Sunday morning. Sitting outside watching traffic pass, aka my favourite hobby in a small town in the middle of nowhere. It makes me feel close to the city. Thus the reason why I have insisted on living on the same busy street for the last few years.
I’m so over the drama in this town. I’m old. I’m tired. My feet hurt. I don’t give a crap. Why is this old man stopping his car to tell me that “people are talking about me at Bloody Mary’s in not nice ways” like this is brand new information to me? Oh, right, because he wants to make sure I “don’t say anything bad about the Owner.” Seriously. This is a thing that really happened. I literally cannot even.
Yeah, okay. Everyone make sure THE MAN AND HIS PRECIOUS REPUTATION are okay while MY NAME continues to be dragged through the mud by a bunch of two-faced, backstabbing douchebags! Okay!!!!! Yeah, sure, I’m totally down to make sure this dude experiences no consequences for any of his actions so he can go back to his precious little family. Who cares about me? Who cares about my career or my reputation? Who cares if the woman is constantly targeted for nasty gossip as long as the man is okay?!
So fucking gross. South Dakota is gross. What a terrible, backwards state. Why anyone would willing choose to live here is beyond me. “It’s a great place to raise a family!” Yeah, I guess, if you want your kids to grow up with no exposure to diversity, culture, or intellectual resources. Then they can turn into the kind of people I’m dealing with now. Wow. What a great idea! Ya’ll go ahead and self-segregate in your little rural echo chamber. I’ma head out.
At least I’m writing a book about all of this. I guess. That really doesn’t make me feel any better at all, but whatever.
Speaking of books, I looked over some of the Andrew stuff yesterday. I can actually read it now! Sort of. I did cry during one story and slam my fist on my binder over another one, but otherwise I was able to remove myself far enough to read it with a critical eye.
I came to two conclusions: First, no one else should ever read any of this in its current form for any reason whatsoever. Two, I actually do need to sit down and read it the entire way through, start to finish, in the correct order it should be in. I always come to these conclusions, I know, but MY FEELINGZ!!!! It’s difficult to deal with this project. So difficult that it drove me to slam bourbon like a boss.
Why is it difficult? Because it’s not a real book with a real plot. It reads more like an impossible relationship that can’t happen IRL but continues to drag on because the guy won’t stop showing up in spite of the woman constantly telling him to get lost. Dude just wants to have his cake and eat it too. He wants to live his perfect life, but keep his little pet project on the side. He does not seem to care that his pet is completely miserable and wants a real relationship with a real person who will take care of her instead. Typical! Everything must always be about the man. Everything must always be about preserving the man’s reputation and livelihood. Who cares what the woman wants? Who cares if she is a real human being with real feelings, needs, and desires? Who cares if she has dreams? The man is always more important!
I truly feel as if this project is a curse. A plague upon my house, if you will. I strongly favor the idea that I am actually possessed by a shapeshifting demon. That would explain why this character won’t leave in spite of every attempt I’ve made to escape him. Remember that time I tried to move to Montana and everything went terribly, horribly wrong, thus forcing me to turn around and come back with my tail between my legs? Yeah. Guess who I dreamed about every single night of the one whole month I was there? Guess who followed me to Paris? Guess who won’t leave me the fuck alone no matter where I go or what I do?!
This is a curse. I was cursed. Someone I pissed off a long time ago carried their spite with them long enough to exact the worst revenge they could think of. They learned witchcraft so they could curse me to “love” a fictional character who is loosely based off someone I stared at from across the room, spoke to three whole times, and will never, ever be with in real life. Whoever you are, you’ve won. Your revenge game is strong. I’m not even mad right now. Quite frankly, I’m impressed. I actually find it inspiring. I can only hope the next time I seek revenge on a person who hurt me, I do it half as well as you. 14/10, would take your Master Class on Curses.
The only reason I feel like I should read it start to “finish” (it’s still going) is because I’m trying to understand this relationship and the character’s motivation for continuing it. I don’t understand him. I really don’t. I don’t understand why he is here or what the hell I’m supposed to do with this 1000+ page document sitting on my desk. All I know is that I’m trapped in this horrible little town where I am continually punished for existing as Myself and refusing to conform to what others want me to do, say, or be. It was always this way, but it’s gotten SO MUCH WORSE since this fucker came along. I went from Social Butterfly who flits around the room talking to everyone to Evil Temptress Extraordinaire who must not be associated with under any circumstances whatsoever or else you can’t go drink at your favourite bar.
What the fuck is wrong with these people? Seriously. No one fucking knows. I can only pray that I never turn into them. I never want to treat anyone the way I’ve been treated. I’m sick of being vilified while actively being held hostage by some greedy douche who feels entitled to whatever he wants. It sucks. The whole thing sucks. I hate him. I wish he would just GO AWAY!!!
But no. All I ever get is “Write me a story! Write me a story! I want a story! I want a story right now! Wahhh! Give me all the attention while neglecting everything else!” It’s like… bro… I wrote you a thousand fucking stories already. I literally wrote an entire novel that continues to drag on because you don’t want to leave. I didn’t even plan this shit! It was supposed to be ONE SHORT STORY! ONE! And now it’s this! Why isn’t that good enough for you? Why can’t I just work on my fucking screenplays, articles, or blog? I hate him. Seriously. I do. I just… hate him. I hate him with the passion of a thousand flaming suns. He might actually be the worst thing that’s ever happened to me, and that’s saying A LOT because I have dated some truly psychotic individuals. This one wins. This one takes the cake. Way to outshine them all. You are truly the Emperor of the Island of Lost Guys. Congratu-fucking-lations. Now go home to your perfect little fucking family and leave me the hell alone!!!!
I need to book another trip to New Orleans and get this curse removed, stat. It’s clear dark magic is the only way. I don’t like to mess with it, but I will if it cures me of this terrible affliction. I would probably do just about anything at this point to get rid of him. Help me, Marie Laveau, you’re my only hope!
Sigh. Time to go do nothing. I have today and tomorrow off. I should do laundry and go grocery shopping. Oh yeah, right, something something family. I have no idea what they’re doing. They don’t call me. I don’t know.
Luckily, right at that moment, Mad Dog appeared on his bike…