The Freak Out.

So I'm still sorta stressed out about life.
I never thought life, in it's all-encompasing glory, would reak such havoc on my lately, very tangible and fragile existence. It seems far too cliche, far too grown-up, far too stupid. But here I am, confuzled by the greatest roadblock of my time and I currently, am calmer than a tuna-stuffed, ten pound cat that's napping in a strip of filtered sunlight.

What the fuck is going on?

I was freaking out on Sunday. Mir and I had a chat about moving-in with Andrew and she frankly stated:

"Well, even if it doesn't work out with you two, you can at least move up there for the year and after, well, you can decide what you want."

WTF?

So, after that, I sorta started to go all girl, and my brain was blown to pieces by all the nagging suspicions of an ended relationship and FINALLY the sad feelings came and I suddenly found myself saying, "Oh my God, Andrew and I may be breaking up." And the only thing that came was pure panic.
So, I came to a decision: 'I don't have anymore time to fuck around. Tell Andrew he has to figure out what he wants. Tell Andrew he has to let me know if we're staying together. Give Andrew the ultimate ultimatum: Tell me by the end of the week, or we're through'

Fuck.

So I told him, on the phone, on his way to work, like the sick little cunt that I am and he lost it.

"I don't know if I want to be with you. I'm waiting for a check from the government for $20,000 that has to be here within the next week, or I won't even have a place for us to live. I have to visit two banks tomorrow, call a lawyer, work a ten hour shift and the whole time this is going on, I have my girlfriend bitching in my ear and I'm REALLY STRESSED OUT."

And so I cried.
I had never heard Andrew that angry before. I was scared, I was hurt, I was mad and I was relieved. Finally, my boyfriend has another tone other than monotone. Thank you Jesus.

So by the end of the conversation I was still crying, but he had promised me that no matter how it worked out, whether we stayed together or not, he would use all of his resources to help me find the right place for myself, whether it be in Toronto or somewhere else, he just needed me to be the strong one for now.
So at first I was pissed off. Fuck him for being so selfish in the midst of my twenty-life-crisis and then it dawned on me: Andrew's been there for me through all of my mini breakdowns over the last two-and-a-half years and now when he needs me, I'm loosing my cool. I can wait to figure this out. Another week won't kill me.
So I told him not to worry, we'd figure it all out after the third.

And now, I'm full of peaceful serenity. Like a calm ocean on a beautiful day, and for once, in this whole mess of oblivious crap, I'm not concerned about what colour I'm going to paint the livingroom.

Yah, I Got Nothing.

I've been left alone and so I feel like I should cry. Well, not really.

My parents went on a Wine Tour this weekend (fitting weekend away for an alcoholic and a snooty, juggling credit card American) and have left me to hold down the fort. This of course means taking care of the eight animals I live with and all of their disgusting habits. There's a pile of cat puke next to the washing machine that is literally a foot high. I shit you not.
Andrew has also opted to leave me this weekend and I think, is currently sitting in a mini van with two other men, on their way to Montreal for some good ol' poutine-eating-vroom-vroom-car-racing.

Gross.

He says he's going to get inebriated. I say, stay away from the hairy French prostiutes in such a state. Doubly gross.

My weekend was a complete waste of time.
I drove to my mother's (selfishly for the air conditioning, only to find that her power was out, and therefore, I was disgustingly hot), and was bombarded with absolute bullshit from the minute I saw her, to the moment I almost killed my sister.
Usually when I go to see my mother, I haven't slept in a significant amount of time. This day, was no different. By the time I arrived at my mother's I had been awake for 23 hours.

"Hi Anna, can you help me move some furniture?"
"What? No. Mom, I'm friggin' tired."
"It will only take a minute."
"Are you crazy?"
"Anna, I need you to help me move some furniture. Since your father left..."

"FINE."

And after moving the furniture:

"Anna, can you help me make dinner?"
"What? No. MOM, I'M FRIGGIN' TIRED."
"Well, I've worked all day and I would really appreciate the help."
"Are you crazy?"
"Anna, I need you to help me cook some dinner. Since your father left..."

"FINE."

And after cooking the dinner:

"Anna, can you water the garden for me? I'm going out with some friends and I don't have time."
"WHAT? NO. MOM, I'M FRIGGIN' TIRED."
"Well, I need some time to myself to y'know."
"Are you crazy?"
"Anna, I need you to water the plants for me. Since your father left..."

"FINE."

And of course, none of the conversations acually happened in this fashion, but if you listened close enough, the shrill whimper in my mother's voice was saying everything that her outright words didn't.

And so my mother went out with her friend. I watered the plants and by the time I was finished with Dianne's massive garden, I had been up for twenty-six hours. I waddled downstairs, put on my pyjamas, was giving myself a good tooth cleaning and then I heard,

"Hi Anna."

Great. Stinky's home. With Gavin. And now I have no place to sleep 'cause they're going to want to watch TV.
So, I walked out of the bathroom, said a disgruntled hello and went upstairs. Chelsea followed me and frankly asked,

"Are you mad?"
"Chelsea, I haven't slept in twenty-six hours and all I want to do is go to bed."
"Well, this is my house and I live here, so I have every right to watch TV with Gavin whenever I want."

I got mad, said a whole bunch of shit I can't even remember, called Andrew and then ultimately decided just to endure the forty-five minute drive back to my father's house.

After being awake for twenty-seven hours, I finally got to bed and I slept for fifteen hours straight.

My family is full of assholes.

The Stocker.

I like my job at Wal Mart.
Well, I like the job, not my employer. There's something very draining about working for the most morally bankrupt company known to the universe, I just can't put my finger on a universal reason that is applicable to all Wal Mart Associates. Not yet anyway.

Stocking isn't such a bad job. It keeps you active and sharp and to be honest, I have an excessive amount of muscles in my arms now. I could beat you into a bloody pulp. Fear me.

But it isn't the actual job that makes things so enjoyable at work, it's working with Josh.
I had the pleasure of accompanying him in the pet department this past eve and I had a great ol' time. We laughed, we cried, we talked about his problems and to end it all we were filled with absolute delight while we watched the Straight Back try to locate his telzon gun.
I know this doesn't sound like good times to you, but you don't work at Wal Mart and therefore, have no idea what we reduce ourselves to for the sake of laughter.

It's funny how easily Josh listens to what I tell him to do. I hate feeling so bossy, but the bastard won't go the extra ten feet to put out the freight if he doesn't have to, and it severely bothers me when stupid shit doesn't get done. I'm anal.
We work well together, you just have to keep him focused and motivated. I imagine that it wasn't difficult as every time I bent over I showed a healthy portion of cleavage. Motivation at Wal Mart isn't good job buttons or profit sharing, it's looking down fellow associate's t-shirts while they sweat their proverbial balls off in a very hot environment.
There was one point where I wanted him to do something and he just sort of got frustrated and shouted out a, "NO." I cleverly though, turned up the charm. I placed my hand delicately on his arm, pouted, and batted my eyelashes and he obviously, turned to mush. I love that. It was cute.
He followed the action with a very flustered, "don't do that again." Why I don't know, but I suspect it was because I was giving him a massive erection.

It's ridiculous that Ann's limitations to my relationship with Josh has just brought us closer together. I guess you look harder for the quality time, and spend as much of that time possible with someone when you know you have little to work with.
I'm glad for it though 'cause it means that my relationship with Josh will stand strong, even through the storm of the most awful sort. It's a reflection of how we feel for eachother, even if each of us can't put our finger on why. It's insanely comforting to know that a bond won't falter just because of physical presence. I know our relationship will pass through time, even if it is only to be pixels.

It always boggles my mind to hear people put limitations on relationships, expecting them to get better, for the love to last longer, for the significant other to stay, when almost always, the exact opposite happens.
I don't suppose people will ever be smart enough to realise the hurt they cause when they do such stupid things, but then, it's not for me to worry about because, I'm not the one being stupid.
There are times when I wish Ann would have spoken to me about this situation. I wish she would have had the strength and the grace to do it for her husband, but unfortunately, the only thing I see from Ann is selfcentered bullshit, and I should know better than to expect anything other than that to come out of her.

But then, I just wait paitently for my next night to work with Josh, and the frustration that Ann causes melts away because I know that we'll be right back to what we were, good friends, laughing over stupid shit and being goofs.

Exactly what we want from eachother.

Well, that and maybe a bit more cleavage.

Retard.

I've had it up to my eyelids with Derek.

He's fucking annoying and full of bullshit. So much infact, I find it particularly difficult to stay around him 'cause his stink is severely offensive (And I mean literally. The boy is Italiain. Lifting his finger makes hims sweat).
He decided to go on a cleansing diet that my sister has been talking about for weeks. One would use such a diet to empty their system of garbage, to opt for a healthier lifestyle and perhaps, own a body which will function better in the future. This, "diet" is not supposed to be used as a way to loose weight.
Derek has decided to change a few aspects of the procedure because he's a muscle-bound fuckhead and doesn't want to loose his great strength by not getting any protein. So in the process of fucking up the whole point of this stupid diet, he's decided that drinking all of the portions of water/lemon juice/pure maple syrup and pepper at once, is a better option because he doesn't like the taste - better to get all over with in one foul swoop. What he fails to realise is that doing so makes the diet useless and now, he's not going to get anything out of it, other than hunger pains.

Idiot.

Anyway, after casually mentioning that he needed to drink his water throughout the day, 'cause he'd sweat it all out at work, he told me I didn't know what I was talking about and it didn't make a difference and he'd do it anyway he wanted.
Derek is a baby. He bitches about everything and throws temper tantrums when you either tell him he's wrong, or if he doesn't get what he wants.

I cannot stand it.

So the fucking idiot sulked all night and decided that stealing a battery for a weed wacker would soothe his dented ego.
Rory caught him in the process.
Derek will probably be out of a job very soon.
Derek will probably be charged.

Derek is a retard.

***

I took my dad jet boating on Father's Day.

I finally know what it feels like to be a mermaid.

Try to avoid class five rapids.

A Giant Fucking Dump.

I am reeling.

I've never had the sensation before and I do not like it, at all. It's overwhelming and makes your head feel like fifteen thousand sinus headaches have rooted in your grey tissue for the sole purpose of making your head explode. And my eyes are itchy. I don't know why.

Life comes at you fast in your twenties. It seems like I've been leaving post upon post about stress levels and social pressure, but have come to absolutely no summary or conclusion, just more stress.

It occured to me this morning that I perhaps didn't want to have sex with my boyfriend because I haven't seen my boyfriend in at least a month. I've seen him in a tangible sense, but the man who is supposed to be supportive and understanding and willing to discuss the issues has been stuck on a cell phone for thirty days and I've been put on hold.
He admitted to me sometime ago that he's been a shitty boyfriend for the past couple months. I didn't realise it until now and even then, I'm not entirely sure if he has or hasn't been because there is no black and white with Andrew and there never will be. Just grey indifference, about everything.

The last time I saw Andrew we didn't have sex. When I left, I apologised for it and asked if he was angry and his response: "Well, I'm not happy about it." So I just walked away. He later told me that he was joking and that I didn't catch onto the sarcasm. Awesome backpeddling.
I did a lot of stupid stuff when I was a teenager. Sex is to an adolescent what Barbie is to a five year old. A toy that makes you feel good and allows your mind to wander into space so you can remove yourself from this horribly depressing world for the smallest amount of time. And like barbie's fragile plastic body, if you don't take care of yourself while engaging in such things, you're going to be left with a bad crayola-scissor haircut and missing several appendages. It's just the way things are.
So now with Andrew, because he's invested little to no time in my body (other than to fuck it), I am left with no hair and a severe lack of anything useful and I really am sick of play time.

I'm stressed out, terrified and emotionally drained and I have been for a long time and the best he's done to support me through all this drama has been to call me between periods during the hockey game.
He doesn't want to move in with me, despite what he says. He's worried that it won't work out and I honestly share the same sentiment. So instead of being joyous and excited about having our first place together (correction, it's not our place, it's his place. I just get to decorate 'cause he doesn't care what it looks like), we're both miserable.

And then the overwhelming burden of not knowing what the hell to do with my existence overshadows everything because Andrew's glorious piece of advice that's supposed to save all my sanity is:

"You're probably not going to find a job that you love doing. It's really rare. You just need to decide what you can compromise so you can make a decent life for yourself."

I don't even know where to start with picking that apart.
I'm an idealistic twenty-three year-old with three thousand dollars saved for the education that is going to bring me one step closer to being a happy and satisfied-in-life, fifty year-old. I don't want to compromise my happiness for the sake of a buck. The first time I went to school it was for art. I completely accepted the fact that I would never have money five years ago, and I still completely accept that fact and kind of like it. It keeps you humble.

And while obviously, his best intentions were there, I still feel like a massive set of hooters held together with a piece of dental floss.

So I'm left with the decisions of all decisions: Do I dump Andrew?

Do I dump Andrew and start life all over again? Do I dump Andrew and hope that I find all the things that he is and all the things he's not in someone else? Do I dump Andrew and walk away from the best relationship I could ever have, just because of inexperience? Do I dump Andrew and move to England? Do I dump Andrew and run away with Josh? do I dump Andrew and live with my parents for another year and a half? Do I dump Andrew and do I find the peace of mind I'm so desperately looking for, or does it just get worse?

The scales are balanced. I'm completely fucked and no one seems to have any sort of explanation or kind word that's ever going to make this sort of bullshit easy.

Landed.

I can't fucking sleep.
I'm tired, but my brain won't get me to that place that lets you drift into REM. I've tried everything from masturbation to a good book, but nothing is inducing some hardcore narcolepsy. I blame it on the birth control.

This massive load of bullshit with Josh and his stupidly idiotic and majorly psychotic wife is starting to grind on my nerves. Before I was just annoyed that someone could be so utterly bass-ackwards and completely oblivious to it. Now, not only do I have to deal with her ridiculous lack of decent grammar, but I also have to deal with her neurotic brain functions through my own personal websites.

Congratulations diddums, you have a stalker.

I realised a long time ago that I have nothing to gain from Josh. He's always been a rude and impossible fuckwit and now, he's a rude and impossible fuckwit without a backbone. For the past week he's been teetering on the, "I don't know what I want, I don't know what to do, I don't want to be in this, I have no choices" parade of absolute crap. It's been driving me crazy.
I told him that he didn't have to talk to me. If that's what the situation called for and if that's what he wanted, than he should just cease all forms of communication and leave it at that. I'm not sure if he tried or not, he seemed to be avoiding me, but I think that was probably because every time I saw him I bluntly and simply stated,

"I'm the girl that you'll never get to talk to again because your wife is a controlling and self-absorbed lunatic."

I think that almost made him cry. He in turn, told me that he would never stop talking to me.

So instead of dealing with the situation in a constructive manner ('cause Josh doesn't deal well with any sort of conflict), he let his wife walk all over him and now, she's taken it upon herself to invade my websites (God only knows how she found the links to them. Oh wait, it was probably during one of those numerous breakins to her husband's computer) and has plastered her poorly articulated and absolutely pointless mindframe, to a group of people that will completely rip her apart because they're ALL MY FRIENDS.

Smart move Ann. Way to put yourself in the middle of a load of drama.

I don't know what Josh is doing. He's obviously telling his wife one thing and telling me the absolute opposite, and for once in a long time, it doesn't bother me to know that he's doing it. Probably because I just released two years of pent up anger and frustration in a form of a nasty email (http://loveisacunt.blogspot.com/2006/06/final-fuck-you-to-my-best-friends-wife.html).
And for once, it doesn't particularly bother me that, "Ann's taken it upon herself to get rid of me because Josh couldn't stand to do it" because
a) I don't believe that Josh would ever want to get rid of me and,
b) His lack of interest in keeping my friendship over the past couple days has been anything short of genuinely interested. I'm sure it's because he's terrified of his wife's evil, demon wrath of verbal, self-mutilating strings of, "I'm a fat whore, no one loves me."

I wouldn't want to deal with that shit either man. Take the low road d00d, I completely understand.

I quoted Ben Fold's lyrics to Landed, to Josh quite some time ago. There are pearls of wisdom in that song that I hope he holds close to him through this bumpy and overly stupid and dramatic time in his life.

I'm sorry that I couldn't be there for him. I'm sorry that I don't own the tact and the grace to keep my mouth shut when his wife goes on a stupid-spree of absolute lunacy.

I hope he knows that when he finally Lands, I'll be there to pick him up at the gates.

Woops.

I'm sure I've made a huge mistake.

Telling someone that you slept with their husband just because she pisses you off so well that you couldn't help but do it... Yeah, that sounds like a mistake to me.

Oh well, I don't care.

Josh decided to push me out of his life because he couldn't standup to his wife. He failed me as a friend miserably when he did that.

I don't regret saying it, not the, "sleeping with your husband" part anyway. The part that said, "It was great. He came in thirty seconds. He said I was tighter than you" might have been a bit much.

What Next?

This weekend my car broke down, I watched my sister try on four different colours of the same fucking pants, walked at least thirteen miles in downtown Toronto, almost broke up with my boyfriend, decided I wasn't going to go to school, convinced myself to see a doctor about the blood that's been dripping out of my ass for past two weeks, almost quit my job AND forgot to screw my gas cap back on at the pumps, and now my car reeks of gasoline because it's spiling down the side.

Awesome.

Everything's a bit too overwhelming right now. I feel like I've been stuffed into a pressure cooker and as the time is slowly tick-tocking away, all my fears and frustrations are slowly boiling over the sides. It fucking sucks.

My mental breakdown occured in my sister's Accord on the way to Toronto. She said she thought I was slacking artistically because I wasn't around people who inspired me.

No shit.

She hinted at Andrew not possibly being a good match for me and all the, "what if's" that I've had on instant replay for the past two weeks came tumbling out.
I realised that everything I was doing was for him. I realised that I didn't want to be a Pastry Chef and that I was just doing it because I couldn't think of anything else to do, and that ultimately, was stupidly stressed out about moving in together.

I lost all the marbles this weekend and now, after realising all the things that I need to do, rather than all the things I had planned to do, I'm even more stressed out, 'cause HOW THE FUCK AM I GOING TO TELL DIANNE THAT I'M NOT GOING TO SCHOOL?

Fuck.

Andrew says not to worry about it, that I shouldn't care about what anyone else thinks about my decisions, but I'm right worried.
I'm worried that Andrew and I need to break up because I really doubt I'll be able to live with him. I'm worried that I have no idea what to do with myself and I'm tired of being poor and oblivious to what's happening next. I'm worried about my health and my stupid fucking piece of shit Tercel and entirely too stressed because I know it's time for me to move out, 'cause this living at home bullshit needs to be over.

And on top of it all, my allergies have exploded and they are now being aided by my asshole neighbour who is cutting his front lawn.

My poor nose.

I just want to sleep. Sleep and sleep and sleep. And before that would have worried me, but lately I've realised that I have too high of a work ethic to be depressed.

In Love.

Why can't I be this talented? Why am I not married to this man? Why do I not own this fucking painting? Christ on earth and.in.heaven.above - I suck.

I met a fellow recently who was quite alarmed by my humble attitude regarding my skills as an artist. I was slightly flattered (well, to be honest, I was more than flattered). My ego was blown right out of proportion and so I pranced around for a couple of days, lit up like a Christmas tree on fire, completely loving the fact that I was a superb artisto des.

AND THEN I SAW THIS AND I WAS LIKE, "I fucking suck."
So I cried.

I'm not sure why, but I've been having a massive craving to get my art on.
Perhaps I just haven't been inspired enough to do it since the end of school. Perhaps I've just had the dazzling realisation that I enjoy drawing and should persue it as a hobby and not as a career.
Perhaps it's the birth control.

So now, if you'll exscuse me, I have a massive pinup of myself to draw for my boyfriend's Christmas present. I feel the need to start early, just incase my inspiration falls off again.

Massive Coronary.

My father has been married to his new wife for just over a year now. He's been seeing her for longer (due to his pesky divorce that took an excessive amount of time to complete), almost three years now. I've gotten used to my wicked stepmother. Living with her, and accepting her as only a mildly fucked-up bitch who completely ruined any sort of normal family function that could possibly happen during the rest of my life has what I've come to terms with. I blame fifty per cent of this fact on my biological mother and my stupidly-always-drunk biological father as well.

I've known Mir for years. When I was little, my father traveled with Canada's premier Southern Gospel Band for almost fifteen years. He missed a lot of baseball games, a lot of highschool band concerts and a lot of my mother's lunacy.
I met Mir and her husband, Jimmy on the rare occasion that my father took me with him on the road, I loved being on that bus. It was like having seven grandfather's spoil you constantly and when I got old enough to count back money, I manned the record table, selling tapes and CD's to old women with blue hair. It was awesome.

Mir and Jimmy were newer additions to the band. They were from Buffalo and they were strange. I remember noticing one night on the bus how my father seemed to daze in and out of consciousness when Mir was around. I didn't think anything of it until three years later when my mother told me he had an affair.

I never felt bad for my mother, but I did feel bad for Jimmy. He seemed like such a feeble man. He was always so gentle and kind and he literally seemed like he had been doing nothing but following everything his wife told him to do for years, out of fear that she would leave him if he didn't. I'm sure that wasn't the case, or maybe it could have been. That's just how things seemed.
Mir was ordered to pay him $800.00 USD a month in alimony when she left him. He lived in a small apartment, and with his wife not around to cook him meals, he gained an excessive amount of weight and ultimately became so obese his heart failed him. He died just a couple days ago.

I live with my Father and Step Mother and out of the three of us, I'm sure I am the most upset about his death. Well, at least it seems that way. Mir hasn't shed a tear and my Father's only concern was to make sure I notified my Mother about it because he doubted anyone would tell her. I'm sure they're both quite relieved that the large sum of money they paid him monthly will finally be going towards paying off their massive amounts of credit bills.

That's fucked.

I can't imagine being, "just fine" after someone I spent thirty plus years with kicked the bucket. I can't imagine smiling knowing that the father of my four children is going to be buried in a couple of days and I definitely can't imagine how I'd ever forgive myself for it, 'cause I'm sure I'd harbour a ridiculous amount of guilt.