Friday and Saturnday


Someone…or a few of you got a screwed up heart.  Margaret.  I know it’s you.  Of course, I  could be way off course, but I am frikken dam close; and you know it.

You all know that I rarely come in to work on Fridays.  Yet, you all signed and gave Rehina the going away card, signed by you all, except me.  Gee, I wonder who’s idea this was.  It wasn’t all Margaret’s doing, but it was her masterpiece directorship.  Call me a liar.

I shall drift a bit.  Chrystal.  Why the flock do you think the moon queen has the the due to give you the nod to finish off my tequila pistachios?!  They belong to me.  They were on my desk, not yours.  Not the moon queen’s desk, either.  Had I even taken one little paper clip from your desk, you would have whispered to your office confederacy that I was the thief trynna mess with you and your idiosyncrasies.  When in fact, it is your incontrovertible-like sweetness radiating towards the moon queen; convincing her mentor-self that you are as much child-like as mine scholar is.

I was there Thursday.  Why did you not give me the card to sign when we all were there at the moon queen’s going away party, huh?  You all knew I am rarely in the office on Friday’s.  Someone, one of you could have given me the card to sign on Thursday…as you did to Jorge!  I know because, remember, I assist the moon queen in entering all of your time, and I know Jorge was in the office Thursday, and I asked him personally, today, Saturnday, if he signed moon queen’s card on Thursday, and he said, “Yes.”

You suck, Margaret.  And Chrystal sucks you.  Actually, they all suck you, Margaret; because you are the dominatrix to the Field groups.  None of them have the testicular fortitude to tell you to your face that you are affront; no, forefront.  Yeah.

Sure, we all going to miss the moon queen.  We all experienced her glorious kindness.  All of us have been blessed to have worked in her company, yets.  But it is I, me, who is imbued by Rehina to be kinder in my deeds.


Now, You Know Why I Call Him zed’s dead

Today is the last day of September, in the year of 2015.  It will not come back ever again.

I am glad for that!

There’s this kid named, zed..I will call him, “zed’s dead.”  Zed’s dead is the head, “big man” in charge of some property management company that manages Ms. ‘Zewski’s apartment building that I have been dwelling in for over seventeen years.  If I were to type the real name of zed’s dead, I would tell you to go on YELP, and read for yourself the unfavorable adjectives consumers say about this individual.

Instead, I will try to remain humble in my depiction of him.  UGGHHH!!  Right now, though, I wish I had Teret’s Syndrome!

Like I said, I’ve been living here for over seventeen years…with yes, some serious issues a few years back..before I was diagnosed as Borderline. And long before that kid, zed’s dead, was in the picture.  And yes, most of the current twenty tenants in this building are not fond of me, to say the least.  FYI, they do not like me because I am straightforward beyond crass, sometimes.  I am not proud of that, but I just do not have the refinement to speak my mind any other way.  Wow, just wow.

Anyway, living in said apartment for this many years has taken its toll.  It is time for me to roll.  But I got my 21 year old and my 17 year old daughters with me; and frankly, I do not want them to come with me.  What’s love got to do with it!  They been leeching off of me long enough.  But seriously, if I don’t run away soon, they will never be compelled to get their crap together.  Does anyone relate?

“But she’s only seventeen…wahhh…waaahhh..”  Just believe the truth that them girls ought to miss mom for a few months.

Back to zed’s dead.  This kid has threatened me with his notice of “pay in three days or quit” because I was twenty days late with September’s rent.  First time in seventeen years.  Actually second time, but still, that’s dam good considering my credit score is presently 775!  Then, he threatens to evict me a second time because I had failed to respond to last week’s request to turn into him an extra set of keys for my front door.  Give me a DOGDAM minute will you!  He claims it is landlord’s and property management’s lawful right to have keys.  I’m sure it is, yeah.  But here’s an idea, zed dumbass about you and the landlord finally, fix the pipes and water issues once and for all, so you all do not continue turning off the dam water every few months.  How rich are you, that you cannot fix these things beyond recall??  How about you and the landlord take showers and wash your hands with the brown water coming out of the pipes, huh?!  Oh, sure, THAT’S why you need extra set of keys to my unit so you can fix the pipes, yes?  How stinking long does it take a richass old lady to hire reliable, competent plumbers?? I’m trying here..I’m trying, Ringo… to remain pastoral….breathe…ohhhhmmmmm…

So, I call and leave this…this kid a voicemail yesterday morning, while I was at WORK, man!  I tell him that I will give him his key along with Ocotober’s rent this coming Friday, the 2nd, along with pictures of the brown water and pictures of the bathroom that needs serious attention due to chipped, peeling paint and corroded matter after seventeen years. ( I already checked; the corroded matter is not poo.)  I had already told him this twice before–I said twice–in a voicemail and in a written letter.  You see what I mean that he’s a kid?  No, no, he believes he is King Louie from The Jungle Book.  That is NOT a compliment, but he thinks it is.  Haha!

Last night, zed’s dead threatens me a third time with another posted document on his great and mighty lawyer’s letterhead to evict me for not turning in the key.  I had it with this nuisance of a kid; so, i pay him a visit.  I told him, “Try listening to your voicemails..I told you that I will bring you your key in on October 2nd, along with the rent..stop fucking threatening me, you monkey’s ass.”

September 30, 2015 will never return.

Being a disgusting aversion aint so bad…

I’m on his spit list, I’m on her shiz list and the list is long.  I have to make a joke out of it, even though, it really isn’t funny.  But I’m going to bend it as though it is.  After, all, perspectives are subjective, yes? And happiness is a choice!

I have to be mindful to not fall into the melancholy of it; watchful to control my mind, lest it controls me..which, yes, I sometimes still succumb; but my prayers, fervent, beseeching conversations with my Creator comfort me.

Ugghhh.  My sixteen year old, jonesy, got her first job at the arches about six months ago.  I sternly instructed her to obtain at least a part-time job, yes, because she is too often a very lazy girl.  Her grades have spiraled downward since she entered high school, three years ago.  She refuses to play freeze tag with me, or read my small collection of Man From Uncle comic books, or help me with some word search puzzles. She enjoys watching food and cooking shows with me, but when I suggest she and I cook a meal, she already left and returned with a burger and fries. (She’s quick when it comes to her burgers.) I have taken away most of her privileges and confiscated every one of her electronic, social devices from her in hopes she would wake up, get off her sloth, and help herself.  It only got worse.  She cares absolutely nil for school; and I get such wondrous support from her father, my ex-husband. Of course, that is another long story. Uggghh.

Before you ask, I’m going to tell you what kind of parent tells their kid to just quit school and get a full time job..ME, that’s what kind. You going to waste the already underpaid teacher’s time, you’re going to waste your own time, and you are wasting the ink it takes to print out your grades of D’s and F’s, so yeah, I told her to quit; or at least take the G.E.D. She hasn’t done either, and school starts next week.

For three years, her father has been fussing at me to, “let her be..all kids get bad grades..give her a chance..stop taking away her tablet and are jealous that your daughter has a nice I-Phone..” Like I said, I get wondrous support from him in the area of disciplining. So, of course, this is ammo for the little sweetheart to relish in, to pit father and mother against each other. Let me be clear, however; her pitting us is what teenagers do, I know I would. Dad not backing me up, not being on the same page with me in these matters is an intense “No-No!”

The arches restaurant jonesy works at, for some befuddling reason, refuses to give her an accurate, weekly work schedule. She and I, both have assertively requested such from her managers who keep promising they will, but never do. So, I instructed her to set up one, just one interview at a different, more professional place of employment.

I had to ponder and ask myself if my motives were right. Was I not trying to truly help her? I suggested she apply and interview at the higher paying restaurants of Out and In and waybuS. (I switched the lettering around so as not to be infringing..?) Both pay a dollar an hour more, and both serve higher quality food; and there is a significant chance both give their employees accurate, weekly schedules, you think? I gave her one week to do this, or I would take her phone–again–for a day or two. She wilfully rejected every option I offered. She stated audibly that she was going to have no part in letting me take away her phone. So, she chose to go live with daddy, where few, if any, rules exist.

Now, both dad, and jonesy do not answer my texts, or answer my calls. And they have joined the intangibly tangible long list of those preceding them.


What To Do With Myself

I wasn’t sure that I wanted to reveal my Borderline Personality Disorder on this site, but after reading the courage of others with BPD, I decided to let you all inspire me.  Thank you for being the real meaning of courage. I do not consider myself courageous because, first of all, I had to go and copy those of you who have the spine to write about your BPD, secondly, my most inner thoughts used to think that fighting back with my harsh, judgmental words meant courage.  No, it doesn’t.  Being peaceful, turning away from the temptations of retaliation is significantly harder to do than fighting back.  Even those who do not have BPD know this to be true.

However, writing stories, poems and lyrics about revenge is an appropriate step above literally kicking jonesy and cherri margarine’s ass, yes?  Plus, I get paid for it, rather than paying for it!  Lmao.

Today, a few of us stayed for three hours of overtime.  As we were all packing up, getting ready to go, cm’s daughter came into the office with her two very young children.  I had never, ever met cm’s daughter prior to this evening.  And cm and I pretty much hate each other, even though, yes, I know I ought to love my enemies, I know!  That’s another session.

So, cm’s daughter comes in wearing practically nothing but the numerous tattoos over two-thirds of her body; carrying this newborn baby, and towing another child, around the age of five.  I had no idea who they were, and I just kept packing my things up, clearing my desk area.  The five year old girl, came up to me and hugged me.  I just said, “Hello precious.”  And then I asked cm’s daughter, “Hello. Did you used to work here?”   She said, “No, I’m cm’s daughter.”  And she walked away from me.

Naturally, my mind was reading this inner script:  (In the voice of the caterpillar in Disney’s animated Alice In Wonderland) “What is your stinking problem?  Whoo are yoo?  Do you think you are scaring me with those unattractive, ghetto tattoos? Don’t nobody want to see you here, or else they would have stayed longer to see my reaction to your presence..uh-huh.”  I could go on and on, but I’ve made my point.

I felt this way because this similar situation has happened to me in a different location, same employer, with another co-worker that I had a serious inter-personal conflict with.  I have had too many conflicts with co-workers too count on all twenty fingers and toes.  And the former situation led to one of many episodes I’ve had too numerous to count as well.

So, thank you Lord, that the clock struck 6:30 pm, and I left.  Of course, cm and her brood left, too.  What do you suppose I was thinking?  Yes, I almost wanted a scuffle.  What is wrong with me?  Lots of things.


The in channel..

So, I have not ministered to my writing as much as I badly wish I had, but, no need to cry over more thistles.  I am willing and capable of changing today from being the ho-hum, first day of the rest of my life, into the preferred realization that it is, “my first life, for the rest of my days.”

There has been too much damage and injury done that cannot be undone.  No more waiting to move on, no more subjecting myself to my own psychological thorns.  Rather, staying away from my old environment, out from rejoining a relapsing of some unjust, over-the-top ruthlessness I no longer need.  The 2015, new year coming up, I have already decided, is going to be mine for the taking.  Why?  Because it is being offered to me, as all the past years have been, but I was taking ownership of the wrong things; so I blinded myself from seeing and appreciating what truly was intended for me.  I did; I received and I grabbed hold of the manure that people were slinging at me, by the fact that I kept fighting back.  But the stinking matter was not theirs, I mean it WAS, but had I just ducked, and let their dung fly right past me, had I just kept walking past their sling-shooting, I would have been a fulfilled person sooner.  Then again, better now, than too late.   Because of my fooled defense mechanism, my foolish aggressiveness, a joy was stripped from me.  An earned living was torn from my healthy pride, because my bad pride was too ignorant and stubborn to hand over my burdens to the one Eon, I will name, Host.

I intellectually knew what the antagonists were doing.  I understood what was going on, but I didn’t possess the practical tools in emotional intelligence to prevent all the garbage from diseasing my mind.  I thought I was letting go, I thought I was being smarter than the enemy, which, sometimes I was, but obviously, over all, I was a big dummy.  I was prideful.  I was self-righteous.  Even when I noticed I was being these things, I believed it was justified because my motives were not the same malevolence as my adversary.  My motives were not!  Ah, but they were worse, because I lowered myself, I became slimier because I took ownership of the poo by deluding myself that I can handle it all by myself; not handing it all, every piece of it, to the effective Host.  So, I got an awakening that I am ever grateful for!

No, I am not happy one bit that I no longer am making $26.00 an hour!  Gosh, I am pissy as hot piss!  But it happened so as to change me; and that is what I recognize as but another learning lesson in losing something valuable, but gaining priceless wisdom.  Because as one portal reproofs me, another calls me in for comfort and prosperity.  That psychological war zone is going to always be right there, following me around just like Janebe Roostr kept doing to me; but I’m better trained now, I am better suited up in using the appropriate weapons that I’ve had all along.  No, I’m not talking about my hands or any other violent, loose canons.  I’m speaking about the hundred-fold meaning of the meaningful Word.

Until next time, be true.