  Saturday, June 05, 2004 I've never done this before, but I'm sure I'll have no trouble filling space. Lately it seems that I have a lot to say but no one to say it to. I'm hoping that no one will be able to, whether purposefully or accidentally, identify me since most of what I want to get off my chest is rather scathing. I guess I'll begin by saying that the shit that happens to me CANNOT be made up. It's unreal how much drama and bullshit surrounds me. There are people in my life who are so inherently flawed that most people would not believe they exist.
They seem to be the product of a writer's overactive imagination. But I do not believe that any accomplished writer could even begin to fathom the idiosyncracies and storylines I am about to relate. That being said, I do not think that I consciously or actively seek to include these types of people in my life. I am some kind of magnet for this shit, and they find me no matter where I go. I have to admit that part of it stems from my lack of assertiveness. And naturally, like any person with anger management issues, I have questionable self esteem. (But I also think I may have been on the grassy knoll in a former life, and my penance is being served out in this lifetime. ) Ok, you need to know a few more things about me before I start itemizing the things that are frustrating in my life. 1) I am almost obsessive-compulsive in my need for order in my immediate environment. I like my space to be clutter, garbage, and mildew free. I do not necessarily view this as a bad quality, although it is the root of many a anger flare-up.
2) I despise liars. I do not see the need to put all the thought and effort into making up something to hide your true intentions or to give the appearance of a more interesting life. 3) I am a people pleaser. Given my current living arrangement, I do a lot of things I normally would not do because I feel that saying no is not an option. I believe it goes without saying that I am allowing my good nature to be taken advantage of. Big time.
I recently had the unique opportunity to witness just how disgusting a trait this can be, and I am taking steps to be more assertive. 4) I am the type of person who lets their anger build and build until a seemingly insignificant blip in my day sets me off on a tangent where "the fucking world has gone to shit". I'm getting much, much better with this, but I am nowhere near a healthy expressor of anger. God, there is so much I want to vent, but I'm not sure if I should tell it chronologically or just go with what happened today.
But this is already way too long, so I'll start with today. I came home from work to find that someone in this house stole my razor and left it sitting on the coffee table in the living room, full of tiny hairs. Not only is this a BRAND NEW, expensive razor, it was upstairs in my room in a drawer. So someone apparently snooped through my room.
They left it within easy access of the dog, who has taken to pulling things off of the coffee table, and he could have easily walked off with it and sliced his mouth open. Ok, so I find my razor, in the living room of all places, still covered with hairs. And someone apparently picked up a tuft of hair and stuck it in the fan. I noticed it as I was cleaning up the hairs and stealing back my razor. So now I am confronted with the decision of either cleaning the fan NOW or waiting until someone turns the damn thing on and cleaning up the aftermath.
I just stormed off. What the fuck is wrong with people? So now I'm in the bathroom. Of course, it didn't occur to whoever used the toilet last to flush. Thanks for letting me know your digestive system is in proper working order. And every last damn towel is laying in a pile on the floor, breeding new, Tilex-resistant strains of mildew. After cleaning up the bathroom, I walk into the kitchen to affirm that I am not hungry. I invite any scientist studying bacteria to come into my kitchen to run experiments. I don't know how anyone in this house can eat anything that comes out of there. There are ants everywhere, mouse shit all in the drawers and cabinets, and good luck figuring out what the fuck is in the tupperware in the fridge.
It's all either congealed, liquified, or solidified. Some of it has been there so long that the tupperware has popped open, almost as if in a desperate cry to be remembered. Why don't I clean it using my superhuman powers of OCD? Been there, done that. It's an exercise in futility. Shit pops back in there in less than a week, and I'm tired of having droplets of mystery meals spill onto my skin. I hardly eat when I'm here, and I'm sure my immune system is already compromised. I don't need the hassle of 10 days of amoxicillin or a nasty case of hives AGAIN.
So I've taken refuge in my room for the rest of the day. As I sit here downloading music and debating whether or not to actually write a blog, I know the powers that be are busy discussing how I've been antisocial lately. Regardless of whether or not I may actually want to be social, I'd rather stay in my room where I know I can rest my elbows on a surface without contracting some bizarre infection. And of course, hiding out in my room also protects me from exposure to the pigs and liars and all the accompanying bullshit that lurks downstairs. The main person I hide from is the worst of all. She is an attention-hungry, self important, manipulative, lying hypochondriac.
And she gets testy if you don't drop what you're doing and greet her when she walks through the door. I exercise my right to sit on my ass and refuse audience with her highness every chance I get. This of course results in her screaming my name from the bottom of the stairs. When and if I finally emerge from my room, she invariably asks me a stupid question like do we need milk or did the mail come today.
How the fuck should I know? Go and look for yourself. My main beef with her is that she is cheating on her husband with another woman, but she thinks she's discreet and that no one knows. It makes me insane. She spends every available moment with this woman at the expense of her own family, and they even bought a "summer home" together. I think hotels were getting a bit too expensive, so they opted for their own place. If this woman truly makes her happy, and if this is a lifestyle choice she has made, I wish she would be honest. I realize her extra-marital activities are none of my business, but she includes me in her lie. She'll ask me to tell this other woman she was someplace other than where she really was. Or she'll say she's going out with another friend, but then she comes home and tells me all about her escapades with her secret lover. I know this other woman genuinely cares for her and wants to make a life with her. But I think she's just using this woman to validate her sexuality, for her money, and to have another source of attention for her imagined chronic illnesses.
The whole charade pisses me off, especially since her husband is the sweetest man in the world. He trusts his wife implicitly and is completely oblivious to the affair. He honestly believes that his wife is just out gallivanting with one of her girlfriends. The idea of an affair, especially with a woman, would never occur to him.
I hate her for this. Yet I live in her house, slowly saving enough money to move out and get my own apartment, so I am not in a position to say any of this to her. I can't tell her that her fake, high-pitched laugh makes my blood curdle, her house is disgusting, that she should spend a weekend cleaning up after herself instead of getting eaten out in her "summer home", or that I could give two shits if her stomach hurts again its probably because her lies are eating her up inside. I can't say any of this while I am living here rent and bill free. That would make ME the asshole. 
