way she spoke to me earlier, that she could have come around and wouldn't be triggered by me being drunk, but she's triggered because of what I told her the doctor said about my elevated white blood cell and liver enzyme count and still drinking. I try to reassure her that having elevated liver enzymes/white blood cells is standard for CAs but she's not having it, says she's upset her dad and I are drinking ourselves to death. I don't take the bait and tell her I'm feeling much better than I did when I went for that doctor's appointment. I can't help thinking how it's less about me (and her dad), and more about how it affects *her*. Never mind, not getting sucked into the same old games.

Still no word from Gun Girl. Last message sent from me Thursday evening/Friday morn, unread.

CAG messages again, when I thought she'd be doing...whatever...for a few hours and leaving me alone to get merry. Says she left a bag in the Lyft to her AA meeting and she desperately needs it back. Groan. Even sober she's so fucking scatterbrained. She can't call the driver or use the Lyft app because her broken phone is still only a Wi-Fi platform, so it's up to me to do the leg work for her, so to speak. I manage to contact the driver, who seemingly doesn't speak a word of English, and ask if he can drop off the bag CAG left in his car. He says he has it - via Google translate - and asks for an address. I tell CAG there's a $15 lost item fee and she points out she can't afford it. For a moment I consider paying it for her - the 'right' thing to do, no? - but I hold off while I ask her what's in the bag. Turns out it's just a couple of make up items, cheap and disposable. Awesome, just tossed away 2 hours communicating with Lyft and a driver who doesn't speak English, only to find it's not even worth $15 to get it returned. Well played, CAG. Another brilliant fucking waste of my time.

I contemplate heading to the store for more booze then. It's a Saturday, so busses are hourly. I can't be assed going to the local Walmart for 2 or 3 items and literally doing laps around the store, buying nothing else, until the return bus comes, so settle on trudging to the local gas station/liquor store for their more expensive - albeit conveniently available - wines. Not going just yet though, as it's still over 100°F and even just sitting on the shaded porch, wearing only shorts, for a cigarette, I'm dripping with sweat.

Gimpy leg has returned with furious vengeance. The last couple of weeks before CAG happened on back, I was feeling fine, good even. The pain, the limp, it had completely dissipated; I could walk normally again. But now I was back to shrieking electrical pain and shuffling with a pronounced limp. Under perfect conditions it should only take me literally 12 minutes to walk there and back, but with gimpy leg it's 20-25 minutes, and I don't fancy that trek under the burning Arizona sun, so nurse my mouthwash until it gets cooler. I wind up picking up two bottles of wine. I'm getting through one and a half to two bottles a night now. Seems like not long ago just one bottle would last me a night.

I woke up a little later than I intended on the Sunday, probably making up for the lack of sleep from the day before. As usual, bevy of messages from CAG. Still nothing from GG. Raging hangover. Good sign, I guess, in that I don't feel still drunk. CAG wants to come around again. I had assumed the ballache of getting two buses here on a weekend schedule would dissuade her from coming, but the inconvenience didn't seem to bother her. A new sensation flared up then: annoyance. I wanted to chill, I wanted to get drunk, I wanted to sponge out in front of the laptop, I wanted to get this posted, but instead I have to sit and watch tv with her for x hours of the day while WDs crept in and she rabbited on about people I didn't know and didn't care to know about. I considered telling her not to bother, that today wasn't a good day for me either, but I knew she'd have another meltdown. I wasn't in the mood for, nor was it any longer my responsibility to deal with, one of her temper tantrums so all I could do was grit my teeth and text "cool, see you in a bit."

She didn't stay very long. There seemed to be a mood in the air; she was acting different. Quiet, pensive, contemplative maybe. She suggested we watch the *Obi-Wan Kenobi* show, I suspect more to try and please me - or at least wanting to have the appearance of that - than any real desire on her part. I'd already seen it like thrice over, but I'm a Star Wars nut, so I didn't mind. Of the prequel trilogy she's only seen *The Phantom Menace* and while OWK does a fairly good job of summarizing *Attack of The Clones* and *Revenge of The Sith*, I have to pause quite frequently in the early episodes to explain some things she doesn't get. "Ugh, what's this 'Episode II', 'Episode III' stuff!? *Star Wars* was episode I, *The Empire Strikes Back* was episode II, *Return of The Jedi* was episode III, and then these stupid prequels came out and they changed the numbers for no reason! They're prequels, they shouldn't be I, II, III!" This isn't the first time we've had this discussion and I can only laugh, "CAG, the original trilogy - which you saw in the cinema when they originally came out - was already subtitled IV, V, VI *before I was even born*". Sober or drunk, she picks some weird fucking hills to die on.

We go out for a cigarette during a lull between episodes and I decide to set her straight. I tell her, as sensitively as I can, I need more time off from her, that I need to step up my job-search game because I can't afford rent & bills for the coming month. Because of CA time displacement I felt like it was still the first week of July, but it's not; I'd drunkenly pissed away almost two weeks fretting over her and GG. She doesn't get angry or upset, as I imagined she would, but nods in agreement, saying she'll just come around on Tuesday or Wednesday instead. She leaves after what feels like 2 or 3 hours, when she normally stays for 6 or 8. At least I can drink earlier.

She texts later in the night to say she got home safe, and she had fun at mine. Despite myself, I can't help but ask if she's ok, because she normally doesn't leave that early. She replied she was just tired and everything's fine, but "it's good to know you're not sick of me." Hmmm.

Monday. I really had intended to light a fire under my ass in terms of getting a job. There was only two weeks left until the next month and I thought maybe, maybe, *maybe* if the universe aligned just right and I got a decent-paying job sharpish, my first paycheck would hit before rent was due. But I put off contacting the agency who got me lined up with my last job. I've been lowkey worried that with the easing of Covid lockdowns - when they got me the job last year all communication was through webcam or phone - they would ask me to actually go into their office for a face to face chat or interview. Never mind the ballache of having to get multiple busses to their office, or the anxiety of interacting with people when I've got WDs, when I worked with them last time I had to do all these performance tests with various Microsoft Office programs, to ensure I was the "right fit for the job." Data entry proficiency I had absolutely no trouble with, as I've got a type speed and accuracy above that required for secretarial jobs, but I'm sure plenty here can relate with the fact that in all my office jobs over the years I've never had to use more than the most basic functions of Word or Excel. When I did their little tests at home last year, I just opened a new window and Googled "how to do x, y, z on Word/Excel" and passed with flying colors. I mean, if it's vital to whatever job I could get I'm sure they'd give me training on it anyway, so I didn't see the point of their daft tests, but I was worried if the agency wanted me to come in and do those tests again in-person, which I'd naturally fail.

I was stuck in something of a can't/must quandary then. I knew I needed to call the agency, with the slim hope they retained my personal details and I wouldn't have to do their stupid tests again, but I fucking hate phone calls and knew it would give me anxiety, which meant I'd have to drink just to talk on the phone. So I did what I always do and dithered instead. CAG popped up then, last fuckin' thing I need. "Hey, I think I might go to the Walmart near you. We could meet up if you want?" No, no I don't want. I thought I made it perfectly clear I need Monday 'off' from her. I gently deflect her by saying I don't plan on leaving the house because of the heat and because I need to contact the agency. "I could come around after I'm done at Walmart? I won't stay long." No! She knows from our time together I hate making phone calls and asks if I need a drink to steady my nerves. I'm wary of discussing boozing with her because I don't want to trigger her and go right back to dealing with an alcoholic psychopath, so I answer honestly: "I don't know." I'd been trying to put off drinking until later into the day, and with her coming around that meant I wasn't drinking until 6, 7, 8 at night for the most part, but here I was, early afternoon, eyeing the bottle and knowing I needed it just to make a fucking phone call. Fuck it. I caved a few hours before the agency closed. *Just a few for Dutch courage* became *this is fun* and I watched the clock steadily wind down to closing time as I slammed more drinks.

Sunset. CAG says she's going to bed early because she's tired. Cool. I'm out of sauce and throw my kicks on for a booze run. I see my big toe poking out of a hole in my shoe, I can't help but laugh. Despite CAG having done the laundry for me, I'm still not wearing socks. I guess maybe because I don't know when I'll be able to do, or afford, laundry again and I don't want to 'waste' them on something as trivial as trips to the liquor store. I make it halfway there before I absentmindedly pat my ass and realize I've left my wallet at home. FFS. I try not to sit on it when I can help it, on the off-chance it has something to do with my gimpy leg, so take it out whenever I can, but there have been a few occasions where I've been tipsy or blasted and not realized I've left the house without it.

When I finally shuffle to the liquor store I go to pick up my usual: two bottles of cab sav. Except they're out. Fuck. Their wine section (such as it is), is right next to the register, so I have to awkwardly tell a number of people doing their shopping, "you go ahead," and motion them past because they think I'm in line, while I'm examining the red wines they do have for alcohol content. It's all weak ass 8-9% shit, fuck if that's going to tide me over for the night. I settle for a couple of pinot grigios. 11%. Weaker than my 12.5% cab sav and I fucking hate the taste of white wine, but it will have to do.

Except it doesn't. Card declined. Shit. The bills must have hit already and I'm out of money. Shit, shit, shit, fuck. My drunk/lazy ass been hitting up the local liquor store far too often when Walmart is cheaper, but I haven't been functional (or mindful) enough to get the bus there and back. There's a line growing behind me and I suddenly feel *very* self-conscious as I try my card again. I've been wearing the same clothes for what feels like six weeks now, and I don't think I've showered in that time either. I must look - and smell - like a disheveled hobo, and here I am with two bottles of wine on a Monday night nervously, and desperately, swiping my card multiple times. *Eh eh eh eh*, the card reader squawks every time. The teller mumbles something about maybe it's just my card and I almost blurt out *but it worked last night*; the store only has 3 employees and the dude serving me then served me the night before. Instead I croak a nervous laugh, "uhh, think I need to go and get my other card haha," and bolt it out of the store with my tail between my legs, trying not to make eye-contact with anyone in the line behind me.

I am fuming on the ~~walk~~ shuffle back home. I'm completely and utterly broke. I still have mouthwash at home that I can drink, but I was nominally supposed to be tapering down with wine mixers, the whole "getting your life back on track" thing. I consider catching a late bus to the local Walmart to pick up some almond extract, or what have you, with my food stamps, but decide against it because I'm too fucking lazy. Fuck knows how much I even have left since I've been paying for CAG's food and drink. Weird, since she gets free food at her halfway house, vegetarian/vegan as well. Minty, antiseptic, breath and screaming shits are a small price to pay for getting wasted that night.

I get home and angrily crack open a new bottle of that sweet Equate mouthwash. I take my phone out of my pocket and place it, face-up, within my field of view, just in case GG messages and I don't want to miss that. It's been like 4 days since I've heard from her. I don't know what I've said to upset her; I thought we ended things on a good note when we last spoke, and we were headed towards full reconciliation. But how can you tell someone it makes you cry to admit you love them and if they're in danger of homelessness you have a spare room they can live in... and then just ghost them? Whatever. I don't care. I constantly feel like I'm begging for scraps of attention and affection anyway. As with 95% of my relationships I'm far more invested in them than they ar-

Tuesday. I wake up with a start. No recollection of going to bed. There's a bottle of mouthwash on the pillow next to me. My head is fucking pounding. It's that awful wire wool brain sensation of a hangover. I stagger out of the bedroom, fill up a cup of ice water and make to go out on to the porch for a breakfast cigarette. All the lights still on in the house paint a picture of me staggering straight from my computer chair to bed to pass out. My laptop is open and unlocked. I usually shut it down or at least put it on sleep mode. Messenger is open. Conversation: GG. *Fuuuuuckkkk*. My eyes focus on the last thing I sent. "Why are you doing this?" - 0328AM. I have absolutely no recollection of sending that, and I'm angry at myself for doing so. *We were trying to be brave and stoic, and you fucking cave like this?* Message unread, as are the previous ones I sent her, the last time we spoke. She'd normally be up now so she should have read my drunken mishap. Instead, silence. Again.

CAG messages, says she's on the way to mine and will be there in a couple of hours. I groan in frustration; her visits are coming earlier and earlier. I'm feeling far too ropey to deal with her. Maybe if I'd had more time to sober up and feel better I might have had more patience for her, but I knew I couldn't ask her to delay coming over or postpone it for the next day because she'd have another narcissistic meltdown. The way I felt then, I contemplated going for some hair of the dog. I'd considered it before, when she came to visit, but I put it off both because I was legit trying to push drinking as far back into the day as I could, and because she would instantly know I'd had some booze. But temptation gets the better of me and an hour or so before she comes I fold and start chugging the mouthwash. Even if she can smell it on my breath she can't say with complete certainty I wasn't using it for its intended purpose.

She arrives just as I shut off the oven, from cooking the vegan shepherd's pie. She'd insisted I cook it when she's not there because using the oven raises the ambient temperature of the apartment, and with only a couple of box fans for climate control we're usually sheened in sweat from just quietly watching tv. I can't help but think of how much a kick she gets out of the control factor though. I try to put GG, and drunk-messaging her the night before, from my mind and have a pretend-fun day with CAG. The pie turned out pretty good. It's only vegan because she is and I prefer the real deal, but I give myself a pat on the back for the quality of the finished product. It's the first meal I've made for CAG since she's been back that she's completely scoffed. Normally she always leaves bits and pieces which is a strange concept for me, having been raised in a "clean your plate" household.

I wind up staying up late, like stupid late, into the AM glugging the mouthwash. I can't sleep, for some reason, probably because of the tolerance again. I'm having my seventh or eighth "I'll go to bed after this" cigarette when something weird happens. A pair of lights flash on the wall across the street, from what looks like someone in the adjacent AirBnB unlocking their car. It's like 4 in the morning, what are you doing up at this time? I rarely see the guests who stay in the AirBnB and my interaction with them is limited to the odd smile, wave, or "hi". But the current occupants seem a little sketch. On more than a few occasions probably a dozen or so different vehicles came and went from the unit all day. "It's probably drugs," CAG had scoffed. I initially dismissed it as more of her conspiracy thinking, but that morning I considered she might have had a point. I'm not really paying attention to whatever the AirBnB guest is doing until, out of the side of my eye, I see two girls titter out onto the driveway. They're barefoot and the driveway is graveled. One of them - and I can't tell because of her dark skin tone and the sun not having quite risen - seems to be wearing only a bra. Just. A. Bra. The other appears to be in some fancy-looking lingerie with rather fuck-me fishnet stockings. They must be bloody prostitutes as I can't imagine anyone else sauntering around their home so scantily clad, especially since I thought the AirBnB guests were a dad and his to 'daughters'. They open the doors on a car in the driveway and appear to be taking things into the house from it. I know it's early hours but the property isn't walled and they're right on the street; anyone driving past is getting an eye-full of T & A. I exaggeratedly clear my throat, both because I'm choking on phlegm and I figure they could do with a warning the whole world isn't asleep. They both glance up from whatever they're doing in the car before getting back to it, seemingly without any concern of how exposed they are.

Wednesday, CAG returns to form when she says she wants to clean the bathroom. The whole rationale for her being here was supposed to be that she wanted to clean the apartment, to help me, before the annual inspection happened. After a week of doing so she seemed to lose interest in the idea though and I figured she got bored with her cover. She does a good of job of scrubbing the place out while I rustle us up some vegan chicken burgers. Should have taken a picture for scale, but these things are ridiculously oversized, like bigger than our hands. If there's one good thing about her coming around, it's that I'm eating somewhat regularly again, I guess. When I walk her to the bus stop later, so we can go food shopping and then she can go home, she expresses the sudden concern she's going to shit herself. I can't help but laugh and tell her while it might be an occupational hazard for CAs I'm surprised she's still got a leaky bum after having been sober for so long. "I never had a problem with diarrhea because of drinking," she tuts, as if I said something ridiculous. "That was because of food poisoning or I took too many laxatives." For fucks sake. I've written before about how terrible she is at acknowledging the realities of being a CA and here we had a shining example. I'm not in the mood to 'debate' her though and just nod an "mmmhmm".

When we get to the store she immediately rushes for the bathroom while I go around picking out things she asked me to buy, to take home or enjoy when she comes around mine. I head to the booze aisle and contemplate picking up a bottle of $2.50 wine with the spare change I have in my pocket. CAG finds me there, looking hagard from her power shit. To my surprise, she offers to give me the last of her remaining cash to buy more than one, and some more mouthwash. I half expect her to ask if we can go back to mine and drink together, but she looks away instead and says, "one isn't going to do you, and I don't want you going through withdrawals if you won't go to the hospital." Huh. I almost miss my bus home because she has the runs twice again while we're there, but we both make it to our own busses and back home in good time.

As I get deeper into the wine, GG's silence starts to gnaw at me. I can't think of any reason why she'd be deliberately ignoring me like this. We've gone a day or two without talking, maybe, but we've been pretty regular in our level of communication. I look at the message I sent her a couple of days earlier, when I drunk-messaged her, still unread. I try not to get angry but I can't help but feel like she's playing games. She's 9 years older than me, I would have expected her to be more mature. If she doesn't want to talk anymore she could have said so; if she's with someone else she could have said so. Would it really have cost her anything to say, "let's just be frien-"

Thursday. I awake, again, with no recollection of having put myself to bed. Looks like I demolished a bottle and a half of wine and more than a few glugs of mouthwash. I gingerly check Messenger to see if I messaged GG again, like the last time I blacked out. Thankfully, that's a no. Then a thought occurs to me. I remember her telling me, for some reason, there were times when I would message her and she could see what I said via notifications, without the message having a 'read' tag to it on my end. I check my text messages. I sent her one last night. Balls. "Are you ok? What's going on?" It's not bad in the grand scheme of drunk-texts but fuck I gotta stop doing that shit. No response from her. Surprise surprise.

I have a couple of quick wine mixers, to get rid of the hangover, before CAG comes around and we have a fairly uneventful day. I tell her about watching a video on Bhutanese cuisine the night before, neither of us really know much about the country but I randomly drop that from what I remember smoking is largely banned there. "Well we can cross that off the list of places we're going to visit." I don't say anything. *We*. At various times since she's been back she's made noises about wanting to leave the country and heavily implied I'd be going with her. She has her eyes set on Panama, and has been saying things like "you should look into it," but never has a retort when I tell her I don't really have the desire - or funds - to leave the country *alone*.

Saturday. Once more bolt up in bed from a blackout. I barely remember Friday. CAG was here, I felt annoyed at her being a drag on my time, we spent all day watching tv, I cracked open the mouthwash and then...nothing. CAG messages to announce her imminent arrival. Then my phone buzzes again. I expect it to be some demand I do something for her, maybe meet her at Walmart. But my heart jumps as I see *1 new message: GG*. I hesitantly open it up and see I'd drunkenly angry-messaged her the night before. Oh. Fuck. The last couple of times I had some vague sense of familiarity on reading the words I wrote the night before, but this time I'm struck dumb. I have absolutely zero memory of messaging her. Worse - a million times worse - while I'd tried to maintain a civil, neutral, tone in my prior messages I went fucking ballistic with this one. I asked her why she was being so cruel and sadistic, I asked her why she couldn't just say she didn't want to talk to me anymore or just be friends; I asked her why, if she was with someone else, she couldn't have just said so.

She says she's been silent because she didn't have phone or Internet service, that she's so broke she got cut off. A million thoughts run through my mind. I don't even have time to process a response as she immediately goes on the attack, telling me she's not with anyone else, and that I 'obviously' must love and care for her if I'm coming at her so. That "things" have happened to her since we last spoke that she doesn't want to get into, but I'm making it all about me because I wasn't concerned something might be going on with her. She calls me a "controlling, manipulative, self-righteous, narcissist." I might be a deadbeat CA, but I try to own my flaws, and this isn't the first time she's thrown this scripted shit at me, which really sounds like it's aimed at her ex-husband or some other guy she dated before or after. We get into a heated back and forth then. I'm taken aback by the ferocity of her attacks on me when I'd only expressed hurt and sorrow in my last message. I'm not a fucking mind-reader, so for her to get bent out of shape over me not intuiting her phone/Internet service (allegedly) being out or sussing out the other 'stuff' that happened to her makes me want to fight back. What was I supposed to fucking do, take a $100 Lyft I can't afford out to her place on the off-chance a plane had crashed into her house or something? I'd (semi-)joked about her explosive anger before and I'm getting a prime example of it now. She could have just said "hey, sorry, my Internet/phone got cut off! I'm not and haven't been with anyone else, dumbass," and things would have gone back to being good and normal. But instead she starts throwing out all these off-the-mark insults and accusations about how I made this all about me, and I don't care what's going on in her life. I'm instantly put in mind of the spat we had after the funeral she went to, how she dialed up the notch on righteous indignation and vindictiveness when I was constantly offering to bury the hatchet with her.

I am seething. Fuck, the timing is cosmically infuriating. I can't get sucked into an all-day battle with GG as CAG is due imminently and she'll flip if I'm spending time constantly on the phone. Grrr. I step out on to the porch for a breakfast cigarette. There's a large tree limb in the yard. I vaguely recall a storm from the night before. I don't know if it was a lightning strike or gale-force winds, but one of the larger branches from the tree in the front yard has been ripped off and is lying there on the ground. CAG comes through the gate and steps around it as I finish rolling my cigarette. She offers a tired "hey" as I light up. I'm already not in the mood and would rather be talking to GG. Restless leg all day as I drop some not-so-subtle hints CAG should go home sooner rather than later. I swallow my pride and message GG she could have told me her services were about to be cut off - if that's even really the issue - and maybe I could have helped her. Left on (un)read for the day.

Sunday I wake up to the sound of knocking at my door. I don't need to check the porch camera to know who it is. I can only groan "you gotta be fucking kidding me!?" before I roll out of bed and shuffle to the door. CAG's sat at the porch table, smoking a cigarette. "You weren't responding to my messages so I thought I'd just come over before it got too hot." She's a terrible communicator, in more ways than one, but I especially hate, then, how she never waits for confirmation through textual conversations. I'm the kind of mate who'll give you constant real-time updates if we're meeting up; "just getting in the shower now," "setting off in a bit," "10 minutes away," etc. because I'd expect someone to do the same for me. CAG will text "can we meet up at 12?" and if she doesn't hear anything back she'll just be there anyway.

I know most of my crankiness is centered around GG from the day before, and I try not to misdirect myself into taking it out on CAG, but I can't help feeling irritated she's woken me up. Going to bed later and later and poor-quality CA sleep is really kicking the shit out of me. Another wasted day of sponging out in front of the tv with her, watching stuff I've either seen before or I'm not interested in. I'm constantly checking my phone for word from GG but nothing. I tell CAG, with a little more of a growl than I'd intended, she is not to just show up again like that uninvited, that she should get confirmation from me in future so our plans line up. I get a message from her after she gets back to her halfway house later, saying she feels hurt that I open myself up to "Internet strangers" (as in, you lot) but I was a "closed book" with her. Never mind the fact she has no one but herself to blame for ignoring, talking over, and disregarding me during the years we were together, one of the hallmarks of pathological narcissism is to isolate the victim; I know she's jealous of the fact I have friends from/on here and she knows I won't use my laptop while she's here nor do I really use my phone either. I've lowkey suspected one of her motives for coming here all the time - when I seemingly have nothing to offer, even attention - is to prevent me from writing. Lol I remember back in 2020 when I could have Reddit up on my laptop and be writing about us while she was in the same room, oblivious and uninterested. Perhaps I should never have mentioned what I write about and how frequently. Hindsight is 20/20 etc. etc.

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rudegirl402 · 2 years ago

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Never a dull moment (pt 1.)

Happy Friday, my fellow degenerates! It's the weekend, time to ~~party hard~~ get blasted and not have to worry about losing your job.

Still no word from Gun Girl. Last message sent from me Thursday evening/Friday morn, unread.

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