December 1st, 2012

2013, cyd, new

saturday morning rantings

the sunrise, which i got up right in time for, was gorgeous. now the clouds are out and it's grey. i don't mind, but the cats are being all weird again.

through no fault of my own, the book case fell apart last night and took another shelving unit with it. and i had unpacked the books. of course i got blamed and screamed at for it. finally pushed out of the way, hurting my arm. his apology seemed so hollow a few hours later. after i had blown off his call from the boys.

so neither of us is perfect. i'm still mad at him. i hate getting blamed for things i did not do. and it totally goes back to my childhood. at first i was the only child, so everything had to be my fault. then i was the oldest, so i should have known better when stuff happened. and then doc comes swooping in with, "What did you do?!?!?" and "How do you do such fucked up stuff?!?!" and i just want to gut him. because i couldn't gut my mother and father. god, why don't they die for xmas?

ooh, this took a dark turn. let's go back to the sunrise. there is something really weird about viewing it through the bars on the widow first thing. i look out the sliding glass door, and we usually don't have the security bars closed on it, so i have a free view. so seeing the bars on the other windows can be jarring. heh. i imagine the cats feel the same way. although the bars don't stop them from going through. the gate on the front door taught us that. but the security screens do. and no one can see in during the day, no matter how close they get to the house. in fact, the closer you get to these screens, the less you can see anything but the fabric of the screen. it's cool.

doc is sleeping on the couch. friday and saturdays he gets the couch since he doesn't have to work. although he has some work to do around the house. like, for example, doing his motherfucking dishes. i did some yesterday morning and he didn't say a word about it. so fuck him. he can either get the dishwasher fixed, or do his own fucking dishes. i'm not doing them except when they're in my way.

if i could live alone and survive, i would.

i just found out that Jelo Biafra is going to be o stage at the Rev Horton Heat show. and i just found out that i can't go. my heart is broken. i was willing to give up my xmas gifts for a tree that may never appear. and had all my hopes on that Horton Heat show, especially after i found out i was missing social distortion. but no. he doesn't want to go and deal with the traffic and the people and spend the money and deal with it. i used to live for live shows. i could again. and it's so rare that the bands i like tour.

he's happy with his youtube and headphones for music. sometimes i like to experience the music. there is a reason i mainly watch live stuff on youtube. i like it better. some of my best memories are from shows. sharing a beer with Johnette Napolitano is up there with the greatest memory of all time. Meeting John Doe and talking to him like a real person and not this punk idol of mine. ooh, that was a nice time.

i'm tired of writing. i want to go play with simon. if i get him nipped up, i may get him to play with the wand toy.
2013, cyd, new

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