I was sitting in the computer room, now devoid of all the paraphernalia from Cloudy's illness and subsequent demise, watching the lightning flicker. I had a perfect view because the light, which had been on constantly while Cloudy was ill, refused to work. I turned it on, the light got bright and then dim several times in rapid succession, then died. Changing the lightbulb didn't help. We're simply going to have to burn that lamp, because it is obviously possessed.
I don't go in for that kind of shit, folks.
It was creepy sitting in the computer room, even with the computer on and hooked up to my favorite addiction (the internet, can't you guess?). It's located downstairs, where there's no-one else. There's an empty guestroom, and a whole bunch of other rooms that we never use. Three people just don't take up the space you get in a five-bedroom house. The hair on the back of my neck had abandoned all sense of propriety and was currently doing a country line dance.
I kept expecting to see Cloudy sashay in, looking irritated that we'd buried her. I didn't know if my parents had the foresight to cover her grave with rocks, or even how deeply they'd buried her. I had horrified visions of the rain exposing her body, which would then get struck by lightning. Enter FrankenKitty.
I went upstairs, carrying Sasha, and went to bed. I locked my door.
See, when our other cat Buffy died, I used to have dreams about her coming back. They weren't nightmares, because I was never scared in the dreams. I used to dream that Buffy would somehow come back. She was completely unchanged except for the fact that she was nicer and she had this green stuff on the fur where her whiskers are. Mold, I guess.
I'm supposed to be going to Georgetown with Jason's girlfriend, Paula, on Sunday. I'm not sure if I told you about this — Jason and Dirk's brother Aaron aren't on speaking terms right now. Paula's pretty, hispanic, and really nice. Aaron is single, hasn't been laid in a while, and has no clue how to act around girls now that he's single. Jason has really low self-esteem, so he totally blew Aaron's (admittedly overdone) joke-flirting with Paula out of proportion. He actually thinks Aaron's making a play for her. What he doesn't understand is that NONE of Jason's friends would screw Paula now that Jason's done the nasty with her. She's tainted.
I dropped Aaron off at the mall before practice last Saturday, and I happened to drop him off in front of Marshall's, where Paula works. On his way out, he ran into her and talked for a few minutes. Nothing serious. Just wanted to know if she was going to move with Jason when he went to college.
An hour after he got home, Jason called him and said, "Stay the hell away from my girlfriend. We both know what you're trying to do; you're not fooling anyone." Then, he just hung up. Jason and Aaron have been really close friends for a few months now. There really wasn't any excuse for him to act that way. If there was a problem (which, by the way, he hadn't even hinted at before this call), he should have talked through it with Aaron. I asked Paula about the whole incident, and she said that all she did was tell Jason that Aaron visited her at work, and Jason went ballistic.
The major problem is that Jason's self-esteem is astonishingly low.
My mother was taking out her grief on everybody yesterday. She screamed at my father for a solid half-hour yesterday. Every time he tried to defend himself, she'd scream, "Shut up! Shut the shit up! I don't need to be married to you, you know!" She was screaming at him because she'd lost a bill, couldn't find it, and arbitrarily decided that my father must have done something with it.
Great people, my family.
She looked like she was getting ready to include me in her little family-bonding session. Uh- uh. Not this girl. I just looked at her steadily, smiling. I was practically baiting her to say something to me. She didn't take it. She just looked away.
I've been thinking about C— lately. The stuff that's happening now is stuff that we used to talk about, stuff he could have sympathized with. At least, the band/Krisco-related stuff. I don't remember how he felt about cats. He would probably have been sympathetic anyway, just because he's that great.
Really, he wasn't the one who did the breaking-off. It was me. I'd sent him a few e-mails, and had gotten no response. Those who have been reading this journal for a while know that this has happened a few too many times already. I don't play games like that. If you don't respond to my e-mail, I'm not going to beg you to. You're not special, you don't get the royal treatment. I'm simply going to assume you don't want to have anything to do with me anymore.
I've played this game too many times already.
Then, I saw that not only had he posted on his favorite message board immediately after one of my e-mails, but I found that the post said that he'd discovered that "I no longer feel the need to perform mundane, everyday tasks. My friends say this is a bad thing, but I see it as a good thing. Perhaps one day they'll understand." [this is how I remember it. The post is long gone, so I can't be sure]
I really couldn't handle that. One of the things I've always known about C— is that he uses drugs. Usually not anything completely illegal, but the same premise. His current (last I heard) drug of choice is DXM — basically, Robitussin. I have no idea how anyone can drink a whole bottle of that stuff. Just the correct dosage makes my stomach churn.
But I figured psychological addiction to DXM = most likely reason he's not bothering to respond. It was too much for me. I decided that, in my last letter, I was going to tell him that either he made contact, or no contact would be made at all. I don't care if you want to drink rat poison, just don't make it my problem. Don't make me dance a little dance to continue holding your attention.
No response. Ever.
That was as good as him telling me to fuck off.
I still miss him horribly, though.
Grim.
Aaron bought a "nused" 95 van yesterday. His parents are trading in the old maroon POS that he's been using to deliver papers, and he needed a van. It rides a hell of a lot smoother than my car, that's for certain. The interior's gray, in fantastic shape, and it only has 40,000 miles on it (compared to his parents' van, which had over 200,000 miles on it). Needless to say, he's driving us to practice this week-end.
I wish I had time to just lie down and take an all-day nap.
I've been getting more vicious than usual lately. I think it's stress combined with going back to school, with a touch of hormones. Or, I could just be going nuts.
I'm going to see if I can crawl under my desk and take a nap.
