Unreason, unfairness & ugh, my mail’s in the trash

Elephants never forget. Since I’m a human and not a pachyderm, perhaps it’s why I did.

Since I’m therapeutically releasing anger about the roommate (see post(s) prior), I want to mention a recent incident, lightweight compared to today’s yet telling and revealing of her character all the same.

As two Costco members, we each receive the monthly coupon books in the mail. Each bears our individual names.

J. couldn’t care less about the coupon book and tosses it into the trash.
Me, I LOVE the Costco coupons! So much so that I make it a special occasion, usually by seating myself, pouring myself a glass of wine and poring over it.

J. knows I love my Costco coupons. In fact, before I began receiving mine, she “donated” hers since it was trash-bound anyhow.

Note that I said we now each get our own in the mail. It’s pertinent to the story.

The other day they arrived in the mail, which she generally retrieves. As I dropped something into the trash can, I noticed her copy. I dug in a little farther and there was mine!

After pulling it outta the garbage, I mentioned it to her along the lines of:

“Please be mindful with the mail and reading the names (sidenote: three roommates reside here). My Costco coupons were in the trash.”

A sensitive and reasonable person might’ve responded with: “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to do that. I’ll be sure to look at the mail and ensure it doesn’t happen again.”

J. however is neither sensitive nor reasonable. Her response:


Of course. All Costco members receive identical coupons!

However, I didn’t say that. Would’ve fallen on deaf ears. In relating, reason is not her strong suit. Or weak. It just isn’t.

To diffuse her escalating self-defensive shouting, I simply and calmly reiterated my request: “Please be mindful of reading the mail before tossing it.”

Because, believe it or not, bitch, others live here too! Two others — five others when including the dogs but they don’t get mail.

‘Course I didn’t say that. But it’s the truth. The roommate has her good points and side to be sure.

However, as a roommate and no doubt partner (she’s divorced), she’s loud, dominating, domineering, brash, insensitive and pushy. ARGUMENTATIVE and seemingly without remorse or contrition when she’s done wrong or wronged someone.

The one time I heard her say “sorry,” it was with a shrug and so insincere and flippant that my jaw would’ve dropped if I didn’t know her from months of cohabitating.

When my anger cools and I’ve gained distance from this situation (relocation efforts underway), I’ll look at her through altered lenses. J. perceives others as an affront to her rulership and domain. Even mundane matters easily resolved with a listening ear and sincere “I’m sorry” are for her a stretch if not unobtainable.

She lacks a sense of fairness or proportion, blowing even minor incidents (like tossing my mail in the garbage) into hysterical global events.

I get to leave all that behind when I move. She, however, has to live with it. For a woman who’s 64 and no doe in the woods, I don’t see it changing. I really don’t. I just think she’s too embedded in her stuff to see her way to the other side and give people the respect and regard they deserve.

Sad, really.

I can sleep now that that’s written. ‘Night now.


Sleep, Where Art Thou? Dunno. Let’s Check the TV Guide.

Holy headboard, Batman! Foiled again!

Once ah-gain, I’m awakened out of a dead sleep in the wee hours by the TV. The volume was at a level of the faucet’s slow drip in the background. Drip … drip … drip … drip. A low yet audible sound that worms its way into the brain. It’s a subversive irritation and annoyance. Like the single mosquito in the room that flits in and out around you and won’t leave you alone. It’s more annoying than being bombarded by the entire troop!

The TV for the second day in a row pulling me out of deep REM!! It “wouldn’t be so bad” were I in a healthy and rested state.

BUT I AM NOT! I’m dealing with serious health issues, profound fatigue, nine months of constant sleep deprivation (a result of pain & injury), cumulative exhaustion from the all-brawn-no-brain job that just ended.

Simply, I do not have the inner reserves to cope with or endure this continuing thread of sleep disruption OR the TV as alarm clock!!!

My roommate, the early bird, likes to watch the TV first thing in the morning. The TV is right outside my bedroom. That’d be less of a problem were it not for the fact that she turns on the TV, watches for a bit and then leaves the room. With the TV still on!

Now, that alone challenges and counters my practice of not wasting, of conserving resources. Examples: When I leave a room and won’t immediately return, I turn off the lights. If I’m not watching the TV, I turn it off. When I was a kid, my dad was a REAL stickler for that. Beyond that training, however, I’m like that. It’s wasteful to leave on lights or televisions when they’re not in use.

Now, I’m in such a chronic state of depletion, distress and exhaustion, poor health and fatigue that there’s NO place in me that can grant an allowance to the roommate, whose behavior IS the cause and reason for lost sleep in these circumstances.

J. is a very hard person to live with. She’s demanding, controlling and a poor listener. She’s loud, bossy and unfair. Inconsiderate, argumentative and unyielding when really some yielding would make EVERYONE’S life easier.

To live with her has required of me (and the third roommate) submission and silence. We cannot win the battle or the war. I’ve needed to not only compromise my needs but bury them, disregard them and pretend them out of existence to live with J. and “keep the peace.”

But this … this impact on my health and sleep … it cannot stand for it. I cannot grant her or anyone license to destroy what little “well-being” I do have and FIGHT to have against forces that would and do negate it.

Approaching J. on ANYTHING that matters to you or involves your needs is scary BECAUSE she is argumentative, disregarding, unfair, etc. — essentially the above-mentioned traits.

But pain and illness and exhaustion make you do things you wouldn’t normally do. They make you fight for your life. And so this morning I swallowed my fear and broached the topic of the TV waking me out of a dead sleep and could she please keep the volume down and turn it off when she leaves the room so that it won’t drone on and on.

I was genuinely surprised that she didn’t yell at me, shoot me down or argue. I guess that she knows enough about the exhaustion of my job (just lost) to have some sympathy.

Whether she really heard me in the request will be revealed tomorrow and the day after and the day after that.

It’s so sad that it takes only crumbs of consideration (on the part of the roommate or anyone else, really) to feel like I hit a mini-jackpot! I really am accustomed to being TOTALLY disregarded and treated like a POS due to my childhood. Sigh. History like that is hard to resolve.

That’s it for now. I was gonna hit the streets with job applications and resumes today but I’m just too damn tired. I need sleep and I need it now! I need quiet and I needed it nine months ago!

Were $ no object, I’d go check into a motel for some sleep and solitude. Sans TV!

Sunday, Bloody Sunday thanks to Roommate, Bloody Roommate

So much for that idea. The idea of sleeping in on a Sunday. My first free Sunday — and first unemployed Sunday — in months.

My roommate’s as noisy as they come. She’s loud, cyclonic and inconsiderate, even bombastic. Combined, these are elements for a pretty obnoxious roommate.

The idea was to sleep in, not strictly to rectify sleep irregularities and deprivations partly job-related but to strengthen a body depleted by health problems and imbalances.

Boosting my immune system, enhancing my well-being — these are endeavors that receive little to no support from my home environment!

Seriously. In fact, my home environment hinders them , and it is only through my own persevering efforts that I’m making any progress at all! I’m like that salmon swimming upstream, battling the forces that would deplete or destroy me just for the chance at reproduction!!

Note: No babies are involved in my current personal battle! ūüôā

As I was saying the plan was to sleep in for some all-important, needed and revitalizing sleep. Alas, it was not to be, more precisely could not be, in the House of the Loud. Note, that’s L-O-U-D, not L-O-R-D.

J.’s up with the worms (5:30). Left to my own rhythms, I’m in deep REM in those early hours. Bye-bye personal rhythms in the presence of J.! Moreover, bye-bye personal needs. Bye-bye personal empowerment and choice. She’s just that dominating, just that controlling. Like I’ve written before, it’s her way or no way.

And so it goes with the mornings. At 6:30 in the a.m., on a Sunday made precious without work and with opportunity to sleep, I was awakened by the loud TV in the living room! J. watching the weather or whatever.

It’s ludicrous, I suppose, that a loud roommate would have a TV volume on anything but a loud! :p

Yeah, shook me out of a deep slumber and that was that. I couldn’t get back to sleep, no way. Her comings and goings within the house see to that.

So my first “restful” day after losing my job was a bust. And I’ve got one person to thank. Ms. Loud.

She could awaken the dead with those lungs and send men hastening back to their graves with her controls.

the domestic cyclone alters course for a day

I didn’t know it was gonna happen. Didn’t know it was coming.¬†

If I had, I might’ve come home earlier after work yesterday.¬†

I might’ve opened the fresh bottle of pinot grigio earlier. Might’ve sat sooner in the side yard with my newspaper and the three dogs and watched the pass.¬†

Had I known my cyclonic roommate was gonna be away and¬†that I’d have the house nearly to my myself — sharing it only with another roommate who holes up in his garage man cave — I’d-a come home earlier and enjoy the extraordinarily rare space and solitude. Definitely.

Wherever J. went isn’t a concern. Just that she’s gone somewhere¬†— gotten outta the house at all for longer than an errand! — is reason to return home directly after work! Is reason to cut short or eliminate the frequent dilly-dallying that serves as procrastination¬†and avoidance tools.¬†

Wherever J. went isn’t a concern. Just that she’s gone somewhere¬†for longer than an errand is the reason the house is quiet. The cyclone has ceased and desisted — for ¬†now.

Like the house, I too am at now¬†— for now. I slumbered better — more fitfully and deeper than usual — for the house at rest. There were no loud sounds of doors opening and slamming. No shouts. No yelling for the dogs for their walks. No barking at the third roommate. No sound of the car starting up.

No sound of the cyclone crossing the carpet across the house.

Upon first awaking, I felt different. In that nebulous early state of consciousness when the brain’s slipping the gears into everyday gears. I didn’t know why. Recognized only ¬†that I felt different. Better. More rested. In less physical pain.¬†

Then, as I came into focus in this world, the cause was revealed. I didn’t even hafta go searching for it!¬†

The roommate’s gone. The house is stilled.

What’s remarkable is that because of that, that seemingly small and innocuous alteration in daily living, my world improved. For the night.

Because of that small alteration — the temporary absence of a loud and obstructive roommate — my (w)holistic self gained rest.

My injured shoulder received a shot in the arm of healing. Positive indeed!

In case you ever wondered or doubted, let me assure that other people’s energies DO matter and do affect the surroundings. They affect me, especially as a Pisces, aka a walking sponge.

J.’s absence is welcomed. I wish it’d continue for a week. Bet I’d get more sleep and rest and peace and healing effects in that single week than I would in three months in her domain¬†and under her dominion!

Not to be overlooked: Yesterday — Saturday, July 26 — was the new moon in Leo, at 3 degrees. Coming up: creating a new vision board.¬†

Shhhhh, perhaps I ought not say it too loudly: How ’bout envisioning a residence without the loudmouth J.! —¬†the domestic cyclone across the carpets.




Back Home. Uh, Not So Much.

Being back¬†… being¬†back “home” feels like putting on an old shoe that’s too tight.

Or a coat that constricts through the shoulders and back and underarms.

Being back … after being away and not just away but having a good time … feels familiar. Familiar not as in “comfortable” like many folks feel upon returning home after a trip.

Familiar as in old patterns and old ways and and old ways of relating that need to go.

After extending my stay in Flagstaff to the latest minute, partly so I’d arrive “home” after roommate J. had gone to bed, I¬†arrived at night and pretty much went straight to bed.

Today, in the “glare” of the morning — and realities — and with the rest and enjoyments and perspectives gained in¬†my albeit too-brief overnight trip — I see the need to move.¬†

Whenever a situation needs to be released, I ask myself: Is it them? or me? I mean, what if all that’s required is an attitude adjustment on my part to make this work?

What if it’s my blind spots that are causing distorting, causing me to view the situation through dark eyes?

What if all that’s needed is for me to improve¬†my well-being, emotional and physical, is to change up my point of view?

Tricky stuff. And indicative of my innate cleverness and proclivity to otherthink things.

The heart. The heart holds the answers, they say. The heart never, or rarely, faileth. 

When I consult my heart, which in truth I don’t do nearly as consistently as I did in early years (but then, life’s hardships and disappointments hadn’t accumulated into the mountain of today either) …

… when I consult my heart, she whispers “let go. you need to grow. this {“home” situation] is old hat. a way of the past. like with Kingman (town of former residence) and elsewhere, you’ll find that the longer you stay, the worse it will become for you. {for your roommate, not at all.}”

“Overstaying does not bring benefits. august can be your transformative month,’ says spirit now. “Keep doing the beneficial things you’re doing for your health and well-being. Keep writing — every day. Keep looking for new employment and residence. It’s imperative to keep moving forward — and not use your energy for the usual hunkering down, gritting the teeth and bearing it out. Nothing good comes from that and will in fact only worse matters.”

That’s what I hear this first morning back at the house after travel. Though brief,¬†the getaway was¬†restorative. It was good.¬†



Home Alone. Uh, not so much.

Way I see it, I’m gettin’ some much-needed alone time. Even though where I’m goin’, there’ll be two people and two dogs!

Here’s the thing. My roommate and house owner/landlord is almost always here! In fact, I’ve got two roommates. The other is a male friend of hers. And though he’s usually here technically, he spends almost all of his time in his man cave in the garage. I often don’t even know if the guy’s here unless he hobbles into the kitchen!

Roommate J … when she’s here, you know. You know even if she’s in her office in the very back unseen part of the house! You know by her booming voice. Her phone calls that are audible at the far other end of the house. You know by her comings and goings about the house, her buzz.

Hell, she’s here even when she’s not here!

She’s got that presence. And I don’t mean presence of a divine angel watching over you, protecting you, intervening during mishaps, perhaps even saving you from an otherwise certain death. That’s actually happened to me, btw.

She’s got presence like a dictator has presence. Like a dictator makes known that it’s HIS nation, HIS rules, HIS punishments, HIS dictates, J. does similarly but obviously on a much smaller scale!

Her presence and rules and ways are so well-established here that, as I said, she’s here even when she’s not.

Trouble is, she’s almost always here! She works from home and doesn’t go out socially all that much. Her chair in the living room — which, incidentally, is also her space, I’m disallowed from hanging out there — is her throne from which she oversees her kingdom at {address unpublished} in Prescott, Arizona.

So strong is her presence and overriding her dictates that though I’ve got my own little space in one corner of the house, I don’t, REALLY. And I’m very very very rarely alone.

I’m someone who needs alone time. REAL alone time. Like the house EMPTY. And not for an hour while someone’s off running errands. I mean alone time. Like I don’t see someone for hours an’ hours an’ hours an’ hours.

This arrangement’s been in place since April 1.

So yeah, I’m feeling squeezed. Suffocated. Slowly strangled.

Hahah, ain’t that ironic Just now bumped into the roommate in the kitchen and she’s off to go play with horses. Meaning the house’ll be empty for a while! And I gotta go off to the friggin’ job!

Anyhow, what I’m getting around to sayin’ is that the other day I got news that my stepmother (not the proverbial wicked sort) and her sister and their two dogs will be passing through Flagstaff, in northern Arizona, about 2 hours from here, tomorrow. I was invited up for the night.

So I should be headin’ out to pay them a visit tomorrow. A visit that even with a group of four creatures in a large lively town will be more alone time than I’ve had in quite some time!

I’m excited to have the muzzle removed, even for but a day.

{is that a sad statement to make at age 57 or what?}

Like March, My Mornings Come In Like a Lion

It happens once a day.

Routinely, predictably — thankfully.

The roommate takes the three dogs for a walk. 

Only then does the house fall into quiet. A rare quiet. An unusual quiet. A quiet unheard of given a roommate who’s like a cyclone. A loud cyclone. The three dogs, eh. Yeah, they’re active. They’re noisy too. They bark. They run around. They’re dogs. They do dog things.

The roommate (and house owner), on the other hand … well, put it this way. It’s YOU who wants to self-sedate to cope with her loud cyclonic¬†ways and temperament!¬†

Every morning at about 7 o’clock, she loads the trio into her car and takes them to a nearby trail to run.¬†

That’s about the time I also get up for the job.

I’m a slow waker-upper. I’m not a morning person. I don’t like to talk, engage or interact except minimally if necessary. J., with her brash, loudy, insensitive go! go! go! spinning style, is the very low on that list of people I wanna encounter first thing in the morning!¬†

So even if I’m lying awake in bed, ready to make my coffee, I wait.

Wait until the sounds of the slamming screen door ¬†— she doesn’t do anything delicately. Until the sound of the car engine revved rolls out of earshot.

Then and only then do I get up.

It’s not news that life in the house revolves around J. She’s not a case of My Way or the Highway.

It’s Her Way or No Way. You’d think that life would’ve taught someone in her 60s to be more compromising, yielding, fair or truly respectful toward others.¬†

Be that as it may, the overarching theme in the house of three people (and three dogs) is My Way or No Way. Am I struggling with that? Oh yeah. Big time. I feel suffocated, confined., handcuffed and strait-jacketed. 

I remind myself this is temporary. Not forever. And though there’s truth in that approach, it also fails to address the REAL issues. The underlying facts that home — “home” — has never been anything BUT: confining, suffocating, exhausting …¬†emotionally volatile and unstable (made so by others). Unsupportive. Uncaring.

Dominated by an oppressive and domineering other. Seriously dominated.

Those truths of my childhood environment don’t go unnoticed in this scenario. I contemplate them in the comparative quiet of cleaning hotel bathrooms and making beds at the job. Just as I’ve contemplated many many many other times through the years.

I’ve yet to really grasp what’s on the other side of a Home in Disarray, Dysfunction and Destruction — the perfect representation of what “home” means, experientially, to me. I don’t KNOW what a home that’s peaceful¬†… serene … supportive … nurturing … heartfully warm … is like.¬†

I’ve SEEN it — and not in Better Homes & Gardens! I’ve seen it created by friends, for themselves. However, I myself have never had it.

What a home — a good home — would look like to me is something worth contemplating in the relative quiet of my cleaning tasks.

In the meantime, my roommate’s just returned. As possibly half the neighborhood’s aware. Possibly even you. She was just chatting with a neighbor across the road. All I can say is lungs like that should be put to use on an opera stage!


When a locked door isn’t just a locked door.

Tonight I returned home to my place of residence to a very, very alarming and troubling find.

A locked doorknob.

We do not lock the doorknob because there is no key. Only the deadbolt gets locked.

There’s another angle, a terrifying one, that I’ll get to anon.

In the meantime, after inserting my single key into the doorknob JUST to be very sure that it didn’t work (it didn’t), I was left asking: What to do?

What to do.

So I rang the doorbell. A few times. It was only 9:30 but my roommate(s) are in bed usually around 9. Plus the one who’s been a terror to me lately, the tyrant, listens to CDs through headphones to fall asleep. So she wouldn’t hear the doorbell.

I considered my options. Hop a wall and go through the backyard through her bedroom door. This of course would not only set the three dogs off to raging protective barking but my figure crossing her room would frighten her no end. And tick her off. Which is the last thing I need, she’s been a real bitch lately.

I considered also removing the screen from my bedroom window and slipping in — fortunately a viable option because in this heat I had the sliding window open so I wouldn’t need to break glass (not that I would).

My third and final option was to hop the wall and see whether a side door was unlatched. It was. So fortunately I was able to enter without disturbing the peace.

+ + +

Which of two roommates locked the doorknob that ought never be locked I can’t say. What I CAN say is that it is more than a mere oversight. My dictatorial roommate (and house owner) has been a living nightmare for me. Subconsciously she wants to lock me out and have me go, of that I have NO doubt. So locking the door “accidentally” … not so accidentally after all.

= = =

Moreover, and importantly, I lived with a female roommate in Denver who, I discovered, had some really serious issues, some, coincidentally, that run parallel to those of my current roommate.

She was very mentally unstable and just not nice. I came home one night to discover that she had changed the locks on me. In a blizzard. I was left homeless. Worsening matters, I was to start a new job the next morning. There is much more to this story that I don’t care to recount, it’s still very painful the years later.

The TRAUMA of coming home and finding the locks changed and having NOWHERE to go (no friends, I was new in town) in a nice Colorado blizzard … it has always stayed with me.

So when I came back tonight to find not the locks changed but a lock that’s never locked locked, barring my entry … it frightened me really really badly. It’s too close for comfort or trust in my roommate. She could be as capable of going off the deep end into really irrational actions (like that Denver roommate).

I’m walking a tightrope as it is. The walls are closing in — FAST. And the hostility from her is rising daily. I fear what she’s capable of.

So getting a job is a priority and now so is finding another living space. The timing is far from good. But like I said, I fear what she’s capable of. And I DREAD DREAD DREAD paying the June rent due in a day or two. It’s buying me more time in hell.

What is wrong with women that they are so unstable, vindictive, ungiving, narcisstic, controlling and/or viscous for no good reason? (Is there ever a good reason for having those characteristics?)

That’s my troubling ending to an otherwise OK day. I’m gonna try to sleep now; up early tomorrow for a job interview (food service so don’t get excited). I hope it works out. I need a job to quiet my shakes.

The Home “Dawn” Sticks Her Foot in My Mouth

Many people just shouldn’t have roommates.

My roommate’s one of ’em.

Ritalin Roommate I’ve nicknamed her but I reckon soon an even more fitting name will emerge. The Friendly Tyrant. The Loud Tyrant. Not sure.

If a Friendly Tyrant seems incongruent, trust me, it’s more than conceivable! It’s common. Many tyrants through history have been charmers. Guys who ruled with a smile and “joviality” with their iron fists tucked inside velvet gloves. Take President Obama. Please.

While I’m not equating my roommate with Obama or Stalin or any other world-famous dictators, when it comes to one in the home, it’s too close and personal.

A dictator in the home sucks the life outta me. Unfortunately, this is not an unfamiliar scene. I was raised in a home with an extraordinarily controlling and dictatorial father who had his thumb on everyone. Especially me, because I fought back.

There’s a lot about my roommate, who’s female, that’s paternalistically oppressive. It’s her way or shut up. At 61-ish and seasoned by life, she should really know better. You don’t treat your roommates like children — children who shouldn’t be seen or heard.

She talks a lot about respect. “This is my house, you should respect that. You’re not respecting me or that this is my house.” Those kind of comments.

Here’s an observation:

Mafia dons, including Obama. What’s their No. 1 MO and rally cry? Respect. They insist, nee demand, respect. In truth, however, it ain’t respect. It’s intimidation. It’s bullying. It’s “Do As I Say or You’ll Find Yourself Swimming in Concrete Up to Your Eyebrows.”

Thing is, my roommate doesn’t see that. What she HAS is a need to be in near-absolute control. When a roommate, well, me, doesn’t “fall in line,” I’m perceived as provoking.

If say I leave the front door open to allow cool air to relieve the trapped heat and she wants it closed, she’ll shout to me across the house to shut the door and then “slam!” No please. No kindness. No courtesy even. No coming to my room, knocking on the door and requesting that the door be closed for X reason.

That’d be way too thoughtful and considerate and … wait for it … respectful.

How ironic that the woman who DEMANDS respect is the last to give it.

So yeah, she’s a tyrant and extremely unpleasant to live with. UNfortunately, I just can’t move right now. I need employment first.

Moreover, I do continue to scan the craigshitlist housing ads. Gawwwwwwwd is it slow out there so even if I DID have a job, the slim pickins and highly competitive housing situation impede a hasty escape.

For now, I’m stuck. Trapped. Unable to move, literally, and unable to breathe or speak except when I’m away from the house, which is most of the time. By being sooo controlling, she sticks HER foot in MY mouth. Anything I say is perceived as argumentative to her dictates. WTF, I cannot win for losing. Neither can I lose to win.

I HATE that I’m paying no small sum for this borderline abuse and toxic environment. A prison cell would be cheaper but gettin’ that room requires deeds I’m not really down for.

In the meantime, I’ll keep my mind chewing on the right nickname and keep writing. It’s about the only form of expression available to me for if I don’t voluntarily shut my mouth (and I do, for survival), it WILL be shut for me, thank you roommate.

Damn, I can’t wait for the day I get to bid adieu to this bitch!

By the way, I looked up don to see whether it’s strictly male. No mention was made, just the definition of “powerful Mafia leader.” I doubt there’s been many — or any — female dons through history. It’s not her name but I feel it appropriate to start calling her Dawn.

Note to roommate: “Yes, ma’am. Whatever you say, ma’am. You’re the boss, ma’am.”

I was awakened from a deep sleep around 8 this morning.

Was it from the sound of the neighbor’s weed-wacker? A barking dog? Kids screaming in play on a Sunday morning?

None of the above.

Was my roommate talking on the phone. Really loudly (her normal range). In the living room. Which is just outside my bedroom.

That is inconsiderate.

She’s the owner so obviously knows my bedroom’s right there! She also knows I’m a night owl and late riser. Yet those ceased to exist — if indeed they existed. I would LOVE to be able to say something to her. Make her aware of the situation and simply request that she take her call to another part of the house. Which is very easily accomplished (with her office, bedroom and backyard out of earshot in my room).

In fact, I was surprised to hear her on the phone in the living room; she normally doesn’t conduct them there.

Like I was saying, I would LOVE to be able to mention it. But I can’t. I cannot. I don’t trust her response. She has a temper and as other recent events indicate not reliably fair or rational. One “misstep” on my part could send the whole housing situation crashing down and next thing I know, I’m evicted. Which I cannot afford on any level.

So I have to swallow everything she dishes out. Whether her actions and dictates are inconsiderate, mean, borderline abusive, irrational or simply stupid, I must comply. I must keep my mouth shut. I must bow and abide. “Yes, mammm. You’re the boss, mammm.” With which she immediately concurred when I said it in jest the other day.

“You’re the mistress, mammmm.”
Yes I Am.

It’s an insult to my intelligence, kindness, thoughtful and cooperative spirit to reside with someone who assumes lordship and dictates as if I were a 5-year-old child.

It’s an insult to my independent and capable self who has lived through A LOT A LOT with no help from anyone and in fact, moreover, hardships and brutalities inflicted by others!

It’s an insult to be forced into this Obedient Child – House Mistress role at age 57! WTF?!?

= = =

Unfortunately, can’t move. Handcuffed by circumstances — lack of employment being key. Can’t get my own place with a source of income for landlord’s paperwork.

And definitely do NOT want to trade in yet one more roommate situation for another. That’s dumb. That’s jumping from the frying pan into the fire. That’s not the solution, as indicated by a truly rugged roommates’ history.


EMPLOYMENT is the key.

Please, universe, please, bring me my job. Now. Being without an income and work that I so need to be doing are making matters really really tight. Bad. Stressful. Uncomfortable. Imprisoning.

I need my freedom from unemployment and I need my freedom from this unhealthy living arrangement.