FUBAR;

It was the mediocre to fair times, it was the worst of times. When we last left our favorite blog heroine, she held her tongue on certain subjects, except under password protection. In the past month I have managed to anger the gentlemen I live with to the point that they are defenestrating me from the apartment in October (somebody out there is humming Tears in Heaven right now). Well, not chucking me out the window, per se, more like flushing me down the toilet to that great open world outside.  Woe and despair! Outrageous fortune, etc. Point being, I gotta hightail it by October 20th.

It’s the end of the world as we know it, and I feel fine.

At first I took the news of my departure with tears, gnashing my teeth, and wishing for death. I saw me for years ahead, Christmas after Christmas alone. No one to laugh with, or love, or to get loked with. Nothing. If fortunate, I’d die an old cat lady, one day found dead with her beloved cats nibbling at her decaying flesh. At worst, spending my life in a ‘facility’ until God or sheet noose mercifully ended my suffering. Good times. But then Soul Bro reminded me that he was loyal even to his ex-girlfriend who took his house, that we would always be friends. That I would see him again after he left town for cooking school. This was what I needed to hear.

I began to realize how comforting is the idea of not having to answer to someone. Waiting for criticism, anger, and whatever sin that would cause them to throw me out, in a hyper-vigilant state is no way to live. It wasn’t that they criticized me all the time or got angry every day, but when it did happen, it became an obsession waiting for the trouble to start again. If I heard them talking to each other in a serious or angry tone I was certain it was about me. I seem unable to live up to their expectations and mine, mixing the two hurts a lt. If I am fussed at, my perfection rituals stop in my head and I declare the day ruined. 

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A few days pass since the last part of this post. I am determined to not put my final solution into effect. I’m still determined to live free or die trying. I’m skirting fatal thoughts. Half of my mind says everything will be fine. The other half suggests, “Die already. He won’t miss you. No one will. The only one who ever needed you is dead.” I tell the other half to go fuck off, that I will live, even if it’s just to spite anyone who ever doubted me.  I am worried, because I do have a plan, even though I don’t want to die.  ”I WILL live,” is my mantra. I have the control to not down a bottle of Benadryl and tie a plastic bag over my head. Fuck Ophelia. Trying to kill yourself over someone because your beloved thinks you suck (not in the good way), you have no family to claim you, etc. is so 1999.

Things are getting worse in this place. I feel Soul Bro’s anger and resentment rising against me with every mistake I make. Yesterday, I forgot a chocolate cake box out where the dogs were and one might have ate some, but he’s still grunting his little pug heart out like always. I was so devestated by Soul Bro’s anger, I ran off to bed without realizing there was cake crumbs still on the floor for the roaches. So Soul Bro was angry anew and he barely spoke to me all day, also reminding me that even if there weren’t any dirty dishes that I was to clean the kitchen every night. I honestly don’t see the point of bleaching the counters on days no one has cooked there, but as you may have gleened, Mr. Clean, my opinions are always wrong.

If all that wasn’t bad  enough we had a talk about money, how I needed to pay him 100.00 a month once I move out to pay the rent I didn’t pay him when my check arrived late two months in a row due to the machinations of Window Licker Hall re-routing my SSI check to their facility and getting it all straightened out. Which is around $340.00 I owe him, but then he says the rest of the money is due to the $1700.00 or so in expenses he incurred due to my returning home in April. I honestly don’t know how the hell I managed to do that much expence incurring, though he swears it’s true. I have become suspicious and cynical in my old age. He says that with me aboard, they use $40.00 in paper towels a month. Say what?! First of all I am not a serial paper towel slayer, often forgetting to grab a towel until I finish eating. Secondly, are those damn towels made out of silk, because they look and feel like the kind that sets you back a buck a roll?!

Well, all’s well that ends well, right? Not really. Soul Bro went to get The Partner and they must have batted around ideas on how to make sure they got that money.  We went to cash our checks at Wal-Mart, where the county’s most genteel trash get their government checks cashed. And that’s when he dropped the bomb. That their rent was late and if he doesn’t get 700.00 by Tuesday to pay, he’ll have to ask me to leave. “OK,” I reply. I promised my storage unit 100.00 or they will break the lock to get my stuff ready for auction, the rest of my check I will give you.”

And then Soul Bro clarified: I would have to give him 700 or be thrown out of the apartment, and that I must be fully financially independent for my meals even though he wanted all my money and then some, as my check is only 698.00 and I get 93.00 in food stamps. I knew one thing though, over my dead body would I give my 100.00 to him no matter what. My storage unit has irreplaceable stuff: i.e., all the photos of my mom, the family Bibles, and  Christmas ornaments. As both of his adoptive parents are dead, you would think he’d understand. even if I end up on the street, I’d do it again. But then, he’s the one who set my mom’s ashes in the storage container while I was away. later returned to me. So wrong. Wish me luck.