oh fuck, part deux

how eerie is it that the plane crashed a few hours before conan obrien headlined a skit about a bad plane crash on the emmys

there are two people in the world whom it would suck to be today

thank you God that i ain't one of'em

oh fuck

how eerie is it that a plane carryin 50 people crashes and the only one to get out alive was the co pilot?
is anyone else having serious car crash syndrome with the squidbillies at 4am on a monday mornin?



well, my shrink says that gettin some of the shit outta me on here is a good thing, so i'm gonna take another trip down memory lane

i think i left off at my parents, which is where all of anybody's shit starts, and at least i know that i'm at least halfway normal. well, in that regard anyway. really, though, a lot of this shit inside me needs to go to my mother's bastard. well maybe not. i mean, he obviously either had shit happenin to him or he was just plain born evil, which i can't dispute since i dunno who implanted the twisted little fuck into my mother's womb. maybe he's the twisted little fuck of a twisted big fuck and the whole thing's genetic. shame that genetic waste actually gets to live beyond its first month of breathing oxygenated air, especially when waste equals shit like the little shiteater my mother brought with her when she married my dad. i wish he'd've been a retard, but if he would've been a retard, there's little chance that my parents would've been my parents, which really isn't that much of a bad thing to consider anyway. not that i don't love my mom or anything, but if i'd've been given any choice in the matter, or if i'd've had to make a choice, i'd've chosen to be offspring of my father's clan over any chance of having the downside of the genetic material available on my mother's side. turns out that i got the best of both of'em, which is a whole lot more than i can say for the fuckups called my siblings. the best of'em, excluding my stepbrother, who i've heard is quite the fuckup in his own right -- what is it about mothers with fucked up boys that attracted my dad anayway? -- but of all the ones i grew my first thirteen years with, the best of them is terminally ill and has been hangin on a dialysis needle for almost thirty years and refusin any form of transplant cuz he doesn't wanna contract another dreaded disease on top of the one he's already got. sorta makes sense in an odd little fuckup way. he's the smartest of my mother's three boys. sux, don't it.

so i've figured out that i'm avoiding sex because i don't feel safe enough to engage in it with the partner i've chosen to walk this leg of my journey with. prolly why i got a hard on in dominicana last month. boy had me with a look and it don't hurt that i had him with one too. god, i miss feelin safe. miss walkin down the street knowin that they knew who i belonged to and seein them feelin the fear that such knowledge brought forth. i miss belongin to someone i feel safe enough with to wanna belong to. so i guess i've hit the point where i finally have to accept that my life consists of what never existed before he did and will never exist now that he is no longer in my life that way. i've been runnin from that, i guess, though that's about par for the course for me. run from that which i don't wanna see and abdicate all responsibility whenever possible. i wanna belong to someone, not have someone belong to me who doesn't seem strong enough to have me belong to them. i can keep runnin if i want to. but i don't want to. this relationship will probably end, and i don't wanna run from that either. hell, sometimes i wanna run toward that, but that's another discussion entirely. but there are some separatory issues that we must face together because in my insanity, i've allowed myself to become a babysittin enabler and that shit don't jive with who i know i'm really meant to be. and i don't wanna be taken care of, either -- especially by someone who sounds like their soul is shatterin into a thousand tiny pieces everytime they say that they're worried about me. dammit, if you're gonna tell me you're worried about me, at least sound like you're strong enough to actually handle bein worried about me, otherwise it just creeps me out and makes me run like hell in the other direction. but i digress . . .

so what does this have to do with my parents, my twisted fuck of a brother, and how can i reconcile it without hatin my parents? trillion dollar question, if i've ever seen one. well, far as i can tell, it's true what my shrink said when she said that our/my mother/s teach me/us how to be in a relationship and my/our father/s teach us/me what to do in a relationship. i be too thought-filled and i do run like a bitch when the goin gets close. i never ran from him, though -- the one i belong/ed to. that goin got real close. guess it's a good thing we never shared living quarters. don't think i'd remember how it felt to love what that was if we'd've had to do the day-to-day shit together. 'sides, it's good to have that to look at sometimes cuz when i feel like runnin, at least i don't run for real. or, at least, biologically, anyway. though i guess i do, especially when i start wishin my period would start so i can say fuck no with impunity. i hate feelin guilty about sayin no to a pair of eyes that adores me beyond words. it's a fucked up world, no doubt.

when i was fifteen and sixteen years old, i was not allowed to have friends. that may be a bit exaggerated, but while my mother's bastard was out runnin the streets and gettin locked up for way stupid shit -- that's another chapter entirely -- and my younger sibs were out havin a grand old time doin whatever the fuck they felt like doin, my mom told me that i had to come straight home from school and not leave the house for any reason except emergency because she needed me to stay in the house in case somebody important called or in case she needed to call home for whatever reason. what the fuck was that about? that's why i've been so fucked over the last year or so. i'm still in that babysitter/enabler twistercane. godDAMN it, says the eight-year-old with the foul mouth that i love so dearly. speakin of whom, how fucked up is it that michael mcdonald was/is so petrified of losing his christian-music fans that not only is the satan character NOT listed in the bigger/longer cast credits, but his name doesn't even appear on the screen until almost the very last credit -- meaning, we don't see michael mcdonald's name until after the caterers and fiftyfifth assistants, but before the production company logo reappears. i listened to that song he sings at the end, the one that talks about the darkness in a child's soul and what bastards they really are and havin his friends detail your car for about twenty bucks. he must know a lot of latinos. but he does all that, plus that fuckin tripped out up-there song -- is that a fag connotation or what -- and he's so scared shitless that you don't even know it's him unless you're a geek who sits through to the very last scene before the screen goes all ashy. like me. i love that movie. i watched it every night for about ten days, and i watched it four times just yesterday, in part to make up for not seeing it for several days recently. layers upon layers of the best fucked up shit i've ever seen. thanks for turnin me onto them. and the squidbillies. some of that adult swim shit is . . . just lovely.

well i've got a paper and a coupla other shiteatin things i gotta do but i gotta sleep too and what with the new pup and all, i need to get outta my own headspace for a bit.

new baby

and today, she climed up and down the main stairs all by her self!
an immediate spirits-lifter, she is . . . can't wait to take her to the scottish festival next month and on our next road trip and on the road to see aerosmith (maybe) . . . something about independent, intelligent, unconditional love that makes almost everything almost okay.

is she spoiled already?
you betta your sweet ass she is!

next week's challenge? learning to sit and stay. i'm a damned good dog trainer, that i am. Roll


And God said, 'Let there be queers' . . .

And there were queers. And God looked upon them, and saw that they were good.

God's Party Aboard Noah's Queer Ark

The First Sign
And it came to pass, in those days, that two dykes were driving upon the road in their cherry red chariot. Darkness had formed across the land and the dykes hungered. And they thirsteth.

And the first dyke saith, I thinketh that McDonald's soundeth most good to me just now.

And the second dyke saith, Yea, that soundeth good to me, too, sister. And though I loveth the House of the Waffles, I wanteth it not. I, too, wanteth McDonalds.

And they droveth on their way, looking for a blue sign with golden symbols.

Then, lo and behold, a blue sign appeared. It had golden symbols that arched and crossed. And the first dyke saith, Lo, my sister. Hereth is our sign. Let us therefore come to the place where the golden symbols shall meet. And the second dyke saith, Yea, my sister, driveth us further, that we may partake of sacred cows and stringed potatoes.

And so, the two dykes droveth to the place beneath the golden symbols. And they droveth around to the speaking pipe and a new sign appeared, with all manner of food and drink. And in that moment, the dykes saith, at nearly the same time, Let us therefore eateth of the fish of the sea, for that seems more pleasing than sacred cow. But alas, the place was darkened and no voices answereth their call. The two dykes droveth around to the window, wherein they saw another sign.

The second dyke saith, This place hath closeth at midnight. And the first dyke, looking at the hour, saith, Yea, and it is now seven past the midnight hour. And the two dykes sighed, for they were sorely hungered. And they thirsteth.

And the second dyke saith, Let us therefore driveth further. Perhaps we shall see another golden sign.

The Second Sign
And it came to pass, after they droveth their chariot further down the main road, another blue sign appeareth, with another golden symbol like the first sign. And the first dyke saith, Behold, here is our second sign. Surely this one shall be open. And they droveth to the place underneath the golden and arched sign. Alas, this place, too, was darkened and there was no room at the inn. There was even no light within the place, and the dykes were discouraged. And still they hungered. And they thirsteth.

And the second dyke saith, There musteth be a place of golden arched sign that is open.

And the first dyke saith, Yea, let us try another place.

And the two dykes droveth off, into the darkness.

The Third Sign
And it came to pass, after they droveth their chariot further, another blue sign appeareth, with another golden symbol like the first and second signs. And the first dyke was encouraged, and she saith to the second dyke, Behold, my sister. Another sign of gold and arches. And the second dyke was also encouraged. She saith, Yea, my sister, let us therefore go and partake of the fish of the sea and the stringed potatoes.

And they droveth, but did not see the place underneath the sign of gold and arches. Alas, it was darkened and looketh like it had been abandoneth for several hours. They nearly passed the place underneath the gold and arches, but then they saw it and parketh in it. And the dykes still hungereth. And they thirsteth.

And then the second dyke looked up to the heavens and saith, Yea, Father, we now knoweth that thou doth not wanteth us to eat at the place of the sign of the gold and arches. Whereth wouldst thou have us eateth?

And the first dyke saith, Yea, Lord, where wouldst thou havest us to go? For we are hungered. And we thirsteth. Where wouldst thou have us eateth?

And the second dyke saith, Yea, Lord, whither thou leadeth us, there we shall go.

And the first dyke started the chariot once more, and the two dykes droveth on their way.

The Sign of the House of the Waffles
And lo, in just a few cubits, they saw God's sign through the trees and the darkness. They knew it was God's sign, for it was the sign of the House of the Waffles. And they dykes rejoiceth, for the House of the Waffles was open. There were other people therein, and lo, there was room at the inn.

Alas, there was another sign on the door of the House of the Waffles. The two dykes must goeth and changeth the plastic denari into paper denari, for the plastic denari changer worketh not at the House of the Waffles.

Seveneth Eleveneth and the Sign of the Exploding Slurpee Dispenser
And the first dyke saith, Behold, there is a Seveneth Eleveneth next door. And the second dyke saith, Lo, and a Slurpee wouldst be good just now. For still they hungereth. And they thirsteth. And the first dyke saith, Yea, sister, getteth thou a Slurpee. And the two dykes entereth the Seveneth Eleveneth.

As the first dyke changed her plastic denari into paper denari, the second dyke fixeth a cup for the Slurpee. The second dyke saith, My sister, the Supermaneth Slurpee looketh most pleasing. And the first dyke saith, Yea, tryeth that one.

Alas, the Slurpee dispenser explodeth upon both dykes. The second dyke, not believing this sign, tryeth the Slurpee dispenser again, and lo, it explodeth a second time. The second dyke, still not believing this sign, tryeth the Slurpee dispenser again. It explodeth a third time. Then the clerk, having seen the exploding Slurpee sign three times, saith, Lo, the Slurpee dispenser hath brokeneth.

And the second dyke saith, Yea, Lord, thou doest not wanteth us to have neither Slurpee nor food from the place of the gold and arches.

And the first dyke saith, Yea, Father, thou wanteth us to have only good food, from the House of the Waffles. Whither thou leadeth, there shall we goeth.

And having received the third exploding Slurpee sign, the two dykes therefore wenteth out of the Seveneth Eleveneth and wenteth back to the House of the Waffles.

The House of the Waffles
And lo, in the House of the Waffles, there sat hillbillies with unfriendly countenances and yellow people who wouldst not understand queerspeak. But God had a plan for the two dykes, and soon after they arrived, the hillbillies and the yellow people lefteth the House of the Waffles. There remaineth only the two dykes, a queergirl, and a gayboy.

And God said, Let there be queers. And lo, the queers entered two-by-two and the House of the Waffles was transformed into Noah's Queer Ark, where there was much rejoicing. There came the transchildren and the babydykes, and the queergirl and the gayboy and the two dykes made merry into the night, for it was the Lord's night, just past midnight, at a House of the Waffles in Southern Virginia. And God said, Let there be music. And lo, although no one toucheth the juketh box, gayboy party club music began to play.

Parable of Sunday Queer Night
And the second dyke asketh the gayboy, Sir, is every Sunday night Queer Night here?
And the gayboy answereth, saying, No, noteth usually.
And the second dyke saith, Well, it should be.
And there was much rejoicing, for the gayboy had thought that the second dyke was a hoe-moe-phobe and was much relieved to findeth out that she was not.

Parable of the Invisible Smoke Screen
And the first dyke began to walk outside to smoketh, but the gayboy saith, No, you may smoketh in here, but you must doeth it here at the bar, for the booths are the no-smoketh section.

And they laughed about having an invisible smoketh screen that would keep the smoketh from traveling from the bar to the booths that sat right next to it. They laughed and laughed, until the smoke behaveth and only stayed where it was supposed to. And they marveled at the goodness and mightiness of the Lord, their God.

The Dykes Depart
And it came to pass that the dykes left. And in their leaving, they wisheth God's queerchildren a goodnight and they rejoiceth all along their way. For they knew that God had led them there and that God had thrown them an impromptu queer party, down at a House of the Waffles, just after midnight, on His night, in a sleepy little country Virginia town.

The Final Lesson
Sometimes God just wanteth to hang out with His queerkids.
And there ain't nothin wrong with that.
Ay Mayun
so we were drivin down the road and the sign said christianburg, next exit
i looked out the window and said christianburg, just two lanes over
and she immediately jumped us
one more lane over

now THAT is a fuckin BEST FRIEND


four hours later

boi: you know, you're a difficult woman to love sometimes. sometimes you say you want this and then you don't want it and then you . . .

girl: i know. i am very difficult.


girl: thank you

how hot is it?

satan-in-a-speedo hot


well fuck, i just got this email from fp about doin a slurpee run. dammit. i didn't even have school today, but i went to a game with boi. there were a few fun moments, but nothin feels quite right. i dunno, maybe i'm overreacting, but i don't think so. the fuckin with my head, i coulda prolly dealt with cuz i can at least give him the benefit of the doubt. but that pretendin everything's just peachy even after i got better and the planned ambush during session . . . and most importantly, he knows -- how i feel about honoring agreements, especially given the number of agreements i adhere to for his sake. it's not the email itself; it's the principle of 'let's not ambush each other when we go into session'. let's lay our cards on the table, go in without any sort of ulterior motive.

and believe it or not, he and i have talked several times about his pretendin everything's fine when it's not. i feel like everything he did for me while i was sick was a complete lie. all that time, even after i got better, he never said a word til he was ready to pull out the email during the session.

how am i supposed to feel safe in going into sessions with him if i'm always on guard in case he comes loaded with stuff that he hasn't even had the decency to tell me he was having a problem with? maybe i am overreacting, but these sessions are supposed to be sacred space and i'm not a big fan of planning ambushes on people in sacred spaces. i trusted him to be up front with me and he wasn't.

oh and wanna hear the latest?

the first was about the shakespeare set he got me. it was a really sweet gift and i so appreciated his thoughtfulness. until he started askin me if i'd told anyone about the gift he got for me. for two or three days, no shit, he asked me that. the last time was at some ungodly hour of the morning when we'd been up talking and i finally had to tell him that i would be sure to tell people about the gift if he would just please go to sleep. and i never realized how much he did that -- how much he seems to always want me to tell everybody i know about every little nice thing he does for me -- until he did it last week with his birthday gifts to me. he even did it when he made me jello when i was sick -- wanted to know if i told anyone. and everytime somebody asks how i'm feeling, if he's around, he makes sure to mention that he took care of me while i was sick. is that the only reason he does nice things -- so he can check in and see how many people will be patting him on the back for the 'good job' he did?

talk about feelin cheap.

and then . . .

we were on the way home tonight. i had to stop by my mom's and drop off dominica gifts for her and my kid and pick up my b-day gifts from them. my sweet kid comments that it looks like i'm losing weight, which felt kinda nice to hear. so i get in the car and tell boi. you wanna know his response?

"well it probably looks like we're both losing weight. y'know j**** s**** at work told me that it looks like i'm moving better and my pain levels have been way down."

not, 'gee honey, that's really great. i'll bet that felt good'. no, 'wow, i thought so too so i'll bet it feels good to hear it from another source'. not even a, 'that's really nice. congratulations on that'. no, all i got was that apparently i don't deserve to enjoy a compliment that's just about me unless he feels that it's true about him too. and no conversation about anybody's compliments can be complete without another rendition of 'how many people complimented the little transboi, too'.

he tells me that somebody compliments him, i'm like, 'hey that's great. good for you', 'bet that felt great to hear' . . . something along the lines of how nice it is to know that other people compliment him in different ways. but i guess compliments that i get can only be valid if he can include himself in some way.

i can't count the number of times i've had to listen to him tell me about the same compliments from the same people. or even the number of times we discuss how low his pain levels are and how he's moving better and on and on and on. and still, even if i have to remind him that he's told me that story, he still gets that wow-that's-great-and-you-deserve-it kinda response. but from the first time i tell him of a compliment i've gotten, it's off to the races again about him. i'm not jealous of the attention he gets; i'm pissed because when i get attention, he attempts to downplay my own achievement by making sure i remember that he has achievements too. i know it's just a function of his own insecurity, but how long should i allow him to diminish my achievements by inserting himself into them? i think four years is enough of that.

talk about seein things for the first time.

sometimes it ain't about cheating. sometimes it's just about being treated with respect and consideration. but a new day is coming. i'm at the point in my education where i can actually take classes only one day a week -- saturdays -- and do the rest online. i'm looking at federal jobs, and my grades qualify me for positions making . . . gee, almost the same money as he does. i think the lowest i can be considered for is around 35-40K on a good day-- but with my grades, i can start at just under 50. can ya beat that? lol

i sent in my resume for about six of them last night. a 3.72 gpa should get me pretty far.

i think the worst thing i did was trusting this transboi when he encouraged me to step out on faith to heal and get back in school. i put my trust in him that i wouldn't regret it. and i do regret it. it'll be awhile before i get past regretting this, but you can bet your ass that i won't be doing this anymore. i've had to fight tooth and nail for every sliver of consideration and respect he's given me over the past eighteen or so months and i honestly feel diminished as a person for doing so.

when i was in dominica, i thought about whether the only reason i was attracted to yeis was because of the way transboi fucked with me before i left. sad to say, it was part of the reason. i guess it just felt really good to have somebody be considerate and thoughtful of me in all of the same ways that i am for boi -- but that i don't get in return from boi. yea, yeis was being paid to guard and guide us, but if he hadn't been especially attentive to me, neither of us would have gotten the amount of ribbing we did -- especially he did from his 'boys'. lol i saw it and almost felt sorry for him. almost, cuz it felt damned good, but it wasn't long before both of us figured out that unless we told the backstory to every single private joke we had, we were both gonna catch hell from the same people.

but even that was kind a nice -- and it felt nice, too, to not have to answer a million questions about why i wanted what i wanted or needed what i needed. i've missed that.

nice to not have to hear a weak-assed sounding, 'do you want me to help' when it's obvious that i'm struggling with something heavy and/or bulky. i've missed that.

nice to not hear a weak-assed sounding 'i'll try' everytime i said 'please do this my way'. i've missed that.

and nice to just feel safe in knowing that although he was there to protect me from physical harm, he was so confident and so strong, i would have never even had to think about protecting him. boy, i've missed that.

nice to be around someone who didn't feel the need to proclaim that that they were a 'trained killer' cuz really, people seemed to know to not fuck with him anyway. i've missed that.

and nice to know that if we had've slept together, there would have been no confusion and his first move would not've been to lie down sounding more like mickey mouse than a mature adult in bed with a woman that he wants. can't tell ya how much i've missed that.

and nice to be treated as a woman in my own right, not as an extension of whosever hand i happen to be holding. can't tell ya how much i've missed that one either.

it felt nice to flirt and giggle and even engage in a little mindfuck seduction with somebody sure of who they are and what they want. for the first time in a really long time, i actually felt completely safe -- emotionally, spiritually, physically, and sexually safe with someone. it's been around maybe eight or so years since i last felt that with anyone. the absence is of it is rather painful now that i've seen what i've been missing.

it's not really about yeis personally, although it was my attraction to him that allowed me to see the deficiencies in my own relationship. it's about remembering what it feels like to be the girl in the relationship and only floating into tomboyland when i want to -- not cuz i feel like i always have to. it's about enjoying the hell out of that polar-opposites thing cuz i like the balance that having male and female energies bring to a relationship. i'm attracted to butches, dominates, and ftms who really are male and not still not-completely-decided.

i'm the girl. i'm always the girl. i'm always the only girl in any relationship. i was my daddy's only girl and i no longer settle for any less from anybody i'm fuckin. i hate it when lovers forget that. i don't date girlie lookin or girlie actin or girlie fuckin people, no matter what kinda body they were born with. i've missed bein with someone who never forgets that.

it's about waking up.

it's about 'wow . . . why the hell have i been putting up with this boi's inconsiderate behaviors, his wishywashyness about his gender expression, and his lack of ability to accept and celebrate me as a woman in my own right without having to assert his place in my life when I receive well-deserved praise? i'm the one who washes his dirty fuckin underwear, for pete's sake! doesn't he know how lucky he is?

it's about waking up and asking my self what the hell is so wrong with me that i've been protecting his feelings for four years while he gets to say whatever the hell he likes without any regard for my feelings.

so maybe i'm overreacting, but maybe i'm not. maybe i'm just tired of having to train someone to treat me the way other people treat me without my having to ask for it.

why am i still waiting for this boi to learn to think about what he says to me before he says it?

and why am i still waiting for this boi to help me feel safe in our sacred spaces when that's all i've done for him for the past four years?

why am i still with someone for whom thoughtlessness is as natural as breathing when i know i deserve better?

i dunno why. but at least now i'm asking myself the questions.

ironic cuz i do love him and i even liked being married to him.

but it's not about love.

when love is not the question, love can't be the answer.

pretty fucked up, if you ask me.


Talk about your garden variety moron . . .

Yanno, my trip to Dominica put a lot of things in perspective for me. I mean, I talk a lot of shit about fuckin Yei for a week, but on the serious tip, while I was down in Dominica, I really realized what's important in life. And I am so over raising a 53-year-old child. I dunno if it was coming home to realize that lover wore the same nasty pair of jeans -- without washing them, mind you -- for the whole week I was gone or the fact that he let his laundry pile up while I was sick (he said he did that because before I left, I told him not to worry about it, but fuck, I came back really sick -- doesn't that kinda indicate that maybe that would need to change a little??) . . . Or I dunno, even the fact that he had clean pants hanging in his closet and he even had another pair of jeans downstairs in the dryer but he was too fuckin lazy to go get'em . . . and by the way, the stuff in the dryer didn't dry very well (my mistake, I didn't set the dryer high enough) but do you know how clothes and blankets smell when they've been sitting wet in the dryer for two weeks? Which means that after I got home and lover went down to get his other pair of jeans out of the dryer, he didn't even have the common courtesy to put the blankets and other clothes back in the washer for a rewash. And all the while, I'm celebrating the fact that he made me jello. God, I feel like such an idiot sometimes.

But you know, all that crap . . . why am I in a relationship where I constantly have to explain common sense stuff to somebody who's fiffuckinteen years older than me? I love my lover, really I do, but what kicks me in the gut is that these kids -- these sweet little, poor-as-dirt kids -- kids who have nothing in the world except the clothes on their backs, these kids were more considerate in a week than my moron at home has been in the past month. FP, I had to do all of my own end-of-life paperwork by my self -- no help from him in even locating the forms to print out. And I did it, all of it, plus you saw me packing for my self and doing all the laundry and I made sure that when I left, the only thing my darling dear really had to do was eat and clean up after himself. And I get back -- it's been 100 degrees in my classroom every day, so I'm heat sick (in fact, I spent the first two days there so heatsick that getting out of bed and surviving the day was cause for celebration) and I've got this nasty stomach flu and I'm weak and I'm tired and overly emotionally and physically drained -- and I'm, like an idiot, celebrating that lover made jello for about three or four days, meanwhile not only is he allowing the laundry to build up til I get better enough to do it, but he's also harboring this pissyassed grudge because he said somethin stupid that fucked with my head and he got the 'a' answer instead of the oh-honey-it's-okay 'b' answer he might've gotten if I hadn't've been up for over twentyfour straight hours, put together my living will and my last will and my advance directive, packed, done laundry, cleaned the house, and comforted his pussyassed separation anxiety-riddled mommy-please-don't-go crock of bullshit.

And oh, by the way, the key that started all this -- my key -- was in my backpack. I'd put it in the inside pocket on the Sunday before I left because he'd taken me to do a deacon visit at the old folk's home and I didn't want to take the chance on leaving my keys in the car when I went in. It was just in a different pocket than normal. Ask loverboi where his keys were when he had to pay some stranger to break into our car in the middle of the Giant food parking lot that Tuesday before I left.

So yea, he heard part of the 'a' answer before I left and he got the rest of it as soon as I got to a computer. And he carried that shit around with him and printed off the email to take into session and hid it in his back pocket, and he ambushed me with it while we were in session. Granted, in session, I was pretty angry about the whole laundry thing, but I honestly didn't know that I felt that way until we were in session talking about it. That happens sometimes. Often with him. Not with me very often, but it does happen. Boi can't claim he didn't know how he felt about the email. He purposely ambushed me with it, planned it out so that I would not find out how he felt, or even that he was still dealing with it, until we were in session.

That's a violation of one of our sacred agreements. Soon after therapist put us on the shared-journal thing, Boi tried to ambush me. I'd written some pretty angry responses to some pretty stupid shit he'd done, and he'd tried to sneak it into the session without me knowing about it. But the thing is, I don't care if he needs to bring stuff to help him focus on what he needs to say. All I ask is that if we're going to bring stuff like that in, that we tell each other -- give each other the heads-up -- so nobody feels like they're being hit with something way out of left field. It's one thing to have shit come up unexpectedly in session; it's a whole nother thing to come into session loaded for bear and not give your lover the courtesy of a heads-up about it. Boi decided that ambush was, again, his best option. He printed out the email about the key and while we were talking about the laundry, he said 'i wanna talk some more about the key. i brought the email so we could discuss it'. No shit, that's the first time I've heard that he had anything going on about that. I had honestly forgotten about the whole incident.

See I kinda knew that one of the reasons Boi pulled that shit was because he was scraping the bottom of the barrel, looking for something to hit me with as I was leaving, so that my mind would be so focused on him and on figuring out what was wrong with our relationship, I wouldn't have time or energy to focus on anything I found cute and fuckable in Santo Domingo. And oh yea, I found something definitely cute and fuckable in Santo Domingo. Only one, though. I must be losin my edge. But I digress . . .

Boi hadn't planned on telling me that 'the problem' was about misplacing my keys. All he'd planned on telling me was that there was something wrong, but that it could wait til I got back and we'd discuss it in session.

Now, if you're about to get on a plane to go halfway round the world and your lover says that to you, yea, kinda you'd spazz. You're even more likely to spazz if you haven't slept in over twentyfour hours and all of your time and energy that wasn't spent on packing was spent on taking care of your lover, comforting your lover, and making sure your affairs were in order should you happen to die before returning home to your lover. Yea, that 'something's wrong in our relationship and we need to discuss it in therapy' would send a panic attack through you even if you don't have panic attacks. Which I do.

But Boi never planned on telling me the truth of what was 'wrong'. He only planned to bait me, to give me just enough information to send me over the edge, just enough so that I'd spend my week away wondering what the hell was going on. On some level, I saw through his charade and I called him on it. I took the bait and said, 'what the fuck?'

Who wouldn't?

That's when he had to come out with the truth. That there was nothing really wrong. He was just pissy cuz I couldn't find my keys. That's when I went off the deep end, FP. I didn't go off the deep end when he came home acting like a little pussy because I was leaving for a week. I didn't go off the deep end when he locked his keys in the car and had to pay a stranger to break into the car, in the middle of the Giant food parking lot. I didn't go off the deep end when he decided to play games on his computer, watch TV, and then sleep half the night instead of helping me decide what to pack or even helping get the laptop ready to go. I didn't go off the deep end when I had to make those hard, horrible decisions about unplugging me when I'm brain dead all by my self without any input from my pussypissy partner who's still acting like a bitchytwitchy little girl every time somebody says the word 'death' because he's still suckin his thumb and not dealin with the death of his mother. I didn't even go off the deep end when his shit got me so frazzled that the only way I could relax and enjoy the last few moments at home before I took off was to put his whiny ass to bed and go out for a Slurpee run with you and my kid.

I did, however, go off the deep end when the 'problem' he felt we needed to discuss was a fuckin carkey.

I'm so sick to death of this. I probably wouldn't've given it another thought if it hadn't've been for his attempt to ambush me when he knows that I go into session with all my weapons laid down and with nothing in my back pocket that he doesn't know about. I wish so much that I could be back in Dominica. It felt so good to be around people who knew what family meant, people who know what's important in life.

In the end, I know that it all boiled down to Boi being jealous of my being able to go to Dominica without him. He's been all over the place, even been a Korean linguist and he's owned his own businesses and just done all sorts of shit that I'll never want to do. But he's jealous of where my sense of ministry takes me. He's jealous of the number of people who confide in me and he's jealous of me having people who would pay for me to go and work in another country, but who would not even think to ask him if he wants to go. Hell, Dude, diva la musica is arranging to pay for my hotel and conference fees in November for the conference in Pittsburgh; she'd even take care of my transport, which I may ask her to do, actually. You know, of course, that Boi had to pay his own way to Puerto Rico for that conference, as well as his own conference fees. The only reason he didn't have to pay for his hotel room is that it was actually my hotel room and I was nice enough to share it with him. The church took care of that for me. Boi envies a lot of what I do and he's afraid, too, that if I travel somewhere and fall in love with the place or a person there, that I'll just stay gone. He doesn't realize that when he pulls shit like fucking with my head and ambushing me in what's supposed to be a safe space, he's pushing to get the exact same thing he thinks he's trying to fight against.

Anyway, I'm sorry for rambling on like this. I've probably said the same stuff fifty times just in this one email. The stuff with your loveydearest kinda brings this shit with Boi into really close proximity.

Hey, I've got an idea. When we go to Santo Domingo in February . . .

:-) I've gotta get down to school Chat with you later,
fore i go to sleep

i'm not gonna call you on the fact that you broke our agreement to give each other the heads up when we were bringing "evidence" to a session. if you wanna sneak shit in, that's your right and i really don't give enough of a damn to worry much about it. anymore. bring your shit, either out in the open or buried in you back pocket. whatever blows yer hair back.

i'm not gonna bust you for fuckin with my head over a fuckin stupid carkey either. next time we're in session, you'll be gettin it back. i, for one, believe in fair warning. fact is, i don't care to carry the extra carkey, but if i can't find it, i don't wanna risk gettin my ass reamed for not havin it on me just before my february trip down to dominica. hell, i'm over the car altogether. far's i'm concerned, at least metro doesn't fuck with my head or plan to ream my ass out if i don't have my copy of the bus schedule in case the doofus bus driver forgets his route. sorry, mate -- a key just ain't worth all the bullshit you attached to it. not for me, it ain't.

in fact, i'm not gonna bust you for nothin because what's the fun in that anyway. i'm not gonna try to sound like minniemouse and lull you into a false sense of everything's-okayness from now until our next session because that'd be lyin and i have to do what's right regardless of what others might do. everything's not okay. but i don't really give a fuck about talking to you to make it right. you fucked with my head, you broke our agreement, and in breaking our agreement you actively planned to ambush me at our last session. you did good. i hope you enjoy the fruits of your labor.