So here I am…

So here I am, writing braces on, gearing up and ready to write, and nothing. Nada. Niente. Nessuno! Nothing nothing nothing… So I figured I’d write about not knowing what to write.

No that isn’t completely true, I know what I need to write about, I know all the scenes I have picked out that I need to work on, but nothing’s coming to me and I think I know why. Because I had a really terrible day. One of those days in which your icky past walks through the door and figuratively bitch-slaps you in the face.  The type of day only vodka can cure.

But vodka is apparently gone for the day, and so I have… my blog. It’s 1:45 AM, nobody is exactly online, and I can’t just sit here listening to Lady Antebellum’s “Need You Now” over and over and over alone all night as I sip on my figurative vodka and cry… (and no, the lyrics don’t have anything to do with my situation, but the sound fits)

I’ve always said “I’m not going to use my blog to bitch about my days” well… ah, no one else is listening and who knows, this may just provide some form of entertainment for the folks at home, closing their internet browsers right now.

Besides, I shouldn’t let something get to me so bad that I stoop to alcohol in which to deal. I haven’t taken a drink in a year (ish) and I’m kinda proud of that. Trust me, it’s not the way to go.

When I say I “came face to face” with my past (which I didn’t actually say until now), I also only mean that figuratively, because like a little wuss, I avoided the lobby, and my duties as cashier, until said “past” and his little (“little”) girlfriend left. I give no more details except he is a major reason why my life has been miserable hell for the past three years. I couldn’t face him. So I asked my manager to take over for me while I went outside to cool off. Why?

I was afraid of my own response. I know this person. He would have tried to apologize, just to feel better about himself. Introduce me to his “little” girlfriend. Tell me how he’s been doing. Ask me how I’ve been doing (Maybe) probably in some form of “oh you’re working in fast food now?” (for anyone who doesn’t know, I admitted my profession in my last blog with a funny story , if you’re interested check it out 🙂 “It’s quite impolite to steal chocolate”)

Knowing myself, I would have… gotten more angry than I’d care to admit. (And that’s not admitting how angry I’d get) and let me tell you, well deserved- not incredibly attractive on my behalf. I’d rather come face to face with the direct cause of my three-years of misery, because at least then there was no out right betrayal.

I was lucky to have a manager who understood without question, and an awesome coworker who picked up my duties until said “past” was gone (to let you know, I was not lazy. I did their job while they did mine so no one got behind, and I waited until they were caught up with their stuff to go outside for a bit)

My awesome coworker even cleaned up the “soda spill” in the lobby. The one I was supposed to get, as cashier. The one everyone knew was my job to pick up, including the customers. The soda spill said “past” created. I told my awesome coworker a great big “thank you” for getting it for me. As I said, I was afraid of my own response, my reaction, what I’d do. I’m not cowering in terror at the thought of facing the real past or said “past” or coming face to face with the person himself.

But I honestly didn’t trust myself. I credit myself with a good deal of will power (trust me) but there are a couple of situations from my past in which I find myself completely unable to control my responses to and that’s one of them. One of which I’d find myself completely unable to keep my mouth shut, or my fist from their face at worst response. It was best to go outside for awhile, though it was a miserable half hour in which he spent taking his time “eating” spilling his soda and waiting to see if I’d make any kind of eye contact with him. I still helped other customers, I didn’t avoid being in his eyesight because I knew he’d already seen me and that would be just stupid to run away and pretend like he didn’t know I was there. But I would not go out into the lobby. And it helped NOTHING that he decided to sit right where he could stare at me the whole time I was cashiering.

He was a major cause of my pain, he abandoned me when I became disabled and needed him the most, he literally left me homeless (because I couldn’t, as I realize a good way to put it, fulfill his “manly needs” [I.E- Fuck him or clean his house]) and that’s all I’m going to say about that, because the details were much, much worse.

And there we have it, I’ve complained about my day. I think this would be a good time to write the scene in which the depressed young boy finally discovers what his destiny is, and starts a war to end an even bigger war and bring everyone together in peace (and fangs, claws, and wolves.)

Thanks for listening, my friends.



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