Bitterness, Or Just Feeling Constantly Left Out?

I hate being the bitter cynical bitchy person who ruins other people's conversations (the whole 'can't talk about that around <insert minority group/person here>) but you have no idea just how frequently things crop up in casual conversation that stops me from talking because I either just have no way of relating to what people are talking about or me attempting to would make other people uncomfortable. Or possibly result in me getting pissy at people, or me trying to not be pissy at them and them taking it as such anyway. So I stay quiet. And then people are all 'why are you so quiet?'

Okay so most of these people may not know about my problems, because I don't like constantly talking about them and having to explain about them. But everyone everywhere, both on the internet and in real life, inevitably winds up talking about things that I can't join in with and inadvertently insulting me. Not intentionally, but I feel bad when people are whining that they feel bad because they've spent all day sitting on their ass playing video games and only done half of their chores, when their list of chores that they've done is about four times what I can handle on a good day and I've done virtually nothing. Except sit on my ass half-assedly playing video games because I can't even play them properly.

Or when someone asks what they've got planned for the weekend and they reply by rattling off a huge (in my eyes) list of things, then round it up by saying 'not much actually, pretty slow weekend'

Or when they're talking about their jobs and how they moved from an office job into waitressing because it got them more exercise and they hated sitting on their asses all day.

Or when they're talking about uni and how hard it is. And then talking about how it's awesome and they just get drunk all the time. I think there might be some sort of correlation there.

Or when they're discussing exercise.

Or when they're discussing diets and 'healthy food'. (I'm meant to eat 10g of salt a day. I have problems with low blood pressure and low blood sugar. I basically need to eat junk.)

Or when they're discussing expensive things.

Or when they're whining about being 'poor' and therefore can't afford said expensive things. After buying said expensive things. 'I really shouldn't have but I just couldn't stop myself!'

Or when they're whining about how they can't write because they can't concentrate.

Or when they whine that they're in pain and I offer them painkillers and they're all 'it's not that bad, I'll just grin and bear it' (Hint: If it's not that bad, don't whine. If it's whine-worthy then it should be painkiller-worthy. Otherwise it comes off as you don't actually want to fix it, you just want sympathy.)

Or when they whine about 'insomnia', and I sympathise, and they say it only happens to them when they've had too much caffeine etc and start trying to tell me about good sleep hygiene to cure my insomnia. (Hint: That's not fucking insomnia. That's poor sleep hygiene. Big difference. Main difference being that good sleep hygiene will cure your bad sleep hygiene woes.)

(NB: These are all just examples from today. Many, many more happen on a daily basis. I don't usually write them down, I usually just sit there quietly waiting for it to get back to a topic I can actually talk about. But I am so bored right now.)

Rambo Sucks Sometimes

I was trying to be organised on Thursday and get some things sorted out. There are a LOT of things that need sorting out and I have a craptastic memory, so I made a list and then showed it to Rambo saying 'We need to do these. Preferably today.'

He thought I said 'YOU need to do these' and was quite happy about that, saying it was no problem and he could do everything on the list today. I was a bit miffed - I'm not THAT demanding and it's a bit bitchy to give him a huge list and expect him to do it all. I didn't, but the fact that he's so unfazed thinking that I did that upsets me in a 'how could he think that of me?' kind of way. I explain that I said 'WE' need to do them and he goes 'oh okay' and we start discussing what I can and can't do on the list.

One of the points involves a phone. Specifically, calling the bank about getting a new bank card as Rambo lost ours (it's a joint account, but he lost his card, then repeatedly stole mine because he couldn't be bothered to get a new one, then lost mine). I, due to social anxiety and brain foggy cock-ups with conversation and asperger-like problems, really really hate phones. Really. I'm sure I've mentioned before that just the act of picking up the phone and trying to dial a number often sends me into panic attacks and tears. I can't deal with phones.

This always pisses Rambo off, because while he's quite understanding about my physical problems, he's not so good with the mental. His entire family is of the 'mental illness is a sign of weakness, anybody can overcome it just with willpower' way of thinking. He tells me at times, when I'm upset, that it's my fault for choosing to feel that way and nobody can force me to be upset, it's all down to me.

So when I try to get out of doing that particular chore on the list, he gets quite mad about it. Despite being quite happy five minutes ago to do EVERYTHING on the list, he now thinks it's incredibly unfair for me to not want to phone people. I offer to do other things instead but this just makes him madder as the things I'm offering to do instead will hurt me physically and he thinks I'm choosing to hurt myself. I try to explain that the phone will hurt me mentally so I'm not choosing to hurt myself over not hurting myself, just choosing the hurt I find easier to cope with. He's still mad about it, and starts telling me that surely I'd recover from the mental hurt easier.

Then we started arguing over other points, one of which was writing a letter to certain benefits people. I explained that I have a lot of difficulty with writing and asked if he could do that one, and he explodes in an angry rant about how writing is what I DO for God's sake. I can't get a word in edgeways for a while but when he eventually shuts up I tell him that that's all well and good and if he got me a printer I could write as many fucking letters as he likes, but until then I still can't physically put pen to paper. He concedes and tries to write the letter, but fails so miserably at having legible handwriting that I have to take over. And end up in tears from the pain.

Anyway. I do all my chores. I (half-)write the damn letter and walk the dog and put some laundry on and put clean dishes away and collapse and can't do much else because I'm completely out of spoons. Rambo washes some dishes and ignores the rest of his chores to play video games.

He didn't even wash the things I needed to make dinner. Siiiiigh.

WTF

Moxie's not quite house-trained yet. This is partly due to me not always being able to jump up and take her to the newspaper/outside when she needs me to and partly due to Rambo just watching her when she wees on the floor and going 'Ohhhhh Moxiiiieee...' but not actually doing anything about it so she thinks he's condoning it. And then not cleaning it up so the whole fucking house smells like a toilet to her.

I'm doing the best I can, when I'm able to, and cleaning things up when I see them, but I can't do it alone and I need his help. But every time I tell him that he goes 'Help? HELP?! You want me to do it all myself! That's not me helping, that's me doing it and you helping!' Because apparently he's incapable of seeing that I do things.

Anyhow, she's getting there slowly. She mostly goes on the newspaper and she won't go on carpet or furniture at all - just the kitchen and living floors that are easy to clean. She just gets confused about the rest of it. She's only three months old, I've known dogs take far longer to be house-trained, but it's pissing Rambo off.

So about last night...I had a dislocated ankle, was laid up on the sofa unable to move, and the house was pretty quiet. I worry about it being quiet when she's not in sight as it usually means she's found something out of sight to chew, so I call her. She doesn't respond. Rambo refuses to move because he's busy playing computer games*. Hour and a half later I get my ankle to stay in place long enough for me to hobble upstairs to bed, Rambo comes with me. We open the bedroom door to find a poor little puppy who managed to trap herself in there, tail wagging like mad as she's so happy to be free and have her people back. Problem is, as she's been stuck in there for an hour and a half, she's pood on the carpet. Not something she'd normally do and she was stuck for God's sake, but Rambo sees that, flips out screaming 'FUCKING DOG' at her and then KICKS her. With shoes on.

She yelps and runs to her mommy for protection, I scream at him, comfort her, and start crying. He cleans it up and storms off. Me and Moxie go to bed and I lock the bedroom door because people who kick puppies don't get to sleep in the bed with me.

...I then cry for hours, thinking about things. Rambo's always had a nasty temper and it's scary enough when he's just kicking doors and punching computer monitors and walls, but to kick the PUPPY? It's noon the next day and he's still not said a word of apology or to even acknowledge that what he did was wrong. I'm...not sure I can live with that. You don't kick dogs. You especially don't kick defenceless little puppies. What the FUCK was he thinking?

This is the first time I've actually seriously considered leaving him, and it scared the fuck out of me because there is no way I could take care of myself, let alone Moxie. I did it for that one week but I struggled so fucking much and I was only able to cope because I knew he was coming back and I could just ignore most things and leave it for him to fix afterwards. I can't go live with my Dad as there's no room. I don't really want to go live with anyone else as I'm pretty sure nobody else knows just how bad I am these days and they won't know what they're getting themselves into and I don't want to be a burden.

EDIT: He apologised, and promised to never ever ever do it again. He's not so great at keeping promises though, and if he breaks this one I don't think he's going to get another chance.






*Don't get me fucking started on that. He keeps starting up instances when he's in the middle of something like cooking dinner and then getting pissed off at me when an hour later I go '...weren't you cooking dinner? Shouldn't you check on that?' and shouts at me that he's busy, so I go check on the charcoal instead, get pissed off and make my own food. Now, I don't mind making my own food, but when he's cooking I figure I don't have to, and when he's cooking he usually makes the food that I can't which means I can't really take over halfway through when he decides an instance run would be more fun.

Poor Dogs

I've always known that the vast majority of dog owners don't really know what the hell they're doing with their dogs, but it's been thrown in my face a lot more than normal since I've been out walking Moxie, and it's really starting to get to me.

Y'see, right now Moxie's in a rather rebellious stage where she's testing her limits - like a little kid that's just learned how to say 'no' to her parents - yet still, every single person she meets is amazed at how well behaved she is. Now, if I have to call her six times to get her to come back, that's not good behaviour. That's her deliberately ignoring me the first five times. She heard me, she knows what that command means, she was testing how badly behaved she could be before her Mommy got really mad.

But these comments of amazement are coming from people who have to keep their dogs on leads the entire time, because they can't trust them to be well behaved off the lead. News flash, people: Dogs do not know what is good and what is bad until you teach them the difference. You can't expect them to follow commands if you never teach them what the command means and if you only ever let them off the lead once in a blue moon of course they're going to take that chance to run amok - because in their experience the second they come back to you they go straight back on the lead and aren't allowed off for months. That's not punishing their bad behaviour, no matter what you might think. They don't connect the two. They just know that every now and then they're allowed to have some fun, so they make the most of it whilst they can. Wouldn't you do the same?

At three months old Moxie is better trained than 95% of the dogs she meets. This depresses me, especially because I know damn well that Moxie is nowhere near as well trained as she should be - as she could be if I had the spoons for it. I do the best I can with what I have, and hopefully she'll be well-trained enough by the time she's grown big that I won't have to hurt myself training her and she won't hurt me out of ignorance, but she has the potential for so much more. As do all dogs. Every dog deserves to be well-trained; it makes their lives so much better. It means no being told off for things they don't understand, no being locked in rooms or outside when visitors come over, no being stuck on a lead having to watch dogs like Moxie run around and play and not being able to join in. It's not their fault, and it breaks my heart when people tell me their dogs are naughty and can't be trusted. No dog is inherently naughty, they just don't know any better.

I know it's not really considered mean or cruel to keep your dog on a leash etc but it really does upset me. They deserve better.

(It also upsets Moxie. She's a very sociable little puppy and doesn't want to go to the park to play with balls or sticks; she wants to go to play with dogs and she's very rarely allowed to do so. Even the ones allowed off the lead are usually dragged away from her and put back on it the second they start to play because the owners seem to think that that's 'being naughty' as well.)

Oshit

So, turns out Scouser's not coming as she forgot she had other plans that she'd already put deposits on. I am now officially alone. Until Thursday at least.

I am so fucking terrified that I have been in tears since Rambo left. I can't take care of myself, let alone Moxie as well.

I'm exhausted. I've not slept and I can barely move. POTS is flaring like mad and I've been coughing and sneezing for the last couple days so I figure I've got a cold (and a fever that's flaring my POTS.)

To top it all off, I just got letters through the mail saying:

1. Housing Benefit won't give me any more money until I send them the letter stating my ESA has ended. I never got the damn letter because ESA fails at their own bureaucracy and the only way I found out it had stopped was by phoning them to ask where the fuck my money was.

2. A new council tax bill for July-March stating I owe them £710, no mention of my Council Tax Benefit.

3. A letter from the estate agents saying they're going to be doing an inspection on Wednesday. When the house will be in a right fucking state because there is no way I can clean it and look after me and the dog - and if there's ridiculous amounts of puppy-related mess they may well change their minds about me being allowed a dog.

4. Finally got my new Choose & Book letter and once again the only appointment available is THREE MONTHS from now. I've not booked it and will just keep trying every day in the hopes of a cancellation I guess.

I CANNOT DEAL WITH ALL OF THIS SHIT RIGHT NOW.

I Couldn't Stop Crying While Writing This

(Note - I'm not sure what brought this rant on, just generally feeling annoyed at the world I guess, but I'd just like to point out, before I get started, that I love my father very much. Really, he's wonderful. The vast majority of the time.)

I'd like to tell you a story about my father, as I've never really had the chance to vent about him before and the anonymity of this blog is so darned attractive to me.

Now, when my father was 18, he was a little short of money. He took out a loan of £5,000. Not for university, you understand; it wasn't a student loan, he just wanted to move out of his mother's house and...well...buy a lot of alcohol and drugs. He managed the second part quite well, at least. He got married at 21, still living at his mom's and still spending all of his disposable income on mind-altering substances. He moved out, at his wife's insistence, when she got pregnant, taking out another loan in the process. Had a kid at 22 (my sister) and another at 23 (me), moving through about 5 different houses in that time and still spending most of his income on alcohol and drugs and leaving his wife at home to look after the kids while he was at work and then out drinking in the evenings. He cheated on his wife, a lot, was found out when he was 24 (I think) and they got divorced. She kept the kids, obviously, as he didn't want the responsibility and at the time she seemed capable of it*. He promised to send money for the kids and to come visit them every weekend. He managed neither, but still came to visit when he was sober enough (once every 2 or 3 weeks, roughly).

Anyhow, at this point he's taken out about £10,000 in loans, paid minimum payments for interest and spent the rest of his money on alcohol and drugs. So not even a tiny dent's been made in that debt. But now he has to pay child support as well as rent and everything, and he starts buying things on credit cards as he doesn't have the income to cover those expenses on top of his drug and alcohol habits. For some reason, despite never paying back loans, the banks still think it's a good idea to give him credit cards.

He maxes out credit cards, gets more credit cards to cover them, constantly switching for that 0% interest for the first few months. Takes out more loans to pay back the first loans so they'll stop chasing him. Debt continues to build.

Ex-wife's craziness kicks in. Won't go into detail but kids are basically living in poverty with their mother, being clothed and fed by their maternal grandmother as much as she can, but she's living on a small pension. He sees this, takes out another loan, gives money to crazy ex-wife for the kids. She spends it on ridiculous things.

He continues taking out loans to pay off loans, switching credit cards, and slowly building up debt. He also keeps moving house as he keeps being evicted for not paying rent. Kids never know where he's living at any given time and don't know when they're going to see him next but he continues to visit as regularly as possible and they adore him as, well, they don't know any better, he hides his drug and alcohol habits, and he's certainly better than a crazy mother.

He also goes through many girlfriends, all of which crazy in their own unique way (maybe he has a thing for the crazy chicks?) and most of them liking expensive things, as crazy chicks do. Debt continues to mount.

Kids grow up a bit, reach 16, can legally leave home. Get the fuck away from their crazy mother as soon as they can. Don't really have anywhere to live as he still doesn't have a stable home. Live off the kindness of friend's (me) and boyfriend's (sister) mothers who let them live with them for reduced rent. Can't afford to go to college or uni as they have to go into full-time jobs to pay that rent. Government won't give them any benefits as they're under 18 and not living at home**.

Unfortunately, kindness of friend's family doesn't really stretch all that far and after six months or so they get kicked out as there's too many people in the house (me) or because they broke up with their boyfriend (sister). My sister gave in and moved back in with the crazy mother for a full month before she couldn't stand it anymore and moved in with a cousin. I decided to take my father's offer of living in his back room*** for £100 a week all utilities and food included. Oh yes, he'd just bought a house at this point. Banks decided it was a good idea to give him a mortgage, despite him being in about £25,000 debt at that point. So now he has £25,000 debt and an £80,000 mortgage. I'm 17, still ineligible for benefits as I'm not technically living at home as even though I'm living with my father, my mother had custody of me and I grew up living with her. I don't really understand it. I get the feeling I probably could have pressed the matter and resolved it but I was young and naive and suffering with undiagnosed EDS and a lot of mental problems from living with the crazy mother. Wasn't capable of pressing anything.

Takes me about three months of living with him before I can get a job, applying at hundreds, literally hundreds of places, but with barely any experience and bad GCSE results it's difficult (social anxiety doesn't help with the interview process). Finally manage to get a part-time job, that pays £100 a week. Exactly enough to pay my rent, but not to pay off the £1300 debt I've built up by living with him these past few months and not paying rent.

Rambo, who I'd only been with for 6 or 7 months at this point (since just before I moved into my dad's), sees how frustrating and painful this situation is for me, talks his mom into letting me live with them for a rent of £40 a month for the both of us (He was 20, she wasn't charging him rent before that but because he was over 18 he was getting £50 a week Jobseeker's Allowance so could afford that easily).

Anyway, back to my dad. The girlfriend he'd bought this house with (and is still with today) is one of the worst of his girlfriend's for expensive taste. Once a year or so she gets bored with a room in the house, spends fuckloads redecorating. Buys gigantic plasma TVs and every games console and starts a collection of DVDs that could rival any Blockbuster's. All on credit, of course.

Between the two of them, they rack up a debt of £50,000 plus their £80,000 mortgage. Living in the lap of luxury, never wanting for a thing. New cars every year. Always have the latest gadgets and technologies. Never paying off any of their debt.

Earlier this year, they declare bankruptcy. All debt written off, except the mortgage. Lose no assets whatsoever. Continue living in luxury as they now have all that disposable income that used to be spent on debt interest. Buy the nicest foods, always have alcohol and drugs in the house, etc etc.

Which brings me to the point where I started getting annoyed and began writing this. I have never bought anything on credit. Never bought anything I couldn't afford. Always been good with money. Always worked as hard as I could, before my medical problems got so bad that I literally couldn't (and for a good while before that as I refused to admit how bad it was). Yet I've never had that kind of disposable income. I've never been able to buy nice foods and not worry about it. I allow myself luxuries now and then, but I'm always very aware of how luxurious they are and they always make me feel guilty for buying them. I buy alcohol for Rambo on rare occasions, as a treat, and I can never afford drugs. I don't even want them for recreational purposes. I just want working painkillers and I can't afford them. But my father always has a good stock in his house, that I'm not allowed, unless I can afford to buy it off him.

Yet he, even now, even being supposedly bankrupt, never worries about money. He has never lived off a tiny income. Has never lived off ramen noodles and toast and asda smartprice soup at 19p a can because it's all he can afford for groceries.

It's just...it's not fair. I know, he works, and he's good at his job. But I've worked, and in every job I've ever done I've done a helluva fucking good job of it, enough for people to comment on it and tell me how awesome I am and how much better I am than the other people before me, enough for people to ask me to come back when I leave, despite all my problems and all of the sick days I had to take. I am a damned fucking amazing woman and I deserve better than this. Fuck, at my age, my father was being a degenerate irresponsible bastard. At my age he was stealing cars and doing drugs and alcohol. How the hell does he get it so easy?

I want a job again. I want to be able to work and be told how awesome I am all the time, again. I want to be able to earn my money, not jump through hoops for the government just to get a measly amount of benefit that can barely pay my bills and buy me food. I want to know that this isn't forever, that things will get easier, that this is just a small part of my life that everyone goes through when they're young.

I can't have that. I know that. I've mostly resigned myself to it, even if I do give in every now and then and desperately hunt for jobs that might, maybe, be suitable for me. I never find any. I don't think they exist.

I just...I wish people didn't throw it in my face so much. I'm constantly being told that because other people work they're better than me, as they contribute to society, and they have a right to be exhausted when they get home and I should immediately jump up and get them drinks and food because I've just been sat on my arse all day, being useless. No matter how much I actually have done that day. If it doesn't earn money, it doesn't count as work and I have no right to complain. About anything. Ever.

And people are always asking me why I don't buy this or that as it might help me, or telling me off for being 'cheap' when I buy things from charity shops or don't buy name-brand things (or, God forbid, buy cheap food; that's apparently the source of all my IBS problems), or getting annoyed with me for not travelling around the country to visit them or go off on holiday with them or go out to pubs with them etc etc etc. Seriously, guys. I would love to do all that. I really would. But I'm doing the best I can with what little I have.

...Most of all, though, I wish that Rambo didn't have to be dragged down with me. He works for a living. He should be able to have a bit of disposable income. He should be able to buy himself luxuries and go out drinking with his friends. He shouldn't have to deal with all of this shit. I know I shouldn't feel guilty about dragging him down with me, but I do. So fucking much. It's NOT FAIR. He deserves better.






*More on that later, if I can really bring myself to dredge up traumatic childhood memories.

**Seriously. I was told, at 16, that if I was living at home and not working or studying, I'd be eligible for benefits, but as I'd moved out (and therefore needed the money) I couldn't have any.

***Back room is not the same as a spare room, by any account. It was a tiny box room that you couldn't fit a bed into. I had an air bed and a sleeping bag on the floor and suffered horribly with back pain for it.

Problem Exists Between Keyboard and Chair

Someone on TLR was complaining that their code wasn't working right and I, being the benevolent and wonderful person that I am, offered to help, as I would any fellow coder. Especially when they're complaining about CSS. CSS can be so fucking annoying at times. I wanted to take the opportunity to kick CSS's ass for annoying people.

Turns out, he wasn't coding. He was using other people's CSS layouts for his shitty Kingdom Hearts fansite on freehostia. The site itself should have been enough warning for me, but nooo - I had to give him the benefit of the doubt.

So I ask him what he's trying to do, and he shows me the old CSS, takes it down, puts the new CSS up (each stage takes roughly 10 minutes, I don't know why) and all he's trying to do is change the plain background to a fixed image. Simple enough, right? But what's he's done is taken an entire new CSS layout from a different person, that has the background he wants, and used that instead of the old code. Then complained that his old layout wasn't the same. I mean, he was changing roughly 200 lines of CSS here in copying the whole damn file from someone, then wondering why the rest of his site didn't look the same.

So I explain to him that changing the background image is fairly simple, and he should go back to the old CSS file and we'll edit that. I'm still feeling fairly nice and generous at this point, even if I am sitting there seething at him for a) being such an idiot and b) telling me that he was 'coding' in the first place. I figure I got myself into this, for offering to help people. That's what you get for being nice, really. I should know that.

Anyhow, we go back to the old CSS and I give him the chunk of code that he needs and tell him to copy/paste it into the body class of his CSS. Whoops. How stupid of me. I thought maybe, as he was telling me that he was having troubles merging the two CSS files together so they worked properly, that he might understand a tiny bit of CSS. No. Not the case. He takes what I gave him and pastes it straight into the HTML, then cries at me when the raw code shows up on his site rather than actually acting like, y'know, code.

I figure 'okay, it'll be too much work to explain to him about editing the actual CSS file that he took, uploaded, and linked to in the header*, so I'll just make him put things inside style tags in the HTML'. I try this. I give him the exact tags and tell him to copy/paste, before and after the chunk of code I gave him. He ignores that and types them in, with typos, then cries at me because the closing tag wasn't right so it managed to break the rest of his html and now nothing works.

I try to explain to him that he typod in the closing tag, and give him another one to copy/paste. He goes 'but that's exactly what I did!' I tell him it's not, I'm looking at it right now and it blatantly says 'stype' rather than 'style'. He gets a little freaked out that I can read his code, but eventually fixes it.

So okay, we've finally got the background image right. Now the text is too dark and can't be read over the dark background. I ask him if he'd rather make the text lighter or change the background of the 'boxes' (read: scrolling divs) to a lighter colour so that the text can be read. He replies to this with 'huh'. No question mark, so I assume he was just making a 'thinking about it' noise and give him a minute. Or two. Or ten. Then I realise he didn't understand the question. I rephrase it in simpler terms and he chooses to change the backgrounds of the boxes.

Now I have to sit and trawl through the depths of this goddamned ugly, unnoted code in order to find the code for the boxes that we need to change. Whilst doing this I get exasperated at the ugliness of this horrible code and express that to him, hoping for a little sympathy. Instead I get an indignant reply of 'My code isn't ugly! What the fuck!?'

No, really. That's seriously what he said. I am in shock at this point. I'd already worked out that this guy was an idiot, but he really honestly thinks that stealing someone else's code is coding, and that it makes it his code. When he doesn't even understand the most basic concepts of said code. I just...I don't know how to deal with that kind of mind-numbing idiocy and I've just wasted the last hour and a half on him. I can't take anymore. I log off MSN and go bang my head against a wall.

Why didn't I shout at him/block him from MSN/give him anything that he deserves, you ask? Because, like I said, I know this guy from TLR. If I do any of that shit he'll start mouthing off about me in chat and then I'll have to mute him for mouthing off and then people will get mad at me because I, obviously, muted him for mouthing off about me rather than just mouthing off in general and I'm a horrible biased mod who doesn't deserve the title and...

Basically, I didn't want to start any drama. TLR has enough of it as it is**. I shall just not speak in chat for the rest of tonight and pretend my internet died if I see him tomorrow. He'll be over his idiotic problems by then, right?






*How the fuck did he manage to do that part right, by the way? I've not got my head around that, yet.

**If you really want I'll rant about TLR-drama later. And the fact that mods are inhuman monsters that should be fought against with every ounce of willpower you possess. Viva la revolution!***

***If you really need me to tell you that that was sarcasm, please do me a favour and bash your own head against a wall, to save me the trouble.

OW

MOAR BLARGH.

Woke up this morning in aching agony for the first time since I bought myself a full-body pillow (that thing has been AWESOME, by the way. Highly recommended for anyone suffering with muscle or joint pain). I got used to not waking up in more pain than when I went to sleep. I don't like it. As I have no painkillers I thought (stupidly) that I might make it go away by releasing some endorphins in time-honoured natural fashion...

...Whoops.

Left hip's been out of place since this morning. I think it might have trapped a nerve on its way out as it hurts worse than any dislocation I've ever had before. I can't walk properly, had so much difficulty getting up to go to the toilet that I was seriously considering pissing myself. I am in ridiculous amounts of pain today and once again, have no working painkillers as they still haven't fucking legalised medicinal marijuana for me*. Got Rambo to bring me a laptop in bed and take care of me and he's mostly being wonderful but a bit earlier I accidentally let out a rather loud (yet still muffled) groan of agony. I do that sometimes. It helps to let it out and make me feel a bit better. But apparently it pisses Rambo off because he hates being reminded that I'm in pain. I got a bit 'wtf?' at that. I didn't mean for my pain to be so upsetting for him...jeez. If it upsets him that much I just won't do it anymore. *rolls eyes*

Then I cried at him. And he was all 'I didn't mean it like that...it's just that I don't like how you define yourself by your pain. It seems that all you do lately is talk about your pain.' Maybe that's because all I do is be in pain lately. It's been extra-super-duper bad for the last month or so and I thought I was doing a damn good fucking job of hiding it to be honest, but apparently I should suffer in silence more. For God's fucking sake. Fucktard.

Guys, listen closely, there's a lesson in this: DON'T FUCKING TELL PEOPLE OFF FOR ACTING LIKE THEY'RE IN PAIN WHEN THEY HAVE A DISLOCATED HIP AND CAN'T FUCKING MOVE. DICKHEADS.

Sorry for all the swearing. In case you couldn't tell, I'm in a lot of fucking pain today and not dealing with it particularly well.

*I don't give a shit if a few people abuse it. They could just as easily abuse the (much stronger) opiates they prescribe that do SHIT ALL. It's a huge fucking symptom of Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome: PAINKILLERS AND ANAESTHETICS DON'T WORK AS THEY SHOULD. Marijuana does. For every single EDSer I've talked to that's tried it. Give us some fucking legal painkillers damn you.

Ranting

(WARNING: Incoming depression/aggression rant. Don't take it to heart, I'm not always this emo/angry.)

Rambo makes me feel like such crap for daring to ask for help sometimes. I was rather broken last night, due to the combination of still being broken from the night before and making the stupid mistake of showering myself* and subsequently was unable to make myself any food. Partly because Rambo had done no washing up for days and I can't do it, and partly because he likes to eat all my ready-meals out of laziness. I fucking hate when he does that. I hate that I have to buy expensive ready-meals anyway but he doesn't have to make it worse and then leave me hungry! Oh, we also keep a box of pre-grated cheese in the fridge so that I can make my own sandwiches when things get like that, but he doesn't like to actually fill that up for me. He'll grate exactly enough for whatever he's making at the time and then leave the rest of the block as is. Literally, as is, he won't even cover it up with cling-film and then it goes all hard and horrible. While we're on the subject, I got myself a nice easy-cup kettle** so I could make myself tea but I still can't fill it up as the top where you pour water in is ridiculously small so if I try and do it with just a glass of water at a time I just make a huge mess. He keeps using it out of laziness and not topping it up for me. Then I can't make tea. I'm English, I need tea!

Anyway, point is, no easy-to-make meals left that didn't require a saucepan, no clean saucepans, and I was starving. I figured 'ok, that's not so bad, I'll get Rambo to quickly rinse one for me and then I can make soup. Yumyum soup!' So I asked Rambo for a bit of help...and he sighed and got stroppy and told me he was in the middle of something and he'd help me in a bit. I go 'ok' and sit down to watch some TV. An hour passes, I ask if he's done yet, he tells me that he's doing an EVE mission for God's sake and I should know those take awhile. I go 'ok' again, go back to my TV. Hour passes, I get bored of TV, ask Rambo if he's done yet, he gets really stroppy and snaps at me to quit bothering him, he'll let me know when he's done. I got pretty upset at this point, as I'm only asking him for two minutes of his time to rinse a saucepan for me. So I sit and cry quietly for a bit, cause if I cry loudly at him he'd get stroppy at me for getting upset over nothing. He carries on playing EVE and doesn't notice my crying.

I eventually got my soup, four and a half hours after first asking, at two o'clock in the morning. I kind of wanted to go to bed before that, but I'd had nothing to eat all day and figured it wasn't healthy, so I waited.

You know, he gets annoyed with me when I don't eat too. As, for the last couple months, as my wrists have been a bit worse, I've been pretty bad at getting myself food and have generally been eating one meal a day because usually once a day people will make me food and the rest of the time I just choose hunger over pain. I wish I had some working painkillers so I could make food regardless. I wish I had enough money coming in that I could afford take-aways when Rambo won't help me. I wish Rambo wouldn't eat all my fucking easy-to-make food, and drink all my easy-to-get drinks, and buy drinks in 2ltr bottles so that I need his help for anything other than water.

BLARGH!

(...on a side note, I ranted at him a bit earlier today when he wasn't busy and he apologised. But I'd already started typing this up and figured I should finish it. I had nothing else to write about. *shrugs*)

*Please, if I'm ever considering attempting this, talk me out of it. Every now and then I get the stupid idea in my head that 'it's not that bad, it can't possibly be as bad as I remember it, I've been overplaying it for sympathy, right?' WRONG. I do this with washing up too. Oh, and changing the bedclothes - I can't lift the mattress to tuck the sheet under and I need to stop thinking I can! Damn my desire for cleanliness!

**You know, the kind where you just have to press a button, put a mug under it, and it will dispense hot water. Yay for not having to lift the kettle!