The Looming Pit of Despair

I’ve been trying really hard during this crisis to be proactive and take this thing head-on.  I’ve remained determinedly optimistic, which is very unlike me, and pressed onward because Echo needs me, right now.  I’ve taken action, I’ve begun practicing the art of asking, and I’ve even applied for grants and financial aid of every kind to get my dog closer to the surgery he needs.

Now that I’ve reached the limit of what I can do alone, however, I can feel that looming pit of despair creeping up on me.  I can feel the panic and the desperation wearing on me and the optimism is eating up all of my energy.  I don’t know what else to do and everything’s moving so slowly that I already feel as though the fundraising movement has failed – or will fail.  I’m tired all the damn time and watching my dog’s discomfort just makes the whole situation about a hundred times worse.

Since I’ve done all that I can do – applied for all of the online grants I could find for which I qualified, printed 100 fliers at work (because I don’t even have enough money to print them myself) with all of his fundraiser information on them, hung up all 100 fliers around the busiest ares I know of, emailed everyone I know to donate to or share the fundraiser, spammed Twitter and Tumblr and Facebook with the link and our story, pulled everything from my closet and room that’s in good shape to sell on eBay, and even started making scarves to sell on Etsy (though I’ve given up on that as it takes too long and they’re looking like shit)… I literally don’t know what else to do.

I’ve hit the depression wall that’s been looming in front of me ever since I found out he’d need surgery that would cost this much money… I mean, I make barely enough to pay for our food every month. Often times, I have to choose between feeding me for the week or feeding my dog (obviously the dog wins… he doesn’t understand budget concerns).  How the fuck am I supposed to pay for a surgical procedure?

Honestly, it’s the reason I considered giving him up when I first returned to school… I didn’t know if I could afford to take care of him.  Now, I just wonder what the fuck?  It’s fucking ridiculous that I should even have to consider something like this when my vet specifically told me that the reason he even has stones in his bladder is because of the way that dog food is fucking made.  After this, I literally have to make his food every day to prevent it from happening again because the dog-food industry produces food with obscure things like ASH in the food and doesn’t give a fuck who it hurts in the process.  Why exactly aren’t they held liable for this shit?  And why exactly, when these kinds of short-cut practices around this country are cutting jobs, short-changing workers, and raising the prices of their goods all at the same time, why aren’t these bastards covering my dog’s procedure instead?  If there was any fucking justice in the world, Purina would be paying for this… rather than leaving me sitting here to panic about how to raise enough money for his surgery before his condition puts him in so much pain that it would be more humane to just kill him.

And that injustice – that pit of despair – there it is.  I can see it now.

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Another Relationship Rant

Sometimes little things just annoy me.  This bothered me today.

“It’s good to see that you’re still alive,” says the woman who is likely my ex now.

So, I should probably start by pointing out that I’m a little bad at confrontation, and I’m still learning to say things like, ‘No,’ which is how every single one of my previous exes has pushed me around.  I mean, it’s really amazing how good I am at finding people who will, consciously or unconsciously, happily push me around and force me into doing the things they want me to do, and nothing else.

This last situation, she told everyone including her family that I was her new girlfriend before ever checking with me on the matter.  As stated in my last post on relationships, this is the second San Francisco area relationship where the new ‘love interest’ decided we were closer than we truly were – an assumption with which I am not okay.

Now, when she finally did ask if it was okay to call me her girlfriend, I felt a bit cornered into the new title.  After all, she ‘okayed’ it with me during a party at which all of her friends were in attendance, and I couldn’t very well pull her aside to discuss how unsure I was about being in a relationship, right then, particularly when she’d already told everyone there that we were.  So, coward that I am when it comes to confrontation, I nodded and added some related anecdote – an okay.

I sort of fell out of interest with her after that.  I tried really hard to be as attracted to her as I had been before that happened, even tried to blame myself.  “Oh, it must be my depression shutting me down, again.”  Now, yes, I have been rather depressed for about the past … 20 years or so.  However, it wasn’t until Thanksgiving, when she tried to push me to go to her family’s holiday dinner, that I started to figure out what exactly was going on.

I mean, a Thanksgiving invite can be a nice thing, and I would appreciate it if, upon telling her that I had been feeling depressed and being social at that point in time would be a bad idea for everyone involved, she had backed off.  Instead, she got defensive and moody with me because I didn’t want to go.  So, rather than endure a fight, I turned off my phone that weekend.  When I turned it back on the following week, I had a text message from her and several voicemails to which I still have not listened.  The text message asked if I had had a moment to talk, but had been sent the prior week.  I didn’t want to deal with the confrontation so I didn’t respond, which is – again – a cowardly thing to do, I admit, but it’s not as though she didn’t know what was going on.  I had outright told her during our ‘argument’ that I needed to be alone when I felt like this.  She deals with depression issues, as well, so she should have understood… or so I assumed.

People who deal with depression shouldn’t be judgmental about other people who deal with depression.  My dad understands when I’m ‘too busy’ to call him sometimes for months on end, because he has the same problem.  My best friend texts me every couple of months then disappears, and I understand no matter what I’m going through.  Sometimes, people who deal with depression really just need to disappear for a while and deal with it.  After all, it’s not as though I’ve never reemerged.  I always come back.

Today, two (or has it been three?) weeks later, I emerged.  I woke up and told myself that I was going to all of my classes no matter what.  I told myself that it was going to be a productive, social day.  I pushed myself out of bed, forced actual clothes onto my body, and shoved myself onto the bus; I was at school.

Now, I understand that I may not have been as communicative as I could have been.  I’m bad at talking about my own problems, or really anything that isn’t done via writing.  I also don’t like talking to people verbally who know anything about my communicative issues, because if it’s something they’re not going to like they always use my inability to communicate verbally on the spot against me.  So I write everything, I plan out difficult conversations with a list of points to address, or I simply write it down and give that to them.  I think I’ve developed a bit of a handicap by doing this, but it’s difficult to practice tough conversations beforehand so I don’t know how to improve this.

I had to go to the class we share together.  I almost talked myself out of it.  I went.

In this class, I have a close friend who almost made me cry when, upon seeing me, she gave me a huge hug, told me how much she missed me, and instructed me to sit next to her and tell me about the past couple of weeks.  So I did.  Fifteen minutes later, the probably-ex-girlfriend walked in, but I didnt’ see her at first.  All I know is that in the middle of the conversation she interrupted us to say, as sarcastically as she could manage, “It’s good to see that you’re still alive.”

Have I mentioned that I’m A.D.D., and that I’m bad at on-the-spot conversations and interactions?

My friend was still talking.  I managed an “Oh, hi!” to the probably-ex, turned my head as my friend kept talking (trying not to lose the thread of the conversation), and when I turned back, to let her know I hadn’t forgotten about/was not ignoring her, my probably-ex was already walking away – not my best moment.  I let her go; I was too distracted to think through it properly.

Then during a class that I really didn’t want to be sitting in, I started thinking.  I thought, wait a minute!  Granted, I never responded to her last text message, and it’s always possible that there’s a voice mail on my phone from her to which I have yet to listen.  She did not, however, send any messages to see what was going on with me.  She did not take into account the deep depression, which I did warn her about when it started.  She ignored the fact that I had mentioned I could not endure the company of others in that state, at-fucking-all.  She did not try to find out if I was better, or if I even received her messages.  She has also gone months without listening to her voice mails, missing several I have left her.  She’s ignored or forgotten about or simply not responded to texts I’ve sent her, as well as emails.  So, as an opening statement, I found her response today to be completely out of line, and really rather annoying.  That’s rich coming from you (we’re taking a Shakespeare class together… I’m allowed one cliche).

So I left class without saying anything to her, knowing that, annoyed as I was, anything that came out of my mouth was likely to be far too blunt and/or unkind.  I don’t think she deserves for me to be unkind to her, so I walked away.

I think she assumed my walking away was a kind of unkindness, in and of itself.  It could be perceived as such.  It could be.

The thing is: I’m so tired of people pushing me into doing something they want me to do without considering my feelings on the matter, and then getting all upset about something I finally do to stand up for myself.  It’s not my fault that I felt pushed into a corner, and trapped into a relationship with someone.  It’s not my fault that I need a bit more time, and perhaps some real moments to feel as though I’m close to someone new.  In fact, I feel as though that is how most people who live in reality feel about being in personal situations, with very few exceptions.

Why should I just automatically trust you when you went behind my back to create this situation, in the first place?  Why should I take your feelings into account now, when you didn’t bother to consider mine in the beginning?

I’m being blunt now, and that’s something on which I need to work, I know.  However, I think that it’s best if I work on it alone, without someone who’s trying to fit me into their fantasy world without bothering to considering the reality in which I live.  Relationships are mutual.  You cannot make someone live in your fantasy without considering theirs, and you cannot force someone to feel a certain way about you without earning at least some part of it.  Maybe, I just exist too much in reality?  And, maybe, irony is just really overrated.

On Assumed Intimacy & Other Relationship Lies

I’m beginning to think that all my relationships (barring those with some family members and one or two friends) have been with people who see some idealized version of me, and assume that’s the person with whom they’re in a relationship.  They don’t see or want to see the real me, and when they can no longer ignore her that’s when they’re disappointed or annoyed.  These individuals try to force me into being someone I’m not, becoming surprised and/or angry when I refuse to bow down to their mental image of ‘the perfect (girl)friend.’

To add to this, in this new city in which I now live the trend is to assume an unearned level of intimacy; a trend that I cannot understand.  Why would anyone want to pretend with another person, who has not yet actually proven they can be trustworthy, that they have shared experiences that have not been shared?  It makes no sense to me.  You cannot tell someone that the two of you ‘are really close’ when all you’ve done is share a few weeks’ worth of conversations.  That is not intimacy, it is a budding friendship – relationship, if you will.  Even sex is not enough to achieve intimacy, though it is mistakenly believed to be enough by many people.

Assuming that you’re at a greater level of intimacy with someone with whom you’re not is a shortcut that can only be pretended.  With all this fabrication going on how can anyone maintain a relationship?

This is the real reason why marriages fail – constant assumptions, miscommunications, fantasizing, and expectations of instantaneous fixes to any problems.  Until people can accept other people for who they really are this institution will continue to fall and these relationships will continue to fail.  I, for one, am fed to bursting with the idea that someone can just tell me how intimate we have become, or how I should behave in our relationship.  Your fantasies hold no sway over my mind or my actions.

Thanks for reading my relationship rant, and have a lovely day.

NaNoWriMo: Challenge Completed

Current Total:  52,019

I have completed the fifty thousand word challenge.  That’s it, I’m done.  Not with my novel – far from it – but with the challenge that NaNoWriMo puts before us all.  My final total reflects a spurt of writing that I did over two days while sick in bed with the flu, and – wow – I had no idea I had written so much in forty-five minutes spurts between naps, short dog walks, food, tea, and shower breaks.  Really, I was outlining scenes more than writing them because I had ideas I did not want to lose, and no energy with which to complete them.  Discovering my word count this afternoon was quite a pleasant surprise.

So now that the sprint is finished, the real work begins.

NaNoWriMo gives me inspiration to write, but I cannot imagine anyone with any clout will reach fifty thousand words and say, “It’s a masterpiece!  It’s ready to be published now!”  In fact, with very few exceptions, it’s the first of many dozens of drafts, always assuming the NaNo Winner in question realizes the work it takes to produce a well-written and interesting novel.  I’m still learning, myself.

Don’t get me wrong, it’s great that self-publishing takes the monopoly of storytelling away from publishers who seem to only be interested in certain kinds of stories with certain kinds of heroes, and certain types of love interests between very specific genders.  It’s terrible that we’ve allowed a relatively small number of groups to determine the future of our cultural contributions, and what stories will be remembered versus what stories will be lost, all based on what will sell to the masses.

I love the idea of self-publishing, but I dislike the reality of it.  I, like many others, have spent money on self-published novels, only to set them aside several chapters in unable to wade any further into the bogs of spelling errors, grammar errors, and inept sentence structure.  No doubt there is a good story behind all of these dangling distractions, but readers need to be told the story through the well-written and properly edited medium that is published writing.  They should not have to try to decipher it from within massive amounts of run-on sentences, sentence fragments, repetitive wording, spelling and grammar errors, needless scenes, redundant characters, and awkward dialogue.  The point of a novel – the job of every storyteller – is to tell the reader the story without forcing them to search through all of your errors or needless side-stories to find the overarching theme.

I wish I could be less negative about self-publishing, because I really want it to work as a medium for stories that go against our current ‘socially acceptable’ norms.  The problem is that so many authors are using it as an easy way out.  Anyone can now call themselves a ‘published author’ because of the relative ease and low-cost of this era’s publishing opportunities, but that doesn’t mean their story should have been published in its current form – if at all.

Now, to be fair, we are also seeing a lot of poorly written stories being published by modern publishing houses, as well.  So how do we deal with this lack of quality?  My answer to this question is that we do it with our words.  That book you purchased that you couldn’t put down because it was so cleverly and masterfully written?  Tell everyone what you loved about it, and why.  In fact, ask yourself why it was so compelling, and what drew you in and kept you interested.  Did it make you tear up in places, or smile in others?  Did it reach into your chest, and squeeze your heart until you thought it would burst?  How and why?  Tell others about these things.

Alternatively, if that book you picked up is so horrible you’re not sure your sanity can take reading further, return it, and tell everyone you can reach your exact reasons for disliking the story.  I don’t mean flaming the author, by any means.  I am referring to constructive responses such as “Once you get past the sentence fragments and repetitive wording, which are quite distracting and difficult to read through, you’ll find that this story is demeaning to women because, if the main character is any judge, the writer is telling us that a woman simply cannot accomplish anything in life – even just surviving from one day to the next – without having to depend on a man for their existence as well as for their happiness’ (the Twilight Series).

There are two authors I can think of off the top of my head who are regularly published by major publishing houses who write poorly.  Perhaps their stories are interesting.  I don’t know because I cannot get through the errors of sentence structure and grammar, or the constant repetition of words and phrases that an online thesaurus could have easily prevented.  These authors make a lot of money without seeming to try to hard, proving that adage that tells us ‘It’s all about who you know.’

Why should self-publishing be any different or better?  Because we, as consumers and as writers, should be demanding better quality for our money and for our art.  We should be outraged when poorly written stories are lauded, and infuriated when we purchase a book that still has pointless sentence structure and grammar errors.  Every rule is meant to be broken if there is an artistic reason for it, yes, but watching people who clearly don’t understand the rule, let alone why they’ve broken it, get applause for shoddy work should not be tolerated by the writing community as a whole.  We should be striving toward a body of work with higher quality, not settling for lower quality just to get it published, and we should be demanding that others in our field do the same.  There is no excuse for giving up before a draft is perfect because you’ve decided that ‘It’s as good as it’s going to get.’  (After all, that’s for an editor to decide.)

So, now that NaNoWriMo is over (for those of us who have reached the word count goal), it’s time to continue on, striving for quality and clarity.  And, above all, knowing that this is only the very beginning of a hell-of-a-lot of work that is the novel-writing process.

Thank you for reading, and have a lovely day.

One Woman’s Rant | A Looming Break-Up

(Wow, you think, what an apt title. It actually states precisely what to expect in the content. :P)

So, this is my soon-to-be ex’s exact words on my voicemail from over the weekend: ‘I haven’t heard from you in a couple of weeks, and I’m starting to get really worried.’ Just to clarify, this is the guy who just disappears on me for weeks at a time, then comes back like nothing happened. Of course, at this point I’ve stopped chasing him down. Actually, I’ve stopped really caring what he does or doesn’t do. Granted, this is one of the few times I did not try to get hold of him during said disappearance, so perhaps he’s noticed. It’s also the first time I didn’t just go running back to him the second he texted me after his lapse.

Now, I know that guys need their space, and that two or three weeks isn’t all that long for guy-time or whatever it is they call these evaporations. However, all of his disappearances have coincided with major issues going on in my life, which I’ve only shared with him because he pushed me into talking with him about them, and he only ever returns if I say everything is going well. He gets irritated with me if I recognize, bring up, or in any way acknowledge anything that is not disgustingly and unrealistically optimistic, and if I even mention anything remotely like politics or criticism of any kind about anything he takes it personally, as though these things are his doing, and I’m criticizing him for them.

I’m the woman, but, despite having to listen to him complain about how emotional all of his girl friends have always been, I have to walk on egg-shells around him and his childishly sensitive ego. No. Let’s be honest, I’m an actor and a writer and… I’m an artist. Artists have to get used to taking criticism, constructive and otherwise. They have to know what’s going on in the world to appropriately comment on it (in my opinion). If a so-called ‘sensitive woman’ can take it, then get over your fucking self and stop your whining human being with the misnamed ‘tougher genitalia.’ (I’d pay good money to watch any ordinary man handle regular, monthly period pain, let alone child-birth. We’d find out who the tougher sex really is then, wouldn’t we? ^_~) Not to mention the fact that we do not live in an age (uh… the information age. Hello?) where ignorance is a good enough excuse for the things that we do.

“I don’t like following politics because it’s depressing’ is essentially saying that it’s too difficult to keep myself informed, so I’m just going to shut my eyes to what’s happening around the world, and whatever happens won’t be my fault because I didn’t know about it. People who can read that last, and see nothing wrong with it… are morons who I’d rather not share a planet with let alone a country. Further, I have to add, I do not want to share a room or a bed or, even, a conversation with anyone who thinks this way, either. It’s immature and pathetic to ignore all things slightly unpleasant just to avoid dealing with their existence, or being made to think in any way about the world around us.

Perhaps that sounds harsh, but let’s be reasonable and consider the fact that people who do nothing about a situation, whether or not they agree with it, do more harm than anyone involved in it. That is, and has always been, a fact. If you were not appalled by the people who stood back and watched the woman get raped, not saying or doing anything at all, then there is something genuinely wrong with you. Yes, those responsible are horrible, but how do you just stand there and watch silently while these kinds of things occur?

Anyway, back to why I began that rant: yes, I do plan on contacting him back eventually, to let him know that, if he hasn’t figured it out already, this is just not going to work out between us. To be honest, I’m surprised he hasn’t figured that out on his own. Then again, people with egos that size tend to think the world revolves around them, and can’t fathom a world that works any other way. Either way, I do not have time during my current journey to deal with people like that in any capacity.

Frankly, I’m too busy commenting on the world around me to put up with someone who wants to pretend it doesn’t exist.

Packing & Writing: A Block

For the past few months I have been struggling to write anything at all.  I have sat in front of a computer screen or above a blank sheet of paper, and had no idea what to put down or even why I wanted to write.  As far back as I can remember, even during moments of substantial writer’s block, I have never wondered the latter; ever.  I have always had a strong voice, and a solid point of view even during times of change and upheaval in my life. 

For months I’ve been trying to rekindle my love for my art, and not even understood the reasons for the falling out… until now.  I do not have a safe place to write.  That’s it. 

Surprising?  I don’t know.  I’ve been in this living situation for about a year now with a man (my landlord/roommate) who I not only do not trust, and with whom I must share a kitchen and bathroom.  This man will randomly just verbally attack anyone within hearing range on the subject of religion (he’s a fanatical Catholic, which pretty much means he thinks that everyone except himself should follow the religion’s rules), women’s rights (all I’ll say on this is that he’s against women’s rights in most cases), gay rights (ditto, though I do think it’s funny that he has to begin every argument on this topic with the phrase “Now don’t get me wrong, I’ve had a lot of gay friends throughout the years…”  Honestly, I’m never sure why he doesn’t start the women’s rights rants the same way), politics (I’ll give you one guess whether or not we agree on these based solely on the above three topical disagreements), and visual media (particularly the kind that mentions anything remotely romantic or sexual or violent or that mentions religion at all).  Really, it’d be interesting living with a walking cliché if he wasn’t such a bastard. 

Now, as many of you know, I’m very pagan.  I didn’t always used to be this way, though.  I was raised by a fanatical born-again-Christian mother, and up until age 15 wanted to be a missionary when I grew up.  No, I am not joking.  I can still recite whole chapters from the Bible to this day.  Unfortunately, questions of a logical nature are rarely looked kindly upon in most religions related to monotheism, I’ve noticed, and when one of my Bible teachers listed off every other major non-Christian religion comparing each one to a cult… I found his definition also had surprising similarities to what was at the time my own religion.  I raised my hand to point this out, hoping to be disproven, and that was the last time he ever called on me in class.  I found myself ostracized from my peers, and soon discovered that my rare ability to put two and two together had forced me out of the only group of people with whom I had thought I belonged.  Needless to say, this began my questioning phase, which resulted in my leaving all Christian religions entirely. 

(There is a bit in there where I discovered the truth about my apparently ‘devout’ Christian mother, and, without going into detail I will just say, the truth certainly didn’t help me stay with Christianity.  For if she and people like her were going to ‘heaven,’ and by their rules they had no chance not to, then I certainly did not want to spend eternity with her and hypocrites like her.  I’ve found them in many religions since, of course, however none have had the same kind of impact she has on my lack of faith in some imaginary beings in the sky, and the resulting rules, which only serve a small group of people while attempting to subjugate the rest. 

That being said, my grandmother is Catholic, and she manages not to be a crazy bitch or a hypocrite.  My grandmother is also accepting of everyone around her, not discriminating based on their race, class, sexuality, gender, political affiliation, religion, or any other reason.  So clearly it can be done.) 

Back to my landlord/roommate: Now this man is a fight choreographer, but he rants against violence in tv shows and movies.  Ironic?  I gave up pointing out that he’d be out of a job without these things, because, like all major hypocrites, he differentiates between his form of violence with those he rants about.  Not that there’s a difference at-fucking-all, but he is unable to see this. 

This fight choreographer works with people in film and on stage all the time, actively harasses at least one woman in every project on which he’s ever worked, and when he’s confronted about it by those in charge of the project has subsequently come home afterward to complain to me that they’re reacting to his actions irrationally (not that he admits what he’s doing is harassment, mind).  I pointed out once that what he was doing was rude and illegal, and he snapped at me that I didn’t understand the situation.  I gave up after that, chewing on my tongue in every additional instance.  It bears keeping in mind that I met this man on a film set, have worked with him in several projects (none by choice after the first, but actors have little say in who the higher ups hire to work with them), and have had to live with him for nearly a year now.  So I can say from first-hand experience that he’s a bastard on and off set.  I wasn’t the one he harassed on that first set, but I watched it happen to the only other woman there.  I’ll be honest, if I’d known what I was looking at then, I would have kept looking for another place last year no matter how desperate I became. 

To add to this mess, he finally acknowledged that I’m pagan a few months ago apparently, and has been trying to force me out of his ‘Catholic’ house ever since.  First, I never hid the fact that I’m pagan from him, he simply chose not to hear me until recently.  Second, he was well aware that I am Bisexual before I moved in, but he chose to ignore that as well until recently.  Third, neither of the two above things were a problem before I had my new boyfriend, Trevor, over for dinner one night, and had to introduce Trevor to my bastard landlord/roommate.  That was honestly when this whole mess began.  Fourth, the above should not matter in any way because not only are they none of his business, but they are protected under CA law.  So his decision to try to push me out because I’m not Catholic (or more likely because he’s a creepy old man who’s jealous of my current relationship status) has been illegal since the first time he acted on it. 

As a result of these facts as well as his mania, this man has written a list of ‘house rules,’ which ‘I must now follow or be evicted.’  At least two of these rules are illegal, and he operates under the delusion that since it’s his house he can say what he likes and I must obey; period.  I will not address the bullshit about his belief extending in part from the fact that he’s male and I’m female, which in his religion gives him power over me.  I will point out, however, that what he seems incapable of understanding is, well, basic CA law.  Primary of which is that, as far as CA courts are concerned, your house ceases to be a ‘private residence’ once you rent out a second bedroom therein.  Therefore, he cannot, as he says, do what he likes by virtue of it being ‘his house’ alone.  When I tried explaining this to him, he said, and I quote, “Show me the law,” saying in a very short phrase that I can point this out to him all I like but he’ll need to hear from a lawyer before he’ll start to follow the law as a landlord.  How very Catholic of him, and I honestly wish I was being sarcastic when writing those words. 

Back to the writing part, with which I began, all of this illustrates one simple fact: I believe that I am unsafe in that house in the presence of that man, and so is my dog who I have no choice but to leave there when I have to leave for work, school, or to take care of other basic things.  The man is a lunatic, and it’s no wonder I’ve lost my motivation and joy for acting, writing, and designing.  I can’t even exist quietly in that room without him stomping around upstairs, or throwing things around in the laundry room that sits outside my bedroom door.  I have not only locked both entrances to my room, but also barricaded them from the inside.  I don’t use the bathroom upstairs if I know or even suspect that he might be home, which means holding it until I can get to the nearest restroom elsewhere, all of which are at least 20 minutes away.  I no longer shower at home because I cannot hear him come home with the water on, and do not want to be trapped upstairs with him at any point.  I have dreams of the bastard kicking in my bedroom door, pushing me down the dangerous and poorly lit staircase, or changing the lock on my outside door when I’m not home.  I am aware that all three of these actions are illegal, but I also know that he’s unstable and seems to operate under laws that he invents in his mind. 

I will be moving out by the end of June.  I wanted to move out by June 1st, but between finals and work and trying to hunt down a new place to live I was unable to begin packing until yesterday.  I realized then that there was simply no way to finish everything that needs to be done in a week.  Despite my dislike of having to be anywhere near him, or pay him for another month I’m a bit trapped. 

The thing is, whether or not I get the place I am currently applying to get, I will be leaving before June is out.  If I have to live in a storage container for a while, I will not stay under that bastard’s roof for another month.  He’s a psycho, and I hate being anywhere near someone who can and does make me feel unsafe for no reason other than blind discrimination.  I hate bullies. 

Once I’m free, my thought is that my inspiration can then be coaxed back out, and hopefully just in time for an upcoming part I’m playing on stage.  I want to finish my current novel before the end of the summer, and design and make a few corsets for some extra money by August.  I cannot do any of this in that space, with that man.  So … yea.  I’m gone. 

Thanks for reading my lengthy rant, and have a lovely day.  ^-^