Doc's still asleep. Going on hour 12 again. After he promised me dinner again. And I found he had been using my tweezers to pick cat hair out of the dried weed. Those are used on my FACE! And he cut up my prime, pick of the litter limb of buds as his own. For someone who is so "mine, mine, mine" about every fucking thing, he really has no respect for my shit. And I'm really pissed at him. It's been hours, and I am still pissed at him. Now, moreso because I didn't get the food I wanted and earned and deserved. And because another weekend passed where he did nothing but sleep and got nothing done. His dresser is still in the hall. Two of the drawers are still out in the fucking vestibule. His clothes are still all over the living room. The kitchen is trashed, but I'm never awake when he is to do the dishes. And he will nag me about that, don't doubt. This is insane.
I unplugged from Twitter and Facebook sometime last night. And had no desire at any time to go back today. I think I'm done with current events. I'm just going to lay low and listen to my music. I'll join Rolling Stone's mailing list to get news on new music. Won't even have to go to Twitter and FB. I think that's best for everyone. I'll pretty much run out of stuff to talk about . . . yesterday. So, Doc will be relieved. He hated listening to me talk. All you had to do was ask him. It was his least favorite thing to do.