And, I'm afraid he says he has no memory of promising to help me put up the last of the Halloween decorations tomorrow. And he got quite upset about it, telling me to shut up.
Then he told me I was constantly talking and could I just give him a fucking break? So I put my headphones on and started up the Playlist of Doom, and he got up and went to bed. Ack!
So, I'm trying to chill out.
Oh, and under the guise of protecting my sensibilities, he told me people were coming over tomorrow, so I should schedule my sleep for that so I'm in my room. He doesn't want me around. Just fucking tell me that. What a boob. I can fucking take it, I take his fat-shaming BS all the time, I can certainly hear that he would be more comfortable drinking with his friends if he knew I was sleeping. He eventually did say that, but I had to pull four of his molars and an incisor to get it out of him.
So, poetry in German. I can't find where I wrote about it now. But somewhere on social media, I made the decision to pen a poetry book and translate it to German, and then publish it exclusively in German. I have no idea why. Let's just say it came to me in a dream. I'm in touch with a man born in Germany, who used to translate, and is very familiar with American idioms and word play. I'm trying to think of how to approach him. I will tonight, at some point. I might art first to unwind, though I could also take another half a Xanax without hurting my supply. Okay.
I need an agent. I can't represent myself in person offline. I just can't until my teeth are fixed. I need someone who knows what they are doing and needs a part time gig that may pay something or may not, who's just in it for the fun. And it would be fun. Because once I get a chance to get all this stuff out, I'm going to need a place to put it out there, and not just on the web. I want people to touch it. With clean hands. There is so much I want to say, and the words only come out of me in images more and more now.