He started the morning with demanding an apology for getting mad over the "Stick Thing" that he ruined it. I told him no way, he owed me an apology. None was forthcoming, so I told him never to speak of it again. He thought I said we should never speak again. I told him I was also open to that as a solution. He thinks this is some kind of joke. People are paying me for this shit now. No, it's not enough to make me rich and famous, but the commitment has been made. And I have to keep up my end of the bargain. He scoffed.
I don't even know what to do with him. I was right about him not noticing a difference with the meds. He said I was just more of a cunt than usual. I used to own that word, he's used it on me so much, it cuts me to the bone. And he knows it. So he's still not sold on the medication. I don't think he ever will be, so let's make the most of the next six days, shall we? I have three more "Pinterest Wins" to process and post. That's on the other laptop. I just grabbed Scout and Blue Max so I could surf the internet and listen to music in here. Or, watch a Disney movie to keep me in my upbeat mood.
Did I mention the LPs? He has laid claim to all of the LPs I have, when I know about 200 of them came from "freecycle". And I can't use any of them until he goes through them and claims them. Oddly enough, I will be making bookends out of records for him to hold his collection together when he gets it out of my room. I' not storing all these albums, thinking I can do what I want with them, if I can't. He can put them in his room and give me a bit more wall space.
He is so mine-mine-mine oriented. For five years we fought over chopsticks. My nana had, at one point, bought me a wok, and with it, a package of cheap chopsticks, printed in gold foil. Gold foil not withstanding, they were cheap, it was a large package. I used them mainly for crafts and art, as I don't use chopsticks (it was a running inside family joke). Sometime during our time together, Doc appropriated the chopsticks as his own and started having hissy fits every time I used one for crafts. Finally I told him to knock it off. I told him the story behind them, and that I was tired of him not letting me use my own shit. I have two small-ish plates that I like to eat everything off of. I am no longer allowed to use them because they are supposed to be special to me. They are. They are my two special eating plates. But he scolds me every time I use one, they should be put away, he say. NO. MY PLATES. I bought them at a thrift store 25 years ago for the express purpose of eating off of them. Microwaving food on them, and dishwashing them. I am allowed to do none of these things with these plates.
I'm going to start calling him Fidel.