Cydniey Buffers (cydniey) wrote,
Cydniey Buffers

Skeevies and Money, Samesies

The Punk Rat Life kickstarter campaign forms are all filled in and ready to go in for review. All I have left to do is make a video. I'm waiting until I wake up a bit and make myself look a bit more presentable. I know what I am going to say in the video, so it's just a matter of hitting record. So that, barring review issues on their side, be up by Monday.

A friend . . . a colleague, "friend" may be pushing social definitions at this point, has created an online literary magazine, and I'm thinking of advertising my new CD and the kickstarter campaign in it. Since we've known each other for so long, I don't want to submit any content, he pays contributers and it just feels weird. Money makes things weird. He and I sponsor each other on Patreon, he started it and I had to reciprocate because I felt really strange about it, him giving me money every month. So I give it right back to him. I also include him in all Patreon things, including the mailing out of bonuses this weekend.

This gets back to what I was saying yesterday, I would rather people not pay me, and be interested in my work. Being paid out of some antiquated social obligation seems dirty, and makes me feel unclean. I sent him a CD, and he hasn't said a thing about it. Hasn't even acknowledged that he received it in the mail. I don't want him to love my work, but a feigned interest wouldn't be unwelcome.

I know, shut up and take their money. Be glad they are paying you and don't question them. Whatever, that's the way the world works. Everyone is all about the cash, so I must be, or I'm weird. Well, guess what, I am weird. I don't want to live a Van Gogh life, scraping by, being completely unappreciated by everyone. Nor do I want to live a Picasso life, full of glamor and money and fame and empty sycophants surrounding at all times, sucking your creativity until you have nothing to give. Somewhere in between, there is a happy medium, and I am still trying to find it. It may be all about the money to Doc, but if it wasn't for him constantly pushing for it, refusing to give my work any credit unless it is paid for in cash, I wouldn't give a shit.

I can't believe it is Thursday already. Oh, fuck this, I can't type. I woke up righteously pissed at two people today, and I am driven to distraction. They are two people that I cannot just cut out of my life, I am forced to deal with this. And why do they both have to be men? Why? What is with my constant issues with nice men? I guess I'm just not a damsel in distress and their kid gloves give me the skeevies.

I am still on my quest to sell $15 worth of CD related items ASAP so I can get started on, offering my books, videos, etc. for sale. Doc won't help me by spreading the link. It "doesn't make sense" to him. He doesn't understand it, so he won't help. Doesn't matter that it could bring in his precious money that he is all about, he doesn't get it, so it's not a valid thing. Way to negate my existence again, Doc.

Between the negating, and actual rewriting of my reality, I am ready to quietly stab him in his sleep and take a bus to Jersey with the dogs. I've been taking notes of our conversations, as they happen. And every day, no matter how welll things are going, at some point before he leaves for work, there is always something that he has done that he feels uncomfortable with or does not want to take responsibility for. So he will, matter of factly, makes shit up. He will make up an event or a conversation, that places the blame for whatever he is feeling oogy about, squarely on me. He is lying to alter reality, depending on my disability to cover his tracks. But I've been taking notes, because no one trusts my judgment. I will start to record conversations if I have to. I can prove what he is doing. And he denies it until death.

I can't have this. My grasp on what's real, and my ability to police myself are stretched to the limit on a good day. It will not stand to have my primary care giver, and only friend, making up details about my life that never happened so that he can feel better about his poor decisions.

But, how to tell him? I have tried to explain it, just as I did to you now. He denies it. He minimizes my indignation and feelings of violation and distrust. I don't know what to do with that. Because while he is denying it, he is warming up for his next "alteration." And then he does it again. I am meant to just deal with it, accept it. No. But what do I do when all he will do is deny?

I don't know what to do.

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