lykomancer: (Run to ease the ache)
Things around here run on a wave.
They are down, down, down, then gradually pull up, up, up, and then sink back down, down, down. Lather, rinse, repeat ad nauseum.

When we have money, things are good.
As long as Jess doesn't fuck up, it's all fine.
Realistically, I wonder if it's related to the cycling hormones in the house.

Things don't center around me. I know that. But it certainly is far from helpful when I blow my top at something, or camp out in my room refusing to acknowledge anything outside of it, or when-- like now-- I've stretched my limit on my cash.

Sorry. I'm still a little irked at Tom for chastising me for suddenly announcing that I'm running low, and telling me that I shouldn't have spent money on the few really pricey things I bought lately.
I'm the one who paid for his January rent.
I'm the one who paid to get Wendy's car out of the garage.
I'm the one who gave Wendy gas and lunch money to get to work and not starve while there.
I'm the one who has bought the last like, four or five really BIG grocery purchases over a hundred dollars.
I'm the one who offered-- though it didn't need to be followed through on-- to pay for Jen's passport.
Who's paid for the electric and internet bills since we moved in here (excepting the start-up fee for the 'net-- that was Jen)? Me, 'cause I said I would.

I'm not trying to sound like a martyr.
I'm just trying to put things in perspective.
After all that other stuff, I refuse to feel bad about buying myself a pet. Or a few other things that make me happy. I think that it is ok of me to dare to spend money on stuff solely for Jess sometimes, in addition to all the cash I've kept throwing into the household budget to keep it lubed and smooth.


Ok, I'm done being cranky now.


Apr. 22nd, 2005 05:58 pm
lykomancer: (The loving friends we meet on the journe)
Calming down a bit now; finding that warm zen center somewhere inside that I can cling to and regain some stability. It doesn't matter. Nothing really matters. It will resolve itself in the end, and if it isn't resolved, it isn't the end. It was stupid and selfish of me to get involved as quickly and deeply as I did; it's really none of my business.
I'm done fretting and worrying and being angry. It's not like there's any point to it.

Me oun merimnesete eis the aurion, e gar aurion merimnesei eautes: arketon te emera e kakia autes.
Matthew 6:34

The Master hangs back. That's why he's ahead of the game.
He doesn't hang on to things. That's how he manages to keep them.
He doesn't worry about stuff he can't control. That's why he's got satisfaction.

Tao-Te Ching, Chapter 7, this translation

Working on the drabbles I owe. Hopefully, I can post them tonight. ^_^
lykomancer: (Turn the other cheek)
I'm about to the point of cheerfully-- dangerously cheerfully-- announcing that I am leaving my apartment to stay at a hotel, and that my roommates have exactly two days to sort out all of their problems with one another and/or move out before I return home. I don't care what happens, so long as it is over and resolved by the 48-hour mark when I walk through my front door again; they can murder each other for all I care.
Just so we're clear on where I stand here.

lykomancer: (My only hope lies in despair)
...I yelled at one of my roommates last night.
Not just yelled, but flat-out screamed and waved my hands and cried in frustration/discontent/upsetness/irritation for a full five to ten minutes.
I was so wound up and/or distracted for the rest of the night, the emotional pain of what I did didn't hit me until I tried to sleep, and then I laid there mentally smacking my stupid self upside the head, cussing myself out, and crying some more.
I had no right to do that. It wasn't fair; it wasn't mature; it wasn't responsible... It wasn't helpful. It was, in fact, very wrong of me to do. It didn't resolve anything or make anyone feel better. No matter how frustrated or irate or hurt I get, there is still no reason for me to lose my temper that completely with someone I love. I was a fucking jackass last night, and I should have known better. I should have acted better.
Damnit, I'm a better person than that most of the time!

I'm sorry; I'm so sorry.
So sorry.
If it's possible, I'll make it up to you, I swear.

In other, unrelated news, there's a rather giddy note from Tom on the 'fridge that makes me wonder if he's finally found someone masochistic enough to want to date, or something.
I wish that thought could make me feel happy; I mean, Tom's been single for a really long time now, and I think he does deserve a chance with someone... But really, all I feel is vaguely annoyed and jealous at the idea.

Yeah, I'm acting my age, aren't I? [/sarcasm]
God, when the fuck do I get to stop being so goddamn dumb all the time? Soon, right? Please?
lykomancer: (Someone to hear your prayer)
In less than a week, one of my housemates-- Jen-- has asked me if two different, new people could move in with us, one temporary, the other permanent.

My Official Answer: I don't care.

Now, this isn't because I haven't thought about it. I have, at great length.
That's five or six people living in out apartment, sharing one small bathroom, one small kitchen. That's five or six people all with different sleep schedules keeping each other awake with their music and conversations. That's "OMFG, we just went grocery shopping three days ago and we already ate two loaves of bread?!?!" That's more "I can't stand it when so-and-so does ____" and "XYZ really drive me nuts! and "If I have to ___ ONE MORE TIME...!" That's trying to organize more work times and chorelists and bill payments.
Now with twice the psychodrama and half the communication.

That's putting up with Matt's bad puns and dysfunctional, almost schizophrenic breaks between "I can't take anything seriously; I'm gonna quote Animaniacs" and "Oh, my God, my life sucks and I want to die."

Also, Wendy hasn't been asked about either of these, and she right now holds the final vote. If Wendy says no, flat-out, the answer is no. She's already having issues, and I don't want to put any more stress on her, since she did come all the way out here from Pennsylvania to start over again with Tom and I.

I'm a lot more OK with the temporary resident, for several reasons.
One being the temporary factor.
The other main one being the fact that this could be for him what we offered to Wendy: a completely new start someplace new, along with the time he would need to get back up on his feet again.
He's dead-ended where he is, and really seems to need the help.


BUT Official Answer to both is "I don't care."

I maintain my neutrality.
It could be really fun and interesting. It could be a miserable, atrocious failure.
It could just be the same as life for us in this household is already, a bit of both joy and hardship as we bumble along, while improving life for others. This is the most likely, and that's why I don't care.

God, I'm such a sucker for stray kittens.
lykomancer: (I hate all you people)
I'm writing this because I have had to yell it at, like, three people in two days, and, becoming frustrated at needed to reiterate it over and over, have finally decided to just take my own advice in a semi-public-ish forum.

This is the essence of human relations, the building blocks of society, and (according to Michele Small) one of the main features of humanity that distinguishes us from other species.
And now, you might think that if something were this important, that most of us would be good at it.
In my experience, most people are trained out of good communication skills throughout their lives; they are indoctrinated in every form of deception imaginable, their tongues reined in, and a deep-seated fear of rejection and/or humiliation and/or appearing gullible ingrained.
It seems that we are taught that it is better to be a doormat than speak out for our own needs and desires, and that's not right.
It seems that we are taught to deny ourselves rather than acknowledge how we actually feel.
Smile falsely rather than show that we are displeased, disagree, or do not feel the same as the others.
Bite our tongues and suffer in silence rather than speak out and risk a negative response.
I have seen people live in what is basically Hell rather than open their mouths to say anything against the situation, and then become bitter that no one helps them or understands how they feel.

There is power in speaking aloud, much power, and by refusing to state loudly what one needs and wants and hopes and fears, one is subjugated to an interior critic called Big Brother. But this isn't 1984 (despite any political goings-on that may suggest otherwise), and there is no such thing as thought-crime. No one can punish you for who you are and what you feel unless you give them that authority over you. No one has the right to critique you for feeling as you do; no one is can correct you because they aren't you.

Jess's Commandments of Communication:
1. Say what you mean, and mean what you say. If you feel angry, then say it! Bluntly, boldly. Knowing full well you have the right to feel that way.
2. Speak with your whole being. When I write say it, by this I don't just mean speaking calmly like you're sitting at some fucking garden-party-- shout it, growl it, snarl. Frown. Cross your arms. Bristle and bare your teeth. Embody your emotion; accept it, embrace it. Feel the strength in the deep currents of feeling, and let it brace you. If you are sad, cry or scream. Howl. Wail. Dance with joy. Smile with your whole body, radiating your pleased attitude. You cannot communicate well if you are saying one thing aloud and your body language is screaming something totally different. Be as honest and pure as spring rain.
3. Speak to yourself. Learn to embody your thoughts and emotions all of the time, even when you are alone. It makes doing it around other people so much easier. You cannot be honest with others if you cannot be honest with yourself. We learn deception by deceiving first ourselves.
4. It's OK to be afraid of a negative reaction from others, but it is not OK to let this stop you from speaking. Every time I open my mouth to speak from my heart, my stomach clenches up and tongue becomes sandpaper. If a lot is "on the line", so to speak-- potentially ruining a friendship, possible rejection in love, something like that--, it's worse. My hands get sweaty and clammy; my heart pounds against my ribcage; suddenly the air is thick and it's hard to breathe. I start to shake and turn red.
Am I afraid? You bet your ass I'm afraid! I'm bloody well terrified!
But... I know that I can't let that stop me. The stronger the fear, the more invested I am in the relationship, the more I care, the more I need to speak out honestly, and the better I will feel when the conversation is over and resolved.
This fear is healthy, and I think that it serves the same function as physical pain. When you feel pain, your body is trying to tell you that something is wrong and that you need to pay attention to, say, the knee you scraped or arm you broke. When you feel a fear of communicating your emotions, your heart is trying to tell you something is wrong and that you need to pay attention to the anger you feel at being ignored, the enviousness you feel toward others who have what you want.
Fear of rejection and other negative reactions doesn't necessarily ever go away, but you can become more accustomed to dealing with it. Practice makes perfect.
5. Know you have the right to feel the way you do. This is another one that takes practice, because (again, in my experience) it seems that most people-- especially women-- are taught to invalidate their own feelings. This is a horrible travesty, and man, does it ever piss me off to hear someone say, "Yeah, I'm angry, but I shouldn't be..." or "I feel so sad, but there's no reason for me to feel this way..." Use the word "but" sparingly! "But" should never be used as an invalidating technique! NEVER, NEVER, NEVER. (Is that clear?) In fact, it is my advice that "but" should never be used in a deep, heartful conversation. Use "and" instead, which validates how you feel and gives a chance to detail what you are saying further. This difference is this:
"I feel angry about the way you keep taking my parking spot in back, but I guess it doesn't matter all that much... (so on)"
"I feel angry about the way you keep taking my parking spot in back, and I guess it doesn't matter all that much...(so on)"
There's no shortcut to knowing that you have the right to claim you emotions; this is just something you have to keep telling yourself over and over (or better yet, find someone else to tell you this over and over) until it becomes an ingrained belief.
6. "Fights will go on as long as they have to"-- or, speak until you have completely drained the well. Speak until you feel limp, drained, exhausted. If you think you still have something left to say, you do. It's really that simple. If employing this commandment means repeating yourself ad nuseaum, do so; there is a reason for it buried deep in your subconscious. Keep talking until you have spoken everything on your mind and then brought up some things you never intended to mention and then discovered a few more things you didn't even know about yourself and how you felt going into the conversation. You'd be surprised how much you aren't consciously aware of, and how it plays into your life and your actions; like an iceberg, most emotion is below dark, frigid, turbulent waters and you cannot begin to see it unless you are willing to be courageous and brave the icy sea. Stream-of-consciousness talk it great for revealing this huge, hidden mass of feelings.
9. There's a difference between being honest and being a complete jerk. It's sometimes a very fine line, so tread carefully. It helps to make your feelings and intentions crystal clear from the get-go: "We need to talk about ____. I've been thinking about this for a while, but I've been afraid to bring it up because I don't want you to take it the wrong way / get mad at me / hate me, but I really need to get it out and say how I feel." There. You've brought up the problem, your fears of a negative reaction, and why you are speaking.
Asking "permission" after this little intro helps: "Is that ok?" or "Do you understand that?" It's not really permission, which is why I use the quotations. This question is actually asking acknowledgment of what you have just said, and gives you a chance to see how the person you are speaking to is probably going to react (thus allowing you to plot your word choices and structure what you have to say).
Mentioning your fear of anger or hate or whatever is actually a really good idea, though it may not seem it. It alerts the person you are speaking to that this is a delicate topic, but it also lets them know-- subtly-- that you're trying to be as tactful as possible because you don't want them to feel angry/hateful/etc., and that you don't want them to feel this way because your relationship is meaningful and because you care.
Also, just because I have been saying be honest and embody your emotions and writing about stream-of-consciousness talk does not mean that you should just start screaming at someone and not stop for an hour because you're angry about them eating the last brownie and no being considerate. Tact and subtlety are also key notes here. Speak calmly and rationally, detail how you feel and why, and make them understand and empathize. Even when they can't completely empathize, they can get the gist of why you function the way you do.
(Example: I may not empathize with someone's fear of dogs, but I can empathize with the feeling of fear and what it does to you, mentally and physically. They might not understand why I get angry at Tom's (annoyingly) paternal concern for me, but I can explain that I feel patronized, and that's something most people understand.)
8. Listen. This is an important part of communicating well, and, like speaking, this is a fine art that most people don't seem to be able to grasp. Unfortunately for this treatise, it is also edging out of my area of "expertise", however, I think I can dredge up a few pointers.
----a. Stay calm. Even if the other person does get angry, keep your head about you and listen to what they are really saying. Do they feel threatened, cornered, attacked? Have you trespassed their respect boundaries? Is that just the way they tend to react? Question them and draw them out if possible. Ask them to explain how they feel. Reflectively listen-- repeat what they just said as closely as possible in the form of a question in order to show that you heard what they said and yet subtly ask for more information.
----b. Shut up. Give them the time and space they need to respond and express how they feel.
----c. Pay attention and show it. Listen like you talk: with your whole body. Lean forward, make eye contact. Nod. Make those little murmuring encouragements. Pay attention to their body language, tone, and word choice in addition to the plain text of what they are saying. Ask for clarification if you need it. Don't interrupt; they have the right to feel the way they do, too.
----d. Focus on common ground. We all disagree...sometimes even when we agree, we disagree. The conversation goes a helluva lot smoother if you focus on shared feelings and ideas-- even real basic ones, like on your agreement of anger instead of on your disagreement of why you are angry. The more you look for similarities, the easier it is to resolve the conversation and find compromises, whereas the more you focus on differences, the rockier the road gets.

...I'm drained, which means I've spoken all I can think of right now.
Some of you might notice that, like all people, I am better as giving advice than taking it, and I won't try to grin and pass it off with a "Do as I say; don't do as I do." Y'all deserve better than that. The truth is that I try to follow this set of commandments, but I am only human(-ish) and sometimes I fail. I am not Buddha, but I am a buddha just trying to do the best I can.

I hope you found this helpful and not patronizing.
Good luck.

9. Don't assign blame. If your goal is to communicate your feelings successfully and not be an uber-bitch, then one of the primary things you DO NOT EVER want to do is assign blame. It is NEVER the other person's fault that you feel the way that you do; you can communicate the same sentiment without blaming by using "I" statements. This is really easy: instead of saying, "I got stranded 'cause you didn't pick me up" try "I felt abandoned and I was wondering if you had forgotten or were just running late." Explain how the action made you feel in detail and try not to use the word "you".
The object of the conversation is not to make the other person feel bad, guilty, or attacked, and blaming them does this. No one likes feeling guilty and any attempt at fault-finding-- no matter how unintentional-- will seem like an attack and will make the other person not listen to you, close their mind as a defense mechanism, and try to retaliate.
Your demeanor in a heartful conversation must be open and honest even when you are hurt or angry. This is a must. You cannot be these things if you are hurtful, spiteful, or blaming; it just doesn't work. Wanting to hurt people-- as I said, even unintentionally-- is an indication that your heart and mind are closed to actual communication (which is a two-way street and involves listening as much as speaking). You must honor the other person, and employ the Golden Rule: Do unto others as you would have done unto you.

Also, these "commandments" work well in MOST interactions...but by no means all. They are based around the idea of empathy, understanding, and a willingness to resolve issues easily, and if the person you are trying to communicate with doesn't have/won't use their caring side, these are probably not good policy (Abusive relationships come to mind).
lykomancer: (Default)
Ah, the Sanitarium (my apartment).
The one place where you are likely to find at least one person-- actually, usually more than one-- awake at four in the morning on any given day. Honestly, I think at any given time, you are likely to find at least one household member awake... doesn't matter if you check in at 6 am or midnight or 2 in the afternoon; someone will be awake.

I was going to go to bed after I finished Juvenile Orion #1 around two. YOu can clearly see how well that worked out. (Juvenile Orion = very good, thus far. Worth the money. New collection starting.)

My little window-sitting mascot wolf is staring at me and panting cutely.

Goals for tomorrow:
-- Go for a walk if the weather is nice like it was today, possibly to the coffee shop down Franklin called The Wolves' Den.
-- Maybe go to the gym. =sigh=
-- Work out some more finances.
-- Write a sestina.
-- Finish sewing Owen's pants.
-- Fax my Social Security number to the financial aid people who are numerically illiterate and cannot tell the different between a "3" and a "5".

...I think that's it. Don't want to make the list too long, or nothing will get done.
lykomancer: (Happy)
As some of you already know 'cause I wanted to spread the joyous news...
idiot-boy no longer lives with us!

Tom, Wendy, and I got together yesterday at Judith's, and had a serious talk. Tom stood up at the end of it, announced that he was going to take some anti-anxiety drugs, we were going to go eat, and then we were going home to say, "Here's two hundred dollars, get out by tonight."

We were expecting all sorts of hell to break loose. We were expecting things to get broken. We were expecting a fight.

Nothing happened. Derek said, "OK, can I at least stay the night?" and Tom said, "No, and that's final" and that was it. He packed up and we dropped him off at the bus station at 9; he got a ticket back to PA on a bus leaving at 10.

I think he's really and truly gone.

No more chaos. No more fear. No more wondering were in the hell that pound of lunchmeat I just bought yesterday went.


In other fields, I think I got an A- in my historical theology class. I got an A on half of the final-from-Hell and a B on the essay half. Along with the 2 A- and 1 B on my other papers...

Also, Julie emailed me a picture from Thanksgiving that I will eventually have to post. I look crazy. It's great.

Umm... that's all for now!
(I think that's enough!)
lykomancer: (Default)
Ok, so yesterday didn't go exactly as I planned.

I'm getting really frustrated at everyone. I'm the one in the house who is having the least amount of problems with Derek-- the day after Christmas fight aside-- and yet I'm really getting the message that I should be the one to handle him and the problems he's causing everyone else.

Ok, on one hand, yeah, as the calmest, most rationally sane person in the house and as a good friend who cares compassionate for my other housemates, I probably should be the one to deal with the mess.
On the other hand, I'm not the one having the majority of the problems, and my housemates are (supposedly) adults. They should take care of their own problems. It is not responsibility to look after them.

Wendy won't say much to Derek's face, and when she does, she seems to do it with the deliberately childish impetus to annoy him as much as he's annoying her-- whining, snapping, muttering.

Tom's run away from the whole situation, and called me yesterday with what seemed like the sole intent of asking me if I'd thrown Derek out yet. Tom will not confront Derek, makes absolutely no effort to do anything besides freak out, break down, and hide other places, and throws the entire burden on me and Wendy-- which, in reality, means me.
And I can't do anything because I have no idea what Tom's real problem is. Tom's freaking out even when Derek isn't doing anything and is leaving him entirely alone. I've never seen anyone so completely cowed by someone else for what seems like no apparent reason, and I don't know what to do about it. Everytime I ask Tom, he's just like, "I can't live with him! I can't stand being in the same house as him! I just can't do it!" which leaves me with no clear answers as to what the real problem is and suggests that Tom isn't even willing to try, which annoys the hell out of me. Tom's also said things about Derek reminding him of his mother, and about the problems of two bipolars living in the same house together, and I can understand all that when Derek is acting up...but not when Tom's breaking down and Derek isn't even there.
To be honest... *sigh* ...and this sounds harsh, it's seems like Tom's completely losing his mind. Literally.
I can't get anything out of him except fear and anxiety. He won't-- can't--- listen to anything besides his own terror, and I don't know what he's even really afraid of. The worst Derek can do is scream at us, maybe try to beat us up, but there's three of us in the house, there's three phones in the house (and it's easy enough to dial 911), and honestly, I don't think it would even go that far provided Derek was sober. And if he did start screaming at us or getting violent again, his ass would be grass in no time flat and then Tom wouldn't have to worry anymore.
And I understand that the mechanics of fear are such that reason itself isn't reasonable, and that it's easy to get trapped into a cycle of victimization because even the prospect of getting screamed at is terrifying...but I don't know what else to tell him or do for him. Again, it's harsh, but I wish Tom would make more of an attempt to be strong. He can't keep breaking down every time he runs into an obstacle; he can't keep running away from people like his mother and Derek-- if there's a cosmic lesson here, it's that he needs to learn how to deal with this kind of stuff and free himself from this cycle.

I really don't like being the most not-crazy person I'm living with.

Annie, Marybeth, Angela, et al. call me if you still have my number. I'm anxious to talk to other (relatively sane) people.
(Oh, and Marybeth, I did get your Christmas present, love! In all the lunacy I've been forgetting to mention that and give you a big thankies hug and kiss! Thank you!)
lykomancer: (angry)
*twitch, twitch*



Tom's therapist gave him two options:
He could check himself into the mental ward for a week,
or, he could get out of the house and live somewhere else for a week.
Hence, Tom is currently staying with Judith.

Derek is feeling "threatened" that he's going to be out on his ear.
He should be feeling thusly.
'Cause he's gonna be.

When Wendy, Wendy's boyfriend Ryan, and I got home last night, I pled a headache and locked myself in my room with a cup of Tension Tamers, Gackt music, lavender essential oil, and a book on the nature of evil. I didn't even want to talk to anyone, 'cause so help me God, if I had, I'd have lost it.
I isolated myself.

I pretty much got up and came here (the library).
I'm feeling calmer now... Or, probably more to the point, I am so past enraged that I feel calm.
Wendy's called into work today. No doubt this is related to the fact that I told her last night that I was throwing him out one way or another today, and when she asked me not to confront him alone, I pointed out that now that he's lost his job (yeah, the idiot lost his job-- ALREADY) and I don't have one, it's inevitable that we are going to be alone a lot.
But I'm thinking that I'm going to get him someplace out in public like a Starbuck's, and calmly and rationally say something to the effect of:

"Please don't interrupt me until I'm finished even though you're really going to want to. I really want you to hear everything I have to say.
You cannot stay with us. I know you were thinking about moving out on your own, and I think that's a good idea if you can still do it. But it comes down to the simple fact that you cannot live with us. Your mere presence is driving Tom literally insane.
You were able to even consider moving out here because of Tom's compassion and willingness to try to give people a fresh start, and clearly, it is not working out. The man who invited you out is having a mental breakdown just because you are in the apartment.
I feel an obligation toward Tom, because he has helped me out of the pit of despair more times than I care to count. Now Tom is in that dark place, and I feel that we both have an obligation to help him out.
If you are really serious about moving out and finding your own place-- as I said before-- I highly encourage this, and if you say that you are still serious about it, you will have no problem with my getting an eviction notice to back your claim up and have something to show Tom to reassure him."

You will note that it is waaaaayyyy nice.
Too fuckin' nice.
I am calm enough to be nice, and be it forcefully, and so I will take advantage of that calmness.

If I have to, I will point out that I am willing to forgo the two hundred dollars he owns me for rent in exchange for him buying a bus, train, or-- better yet-- plane ticket back to PA.

One way or another, it's going down today.
I'm tired of dragging this out.
I'm sick of the fuckin' psycho-drama.
And if I'm the only one with the cojones to square off with him, so be it. We all have our crosses to bear.
lykomancer: (Default)
This morning, taking Derek to work-- who, even though he's been going to the same place for three weeks, did not know the way there... This is at the two hour mark (to a place that is twenty minutes from home):
Wendy, on the phone with a woman at Derek's work: Yeah, well that's part of our problem. We don't know which direction east is.
The Lady on the Phone: Follow the sun.
Wendy, repeating: Oh...follow the sun!
Me and Derek: *fall over laughing*

Two nights ago while having an extremely pleasant time with Jenny, Owen, David, and their friends Mike and EJ-- Ok, so Jenny wasn't having a good time, but dammit, I sure was-- I called home to see if Jenny would be able to get in and get some files off her computer.
Heard Wendy and Derek screaming at one another.
Went home.
Owen wanted/s to moderate so that 911 doesn't have to be called and work it out so that Derek comes up with the idea "on his own" to move out. By the time we got that established and got back home, Derek was in bed, so we let it slide.
Tom, of course, heard about this, and the next day had an anxiety attack bad enough that he spent most of the day in the hospital. They sent him home saying, "maybe you should trying eating and sleeping." No shit, you dumb bastards; I didn't realize you needed a medical degree, millions of dollars of equipment, hundreds of dollars in payment, and six hours to figure that out! I thought that might be self-evident.

Yesterday was a complete wash.
Didn't get internet. Don't have a new working computer. Didn't get to check my email (which is ok, because what I'm waiting for wasn't there anyway).

The only up-side is that Derek came home only minutes after Tom (who began shaking the minute he saw Derek), and so went I was escorting Tom into his room and making sure that he ate and got situated, Jenny was executing Owen's plan, and by the time I got out to the living room, Derek was proudly announcing his plans to find his own apartment. He went out with Jenny, and they already got some apartment guides.
(Really, I want him back in PA... as far away from me and mine as I can manage...but at this point, I'll take what I can get.)
lykomancer: (angry)
Excuse my bad Latin.

Well, Wendy did more or less try to provoke him...and believe it or not she mostly failed. He kept his rage on a pretty tight leash, all things considered, and after two hours of listening to her snipe and bitch and hit below the belt to see what he would do, I came out of my room and asked her to stop. He actually did remarkably well, and yes, I told him that. If that's the worst his temper gets now, I can live with that.

Wendy's still pissed at him, and I don't blame her. She's not a happy camper. She also talked to his mother, grandmother, and his parole officer, who knows that I filed a police report. Wendy wants him out, but understands that this might take some time.

Tom's actually the worst off in the house. He's tied into knots and I don't know how to get him to unwind a bit. I mean, it's callous and unreasonable for me to say, "Tom, you need to just calm down and find some way to live with this right now," is pretty much how I'm feeling.

I still want him out of my house, but I am willing to wait until I don't feel like a complete villain for asking him to leave/throwing him out/calling the cops. Right now my biggest concern is wondering what to tell Judith, who was very insistent that we throw him out on his ass-- one way or another-- Monday night.
(Judith did give me a helluva compliment though. She told me that I had the "biggest don't-fuck-with-me attitude" she'd ever seen. ^_^)

Things are settling into some kind of rhythm again. I just want things to be semi-normal (as normal as they get around here, anyway) again.

Emailed Teresa-san. No response yet. Patience is a virtue. :)
lykomancer: (hurt)
Oh, my fucking God.

My raging bipolar lunatic roommate )

I should cheer myself up by emailing Teresa-san, but...the last thing I need right now is something else that would make me nauseous, even if it's in a good way.
lykomancer: (Default)
Returning to the idea of my housemates...

Wendy is Wendy, though not as high-strung as I remember her, but then, we haven't gotten a whole lot of time to sit around and talk either, since she's working most of the time. I don't think there will be many problems with Wendy.

As for Derrick, what I really want is to "convert" him. I eventually want to get him at the same place as Tom and I. I want to make him more aware that stating that the Japanese can't blink because their eyes are always slanted shut anyway is a racist comment (which he inisted wasn't, because it was true... *SIGH*). I want to nurture and cultivate a sense of social awareness and tact, make him more aware of what he is saying and how it sounds to other people, open up his mind.
Is it going to take a lot of work? Yes.
Is it worth it? Yep.
Am I going to want to throttle him a lot? Oh, yeah.
If he lives through it, he'll be a better person.

Though I am kind of tired of chasing after my housemates and yelling at them:
Please remember to turn off the lights/stereo/tv if you aren't going to be in the room!
Please remember to lock the doors when you leave!
Please stop leaving empty cans/bags/packages in the 'fridge/on the counter/in the cupboards! (Tom, that means YOU!)
Please rinse out the tub when you are done using it! (i.e. "I know that is not my hair in there, because mine is not that long.")
And for the love of God and all that is holy, will someone besides me please take out the trash!?

God, I've become Mommy Jess. Shoot me now.
...actually, shoot them. Someplace non-fatal, of course, since I need them to be able to pay their share of rent.

I'm still a little shell-shocked from yesterday. I randomly start grinning for no appearant reason a lot, thinking with joy and absolute amazement how wonderfully casually pleased she seemed accepting my invitation. She tossed her hair and licked her lips, and I know-- I don't know why I know, but I do-- that those are subtle signs of flirtation.
God, I'm such a dork. ^_^

I have applied for a PR position at a local Unitarian church (8hrs/wk, 13$ per hour); I sent in a short story manuscript to a magazine for possible publication; I am living in a cool, big apartment; and I am sooooo happy 'cause I will eventually be able to see Teresa-san again outside of class.

lykomancer: (Default)

Last Thursday morning I met with the psychiatrist, who seemed to not believe that I have depression but gave me a trial packet of Zoloft anyway and told me to come back in three weeks. Cool. I was a third of the way home when I got a call from Wendy saying that they would be arriving in about an hour and a half, and then I had to worry about whether or not I would be able to beat them home.
I did. Barely. I was walking out the outside stairs, and I took one last glance at the street, and a dark blue car rolled by and I grinned 'cause I knew it was them.
Wendy had driven straight out-- no stops for sleep-- so she crashed out on my couch and Derrick and I sat around and talk for a bit, then walked to a liquor store, got a bottle of vodka, and went home, all the while talking.

(~Stories of mine should stop involving vodka, ne?~)

Tom came home late from Ashland and he went to bed, and a fairly drunken Derrick asked me to "cuddle" up with him on the floor. So I did. I suppose I should have known better, but I really wasn't thinking about being groped. o.O!
("What in the hell are you doing? Stop that, stop... What? No, I will not have sex with you! ...why? Um, lessee: we just met, Wendy's sleeping less than a foot away from us, I'm not on birth control, and oh yeah, housemates shouldn't fuck!)

This kind of stuff needs to stop happening to me.

Right. So after I convince him that trying to have sex with me is not in his best interest, I manage to get to bed. It was about 4 am.

The next day we get up, and thinking about the night before was kind of embarrassing, but whatever. At least nothing much actually happened. We went for drives around the city; we talked; we made plans to move shit.
Really, I don't remember most of what we did on Friday...

On Saturday, we rented a Uhaul and moved all the heavy big stuff. A friend from seminary gave us tons-- I think literally-- of furniture, so first that went in, and then all our old stuff. In the process of moving one of the dressers, my pinkie finger got crushed between the dresser and the edge of a stair, and I heard it go "crunch." I don't think it's broken-- I wouldn't be able to move it if it was-- but it's been completely numb since Saturday so I think I squished some nerves pretty damned bad.

I hurt myself a LOT that day. I crushed my finger, twisted my ankle, bruised and scraped up one shin, whacked my knee... I look like I went ten rounds with Mohammad Ali.

We're still moving some odds and ends over, but almost everything is done. (OK, except Wendy's room, but that's completely understandable. Wendy-- along with Derrick-- did most of the heavy lifting; I mean, she worked like a mule moving stuff in, and then she began work at Wal*Mart already yesterday. She hasn't really had much of a chance to get her crap together.)

As for Derrick, who I describe before as excessively heterosexual stereotypically male... well, I can see why Wendy has a hard time dealing with him sometimes. Sexist pig? Oh, yeah, and what really clinches it is the fact that he doesn't think he's being sexist.
("Me and Tom will handle the big stuff, and you girls can take care of the littler things...Short hair is a boy's haircut; women should have long could be beautiful if you just tried, Jess..."
Now is that a helluva backhanded compliment, or what?
Crap like that. All the time. Depending on how he say it and what it's about I have handled these kind of statements with out and out violent protests ("Oh hell no, you ain't stickin' me on bitch detail! I can carry heavy things; who do you think helped Tom get all the furniture into this place?!") to placid shrugging off ("That's your opinion. I disagree.") to good-humored sarcasm ("I 'could be beautiful'? Oh my, thank you ever so much; I feel like putting on a pink dress and high heels and make-up and groveling for you!")
He really hates my sarcasm. ^_^ I don't give a flying fuck what he hates. He's going to have to learn how to deal with it.

Yeah, and he's a Crispie. Believes in the literal truth of the Bible. Went to the Unitarian church with me and Tom though, and he was ok with that, but he doesn't really get how UUism is a "real" religion.

(I think I've decided to become a minister, btw. I ain't got nothing else better to do, right?)

Tom's waiting for me to go, so I guess I'll continue this tomorrow or something. We gotta go move more crap.
lykomancer: (Default)
I got ten minutes before the library closes, so here's an update:

1) I'm on Zoloft and feeling better
2) Wendy and Derrick got here alright and we are mostly moved into the new apt.
3) Derrick is, indeed, as Wendy said, a bit of a mooch, and is an excessively heterosexual stereotypical male redneck Jesus Crispie. Good God, what has Wendy invited into my house? Friendly though. Sometimes too much so. O.o!
4) I injured myself seven ways to Sunday moving furniture in on Saturday, including crushing my right-hand pinkie finger so badly I thought at first I broke it. Didn't break, but I must have done some nerve damage 'cause it's numb.
5) I am absolutely exhasted, and we still have some moving to do.
6) Annie, I am trying to get a hold of you. I'm going to keep trying, 'kay? I love you sweetie; take it easy.
7) It is COLD AS FUCK outside.

I gotta run.
lykomancer: (Default)
Updated/revamped my Christmas wishlist thingie, and corrected my snail-mail so that it is my new address.

Almost finished with my annotated bibliography, thank God. I just need one more resource article and a book review for one of the books I've already used, and then I need to finish writing up my annotations.

Looking up shonen-ai fanfics at school when I should be doing something much more valid with my time. (Man, I realize suddenly, almost desperately, how much I miss good smutty slash fanficcage. I can't wait to get internet hook-up at our new apartment... maybe then I'll start writing good smutty slash fanficcage of my own again, then. I've got a listing of pairings I'm, yep, just crazy enough to soon as I can sit someplace private with a big ol' bottle of schnappes until 3 AM, giggling as I try to fit in that one adjective that makes everyone go, "Oh!" or "Eek!" ^_~ The world needs more good slash/shonen-ai. I was made to fill this niche. Maybe that's what I'll sit down and do on Christmas day.)

My new roommates are taking a while to get out here because of financial problems, and Tom and I have spent the last two nights running boxes of stuff we know for certain that we don't need over to the new place. It's kind of frustrating, because I look at my small collection of stuff and think how easy and fast it would be to move me in almost completely-- except for my desk, and the few pieces of furniture I need, like a dresser and a futon-- and then I see how slow and long it's probably actually going to take.
I'm so excited to have more space so I stop feeling like Tom's hovering over me all the freakin' time ('cause he tends to stand in the kitchen-- staring, incidentally, at my couch-- or play with the cat-- who, incidentally, spends a lot of her time on- where else?- the back of my couch). It will be nice to be able to lock Baka out of my room, so that everything I own isn't covered in cat hair. I'm so excited to have a door. (Actually, I have two.) And a closet.
Life is good when you have a closet.

I'm still a little worried about money, but I figure the only things I'm letting myself spend on besides bills-- after sending a big-ass check off to Jenny-- is a monthly allowance of 30-40$ at the beginning of the month. I'm trying to remember everything so that I can work out a real, tight budget.
(Hmm... RoadRunner Premium internet includes multiple connections and networking, which is good considering at least two computers are going to be hooked up, and the listed price is 85$, but is that per month? I guess it must be... Well, if we divide that out through three people, that's not that bad...)

I think I'm going to work on that now.
lykomancer: (Default)
Welcome to the crazy farm.

Wendy-- my best friend from high school-- and Derrick-- a kid who graduated from the same high school a year before us-- are both coming and moving in with me and Tom just after Thanksgiving. They should be here between the 30th and 2nd.
My household just doubled.
Tom already found us a new apartment, which we will be looking at and (no doubt) be making the deposit on tomorrow evening. It's a recently remodeled three-bedroom a block from the art institute and three from Nicolet Ave, and they mostly rent out to graduate students and young professionals. Off-street parking, laundry, all utilities except electric included, first month's rent waived, 1200/month.

I have to be a little more careful with my money right now, as I will be making the deposit, and we're gonna need a U-Haul, and we're gonna need some more furniture (such as futons for everyone except Tom), etc. ect.

That said, I just went clothes shopping and blew 240$.
It hurts me.
But...I haven't really gone clothes shopping in since junior high, so I guess it's about time. I was having a panic attack in the middle of an aisle-- heart palpitations, difficulty breathing, chest pain, emotional distress-- because I was so completely freaked out by the idea of wasting money on clothes; I had to retionalize it by saying to myself that I would even think twice if I was buying books instead of clothes, and books are a lot less practical. Still, I feel really uneasy about it.
Call me sexist, but I just thought that all women could just naturally clothes shop and know what to buy and so on and so forth...but damn, I don't know how to shop! And I don't like it, either. Hours in freakin' Target trying on clothes that are too small, strain across my bust, too big, the wrong color, sweating as I change in and out of outfits, bumpng my elbows into the fitting room walls, steering my cart into racks of sweaters, my hair sticking up and all-around looking and feeling frumpy and frazzled.

I'm slowly working up my courage to ask Theresa-san (aka: HotASLLady) out. It's stress-inducing. I'm unhappy about it. I'm going to do it anyway so that no one can call my a coward and say I didn't try.
God, I hope she likes Italian.

Stop being weird and talking about one another and sex in public. Stop being judgemental. Stop qualifying yourselves.
Or, if you want to do those things, do it face to face.
...yeah, you know I'm talking about you.
lykomancer: (angry)
Tom, Tom, Tom.

He drives me nuts. Some days I wish I could throttle him.
It's more than the fact that he giggles like an unhinged lunatic, squeals like an anime fangirl on speed, occasionally and unexpectedly grabs my breasts, and sometimes has absolutely no sense of personal boundries-- physical, mental, or emotional (i.e. he just doesn't know when enough is enough!).

It's more than the fact that he never does the dishes spontaneously, or takes out the trash, or cleans any part of the house at all without me nagging.

It's more than the fact that he's so not-together, constantly losing things, misplacing items, forgetting events, and not sure if he even took his medication on any given day.

It isn't even the fact that his driving scares the hell out of me, or that he takes hour-long showers (what in the name of God does he DO in there?), or the fact that he whines every time he has to get up any earlier than 11 when I am usually at work at 8.

It's just plain and simple that I see Tom living an unsustainable lifestyle. He's got to weight over 300 pounds, but he won't cut the oil and butter and chocolate out of his diet; he won't but a bottle of water when he's dehydrated instead of a bottle of soda. He won't even reduce the amount of salt he eats. His shrink said that he could probably go off of his mood stabilizer if he would only lower his sugar intake and stop all caffeine-- simple enough instructions when your mental health (and wallet) is at stake! But he won't. He simply refused.
While giggling.

This is particularly frustrating when I know that most of his other health problems are weight-related-- his arthritis: no kidding he's got arthritis, he's carrying twice the weight he should; his irritable bowel syndrome which he claims will act up if he eats anything remotely healthy, such as salad, but doesn't bother his at all after a greasy-spoon style breakfast because he's "trained" it that way; his poor immune system, which can't function at it's peak when the rest of his body is straining; his insomnia, which troubles obese people more than moderately heavy people... This is a mix of common sense and basic biology-- you know, what Tom minored in college?

I'm not saying that I'm in perfect health, and God knows that I could afford to drop some pounds; HOWEVER. I don't breathe like I just finished a quarter-mile race all of the time, I can walk miles without feeling tired, and 70 degrees with no humidity does not feel unbearably hot to me.

But it's not just his eating habits and completely lack of exercise (the most of which he gets is walking from his car to the apartment), it's also the fact that he's living almost completely off his student loans. LOANS. Loans need to be paid back at some later point, but he doesn't seem to be at all worried about that future point in time. He doesn't even consider working more hours and cutting back on his loans (or saving them for a real emergency, such as the dental surgery he needed in August), which is disturbing to me. He keeps claiming that he's too busy to work more, but some simple calculations revealed that work, sleep, school, homework, travel-time, etc, bite a humongously larger chunk out of my week then they do his, and I'm doing fine. He's got, according to my calculations, almost three full days of spare time once everything else I could think of was factored out.

He drives me crazy because he will not take any (even simple, baby steps) toward fixing any of his problems. He will not keep a written monthly budget (like I've started doing) to figure out where his money's going; he will not write down a time schedule or even a list of daily things to do to help manage his time; he doesn't seem to think there's anything wrong with his weight, much less think of doing anything about it; he won't go out and hang out or try to make friends or join clubs, organizations, or groups to meet new people even though he claims he's so lonely and wants a boyfriend (interestingly, and strangely, he praises me to high heaven whenever I go out and join something or attend an event as though I'm the one that doesn't get out of the house enough).


By the way, if anyone cares, I am currently simultaneously bitching about Tom, and looking up dirty doujinshi on the seminary computers.
Yeah, I rock.

Heh, I was window shopping dvds in Target yesterday, and I realized they had an anime section. Idly looking over the racks, not really compelled to buy anything for such outrageous prices, I saw that they had the first Hellsing dvd for twenty bucks. And I laughed, came up here to school, downloaded the right codecs, and went home and watched an episode.

Geez, I love you guys.

By the way, Jen, that "Rose in the Wind" Inuyasha amv is really good, and the song is sublime! I have it running through my head almost contantly.

I have the house to myself and that makes me a very happy puppy.
lykomancer: (Default)
I went home yesterday and proceeded to write until I couldn't think of anything else to say. Here's the results.

Ranting, raving, and foaming at the mouth )

She works hard for the money... )

Blurb )

On the beast within )

And yeah, I feel better today and the weather is gorgeous, I get paid tomorrow and we can go grocery shopping, and for now, once more, the world seems an ok place. My demons have be appeased by the offering of words and tears, and have quietly retreated. That's good enough for now, although I am already thinking about how to shut them up for good.
Right. I'm off to go online rat shopping.


lykomancer: (Default)

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