Happiness is paying a lot of money here and living somewhere else
So, I forgot to pay rent this month.
No big deal, really. The miserable whore downstairs usually threatens me with eviction when I ask for a repair. I can just say I don’t live here!
We have a saying at the office, “I barely work here!” When you get hit with a curveball or a problem seemingly too big to solve, that’s always a good first answer — kind of like cramming a Twix bar into your mouth when you “need a minute.”
But for me, I barely do live here.
I’ve spent the last five weekends elsewhere. And I’ll be gone tomorrow through next weekend, so let’s say it’s seven in a row.
My friend Lady L, who I am usually with or, at least, staying at her place while she’s AWOL, had some interesting things to say last weekend.
Usually, I scoot out of her place when she’s coming home. I load up the car, tidy up the mess I’ve made, walk the puppy and I’m gone. It’s like I was never there.
Last weekend was the UEOEH’s birthday. I had told her that I’d come home and take her to dinner at her favorite place. She ended up e-mailing me (Internet connection is FABULOUS atop the cross) to just hang out with Lady L and to forget about her.
You don’t gotta ask ME twice, yo!
So, I did stay and wait for my friend. And she was … grateful, to say the least.
She asked why I always vamoose when she’s on her way home. And I thought I was doing her a favor.
You see, I always come home to a UEOEH sitting around the house like a fucking gargoyle. Her fucking TV is always on. And I HATE noise. There’s a reason why I don’t have kids, people. Silence is my friend.
I miss the days of coming home from a trip and just having peace and quiet and familiarity. My house. My stuff. My cat. My pillow/bed/couch. Not answering to anyone or anything other than myself. True recovery.
My friend was feeling kind of the opposite. She actually welcomed having someone to talk to, to share pizza with (yum!), to decompress with.
I *could* have that in the UEOEH, but I can’t look at her with anything much less than disgust anymore, so I don’t share. I just go to my room and shut the door so I don’t have to hear her TV or her mouth.
Or the way she drags her feet (literally) so that I hear her fucking flip-flops flip-flopping all over the fucking floors. Lift your goddamned feet, woman!!! (And take them elsewhere. Thanks.)
Or the way she complains about everything — the ants, the mold, the maintenance, the drug dealer next door. As I just told her four minutes ago, MOVE. You don’t like it? Nobody wants you here anyway. GAH. LEAVE.
Lady L had observed that I was truly happy, just sitting on my laptop (doing my expense report. Ugh) and hanging with the puppy. I was calm and relaxed and very peaceful. She travels to the ends of the earth to find her zen, and I find it right on her leather chair with her beloved George at my feet.
Of course, she doesn’t have my dumbass mother living with her either. Who is a lovely person but I am THROUGH. She could fucking hand me a check for a million dollars and I’d still be annoyed that she spoke to me.
Anyway, the real revelation to me is that, yes, I am VERY happy hanging out with George. I miss my kitty, of course. And she slept in my bed last night, like she knows I’m going away again.
Kadie started sleeping with me every night since Maddie died last year. But then I had to move the UEOEH back in, and I have to shut the door to silence her. I don’t need visits at all hours to tell me what she just saw on TV.
So, Kadie can’t be with me or else she will be throwing herself against the door to escape. (Just like her mother!)
Anyway, I miss my Kadie. Hell, I miss my apartment on the water when I’m gone. And it is a damn shame how much I pay to NOT live here. My dipshit mother has the master bedroom with a Roman tub in a bathroom that’s almost the size of my entire bedroom.
She told me her friend just sent her money so she can eat. She is always telling me she isn’t eating. Look, there’s always crap here to eat. Yogurt and fruit and frozen dinners. I don’t replace them if they aren’t gone.
Incidentally, when I was really losing weight? Was when the bitch was working. I was hopeful. I was happy. I was looking forward to the next phase of my life. Now that I’ve gained part of it back and the scale keeps creeping upward, I realize that I have NOTHING to look forward to. That she will NEVER leave so why be thin and attractive to a man? I know it’s my problem, but I still hate her for it.
And in addition to free rent and utilities, she gets an allowance. I tell her not to buy me anything but she always does. Then she gets mad when she runs out of money and I tell her I’m not an ATM. So if her friends are feeling bad for her, then she should go live with them. Really.
Recently, I had a brief discussion with someone of the male variety that involved “moving in” and, my favorite phrase, “temporarily.”
The “old” Goddess had no problem with the prospect of living with someone. Not a roommate — I fucking hate sharing my space. Remember, only child here — I don’t share my toys willingly. But if I’m getting laid regularly, I am open to discussion. 🙂
But the resentful Goddess who is never going to get rid of her fucking mother doesn’t want to live with anyone. EVER. She rather LIKES her long-distance relationships.
Sure, nothing would beat having a nice Florida boy nearby for some skin-on-skin action and, more importantly, cozy comfort. But for all the boys who were damaged by their childhood, I’m a girl who was damaged by her adulthood.
And that’s one diddle you can’t undo, Homeskillet.
So, yeah, I pay *mumble mumble* a month here, only to live in someone else’s apartment.
And that’s where I find my happiness. Go figure.