I had to physically restrain myself from posting up an entry yesterday evening. I was about to declare my hatred for everyone and everything, as well as bitterly complaining about Nedstat. That isn't the kind of family-oriented material I'm shooting for, though, so I stopped myself.
I e-mailed C-- with a short synopsis of everything that's been going on lately. His e-mail in response was about one line. "Never think that you are not in my thoughts." Sometimes I honestly don't think I'm reaching that man. I think I've lost something integral along the way that used to hold his attention. Or maybe it's him that's lost something.
Yesterday was spent going to college, making Dirk soup from scratch (tasted like vomit to me, but he loved it), and watching all the wrestling I've missed in the past few days. In the evening, I went to an AIDS seminar. You know, in my small county, there are over 800 reported cases of HIV....that's a really high number. And you know, when you go to these things and they describe the symptoms, you always have at least one. Mine was excessive tiredness. I started quietly panicking, until I remembered that I've been constantly drowsy since I was about fifteen or sixteen. Before I had sexual contact with anyone. Still, it almost makes me want to ask Roachboy how his AIDS test came out. Since, if I got it from anyone, it would be him.
And I get mad now when I think how stupid he was before me. You know, he'd slept around quite a bit, and most of that was with the local putas (sluts/whores/etc...), since they were the only ones who'd do anything with him at short notice. And he didn't really use protection, not even with Sonia (yes, Aaron's Sonia), who used to go to 7-11 to pick up guys who'd pay her for sex.
Okay, I was stupid, too, but we were together for two and a half years, and I didn't find out just how varied his sexual history was until a few months before I dumped him. Roachboy didn't lie, he just made sure not to mention all the bimbos he went with (and what he really meant when he said they used proctection--i.e., they didn't use condoms), and assured me that he'd been tested.
But enough meaningless panic. The seminar was worthwhile. One guy who spoke passed around his daily dosage to stay alive. 58 pills, one skin patch, one injection, and a catheter something or other. And some of those pills were bigger than the tip of my middle finger. I'd hate to live that way.
While I'm still capable of remembering it, here's a shout-out to Ryan, who said nice things about my site and has a much nicer site than mine. See, he actually believes in making things pretty.
Now, after the seminar, I made the mistake of going over to visit Dirk, even though I knew he'd be asleep. God, his parents irritate me. They have nothing good to say about him, constantly reiterating the fact that they think he's a loser...hello, look at the example he's working with. I mean, his mother was a goddamned grocery bagger her whole life. And they really don't have too much leeway to judge.
So, I made polite noises at them, tried to wake Dirk up long enough to say goodbye, and got outta there. I don't want to be their foster daughter just because I was lucky enough to get a government job and I go to college. They need to learn to be supportive of their own, before trying to crow about my accomplishments. I don't think they've ever told their kids they were proud of them even once in their lives. And I don't think they were equipped to deal with having kids more dedicated to music than anything else. Hey, it happens.
Nedstat's doing evil things again.
I'm glad Dirk's going to be off for the next couple nights. I miss having him fully awake, although he's much more malleable when he's sleepy. You know, we don't really fight anymore. I have yet to decide if that's a good thing or not.
My baby, my other half, Sasha, was walking with a limp yesterday morning. She was demanding to go out, but I wasn't about to let her out if she was injured, so I picked her up and examined her rear paw. Nothing, as far as I could see. She yowled a lot, I put her down and went back to bed. Lo and behold, she followed me to my room and plopped on the bed next to me. I think she stayed there all morning. She's getting old, so the limp might just have been some stiffness or arthritis. I don't like to think of how badly it'll hurt when she dies.
I'd have to say, my "monthly visitor" is so late I'm starting to get a bit worried. Tomorrow I'll have to go buy a pee test and pray to the little plastic god of negative results. There are no "Agent Skatter or Dirk Jr.'s" in my future plans, so don't get your hopes up for a baby shower.
And don't get all pissy about the joy of children and how I should count myself lucky if I can have them. If I had one and kept it, I'd either kill it, or hit it so often it would sit in a corner and rock back and forth making keening noises. Not out of malice, mind you. It's just my natural response when anything smaller than me cries. I got it from my mother. And if I gave it up for adoption, it would probably have all the spectacular mental instabilities that I have (yes, some of it is congenital, Virginia), and it would probably try to search me out when it was eighteen or something irritating like that.
I'd get my tubes tied, but they want you to have kids before they'll do that. Same deal with your uterus.
We'll see. Hopefully it's just my cycle being funny again. I was going to ask god to not let me be pregnant, but I'm utterly convinced that particularly deity, if it exists, exists solely to take a dump on me as often as possible.
See, this is the kind of anti-social sentiments I was trying to avoid yesterday.
This morning, we took the bus to work instead of slugging, and I got here early. All the easier to look semi-alert as I answer the phones.
(12:30pm)And here, for your viewing pleasure, is the funniest "virus warning" I've gotten via e-mail.
There is a computer virus that is being sent across the Internet. If you receive an e-mail message with the subject line "Free Money," DO NOT read the message. DELETE it immediately, UNPLUG your computer, then BURN IT to ASHES in a government-approved toxic waste disposal INCINERATOR.
Once a computer is infected, it will be TOO LATE. Your computer will begin to emit a vile ODOR. Then it will secrete a foul, milky DISCHARGE. Verily, it shall SCREECH with the tortured, monitor-shattering SCREAM of 1,000 hell-scorched souls, drawing unwanted attention to your cubicle from co-workers and supervisors alike. After violently ripping itself from the wall, your computer will punch through your office window as it STREAKS into the night, HOWLING like a BANSHEE. Once free, it will spend the rest of its days CRUSHING household PETS and MOCKING the POPE.
This was posted up on an internal bulletin board in my office under the heading "virus hoaxes". I almost pointed out the fact that it was a rather obvious joke, but I decided I didn't want to crush their little egos.
Dirk's about to be in horrible trouble. See, last night, when I asked him if he wanted to go to the AIDS seminar with me, he made noises about lack of sleep and work. Well, I just found out that he was off last night. Asshole. He could have gone with me, and he sure as hell could have woken up while I was visiting.
Not only that, but he's at my house right now using my Internet. Pig-pig-pig-pig-pig-pig-DIE! I am so close to threatening him with a horrible death. I'll probably get to see him tonight, though, which makes me happy.
I've been reading all of the old e-mails back and forth between Roachboy and I....I've come to the decision that I am, in fact, the bastion of all evil as he claims. I am the wellspring from which all the ills of the world originated. I am a vessel of...badness. Mal. Actually, I'm kidding. The only result of reading those old e-mails is that I felt much better about myself, and I gave myself a little pat on the back for dumping his sorry ass when I did.
Do you want to read some of the great things he said? Sure you do, because we're all just that bored, and my blood sugar just did something nasty which makes me malevolently gleeful for the moment. No worries. Unfortunately, I couldn't find anything worthwhile, since I usually deleted his more idiotic e-mails as soon as I got them. What a waste, huh?
(3:30pm)I talked to Dirk on the phone, and everything's alright again. Apparently, he did tell me he was off, but I got...distracted. So, we're probably walking to a nearby Italian restaurant. I'm so tired of being grounded like a sixteen-year-old.
For once, I find myself at loose ends. Man, I hate being bored at work. Is it too much to ask for all the other online journalists to update more frequently than I do? So, I even asked Claire to give me work, and she cannot think of anything for me to do, either.
You know, I still sometimes wonder if Roachboy reads this journal. I mean, I know he desperately wants everything Dirk and I do to fail, just to prove that he was right all along. It galls him to know that we're still together and stable, after more than a year. Or maybe I'm just giving myself too much importance. I mean, he might have moved on....but he's still putting his lame-ass books online, so I doubt it. And I don't know why he insists upon me referring to him by a pseudonym in my journal. After all, he said it was okay for me to link to his page, and he uses his whole name there.
Does anyone remember Bloom County, especially the collection called "Billy and the Boingers--Bootleg"? Anyway, I just have part of one of the songs from the cheezy single included free with the book running through my head. "Was Elvis ever the King? Let's not get reflective....."
Sort of a tribute, really. To Roachboy, the man who thought he was king of our county.....
Boredom can do terrible things to a person.