“I couldn't live a week without a private library
- indeed, I'd part with all my furniture and squat and sleep on the floor
before I'd let go of the 1500 or so books I possess.” ― H.P. Lovecraft

Whistling In The Graveyard

Monday, March 15, 2004

Awright, time to catch everyone up on the goings on here in shit town.

When last you found me I was trying to ban same-sex martial relations between my brother's pets.

Thursday and Friday went OK at my brother's place. I spent most of my time taking care of the animals, sleeping and playing video games. At least during the day. At night I watched soft-core porn on Skinemax, every once in a while taking a break to go to the computer room and watch hard-core porno on the computer.

I had forgotten what it's like to be in a house that a woman lives in. There was at least one bottle of hand lotion or moisturizing cream in EVERY ROOM. Usually within easy reach of a box of Kleenex.

You wouldn't believe how baby soft and kissable my penis is right now.

Friday I called this phone number that my sister-in-law insisted that I call that would solve all of my problems with getting my surgery done.

This actually resulted in a fight one day when she kept badgering me about it when I tried to explain to her that every few weeks I find someplace that'll magically cure all of my ills and I end up depressed as fuck when they nicely explain to me that they can't help me.

So I finally call them. It's a place that helps disabled people get back into the workforce. They kindly explain to me that while it is true that I am disabled in the condition that I'm in, my condition can be fixed, so therefore they can't help me get my surgery done so that I'll no longer be disabled.

And thusly I was kinda depressed. Not overly depressed. I mean, I've gotten used to things like this, but I wasn't in the best of all moods. At least I won the fucking argument over them not being able to help me. That'll let me feel smug till she finds another damn number for me to call.

By the way, I don't want to make it sound like I don't appreciate the fact that she did find the number and she did think they could help me. I appreciate those things very much. The problem is in the way she presents things like this to me. She, and most of the other people I know treat me like a child. I can't really fault them for this, because I ACT like a child. I learned long ago that if I take things too seriously it's going to fucking kill me so I try to let the shit that doesn't matter slide.

This would be OK if the people around me that aren't capable of doing the same didn't resent my presenting the attitude that nothing bothers me. Most things don't, some things do, but I don't let it show and that pisses some people off.

In any event, I went to the Unitarian Universalist church in Marietta on Saturday afternoon to meet my good friend Mikey (he loves it when I call him that) and attend this story-telling event he'd set up.

I took two of my better pieces, chapters from my book I'm writing (or rather WAS writing back in 1999...) and I think it went well. After all, it couldn't have gone too fucking bad as Mike, his friend (Marion I think her name was, I hate how bad I am with names) and myself.

Stage fright, as you can well imagine, wasn't a huge issue.

I had a great time nonetheless. Mike's friend was way cool, and it's always fun hanging out with Mike, something I don't get to do nearly as often as I'd like anymore. Mike was kinda bummed that more people didn't show and I can't blame him for that, but honestly I couldn't have asked for better company. Well, apart from nude supermodels, but that goes without saying.

So we left the church. (by the way, have I mentioned in this post that I hate churches? They make me itch...) and headed back to my brother's to pick up my stuff and straighten up a bit before they got home. Well, they beat us there.

Upon arriving I received a very cold reception from my sister-in-law. This is far from being an uncommon experience. It usually goes like this: She needs me to do something, so she's nice to me. Then I do it, she finds something wrong with the way I did it, and she gives me the doghouse treatment. This usually goes on till they need me to do something else.

I find it endlessly interesting that no amount of perceived ineptitude on my part ever stops them from asking me to do some other errand.

Now I must admit, it's not like I was doing anything important otherwise (well, besides the aforementioned Unitarian thing) and even if I had something else important to do I probably would have fucked around and not done it, so I didn't mind taking care of the house and pets for a few days.

At this point I should point out the things that she was supposedly mad about.

#1: The water bowl in the cat's room was empty.

#2: The dog had at some point chewed the handle off its leash.

Since the cat's bowl was empty she naturally assumed that I hadn't given the cats any water the whole time they'd been gone. There was food in the food bowl, so one could logically conclude that I had given them food, but since there was no water I must have been intentionally trying to kill them. Never mind the fact that 90% of the time I was there the cats were roaming freely through the house where they had access to several other sources of water besides the bowl in their room (yes, they have their own fucking room, don't get me started...) which I had in fact fucking filled that very morning.

About the leash, I left the dog in the living room while I was in the shower rather than putting her in her cage. I'm sorry, I like animals and I hate putting the dog in that fucking cage. So sometime while I was in the shower she pulled the leash off of the coffee table (she wasn't wearing it or anything) and chewed the handle off it. She's a puppy. They chew things. But the sis-in-law chooses to be pissed at me because I 'let' the dog do it. Fine. Whatever.

Now here are some things she might also be pissed about that my brother didn't have time to mention.

#1: I left a few dirty dishes in the sink.

#2: I didn't make the bed I slept in.

#3: My belongings were sitting neatly on the living room couch when they arrived home before me.

#4: I left the X-box hooked up to the living room TV.

#5: My bath towel was hanging over the shower door to dry.

#6: I used up two bottles of hand lotion and a box of Kleenex.

Thing is, I intended to go take care of these things before they got home, but I got caught up in Marietta with Mike and his friend and my brother and his assortment of new family members arrived home earlier than planned. So of course I walked right into World War fucking NINE. I was a sneak attack from the Netherlands (yep, that's where the sis-in-law is from) and I, according to her map, am apparently Poland.

In my defense I would also like to point out that I offered to watch the dog at my house and stop in their place once a day to take care of the cats. They INSISTED I stay at their place.

All I can say is better me than my brother. Let her be pissed at me. I can fucking go home, which I did. He has to live with that woman. She doesn't seem to understand that I don't have to put up with the bullshit she dishes out to him. I didn't marry her, and based on this (and all the other) female relationship in my life I'm never going to get fucking married.

I goddamn like to live my own life, such as it is, on my own terms. It's not much, but I'm trying.

I guess this is just the long way of saying that the event Saturday has inspired me to start working on my book again.



By the way, if you're wondering, the majority of my family knows this blog exists, including the one's I'm writing about, but they'll never know I wrote this because they don't read it.

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