Friday, June Second

The woman from AC never called. I’ll have to inquire once the client’s husband leaves around 2:30.

CGC is making visits to the cats a pain every time I try to set up a meet. He reminds me he works nights then sets out a different set of hours with each conversation. It’s been over a month at this point. The last time my cats saw me I was still pregnant. I really miss them. Why is he making this so difficult for me?

Cooper is finding no apartments for us, just trouble at every turn in his pursuit. Finding a two bedroom in Richmond by July will be next to impossible at this point, with only three weeks to go. We have to be settled in his place before his top surgery, in mid- July. Northridge could work if we paid for a third room we didn’t need and pretended to have fewer pets than we do. Same with Saddlebrook it seems, though Betta and Christina have at least three pets living with them there.

It’s really disappointing that Sam and Anna’s neighbors took pictures of Cooper bringing their pets into their apartment. He just told me he slept through an appointment for a place in Lexington. They were going to look in Richmond today but they work at 4 and 5, respectively, in Winchester. Now we’re looking into Lexington. Maybe I’ll live there sooner than expected. I found one at Pegasus Place advertised at $650-675 for two bedrooms. Not bad. Bella plans to call them when she’s finished with “breakfast”.

Dakota texted me back a minute ago: the one I missed from him last night said that I just had to admit to myself what I have so I can start dealing with it. He agreed that now would be a bad time for us to start something together and we should just be “friends who fuck lol”. Despite this he said he still feels my presence and hears my voice when missing me gets difficult to bear. That’s some powerful stuff. I must be thinking about him more than I realize. My sleepathon made him believe I was ghosting him. The only way I’m ghosting him is if I’m somehow thinking about him so hard my astral self makes itself known to him.

Considering spamming his Instagram inbox while I’m sitting here so bored. Just a million and one selfies or so. Then he’ll know I’m thinking of him too. He just texted me that the World Cafe radio is playing a song or two of his on the station. There may even be a phone interview. I told him how impressive I think this is.

My client is being difficult again and the frustration is turning into anger fast. I need to find somewhere healthy to direct it. I know she she doesn’t mean to make my job this difficult, but it really sucks when you can’t blame someone for their shitty behavior.

So apparently Snapchat can calm me down in these instances. That interview that I got? They’re postponing it for a bit according to Deborah at AC. Deborah: what a tease!

I’m making a playlist that brings about feelings of driving around a big city at night. He sent me his idea of that feeling and it seems we have very different concepts of the same idea. Good God, that dog needs a fucking bath: she’s stinking up the air worse than the niece last week. Yuck.

He heard my answer, but the client’s husband still pretended not to so I could repeat myself like an idiot parrot. Fuck these power trips. Can I not just be treated with respect, like a person?

The story in the music video of “Tear You Apart” by She Wants Revenge is so good! Very B-movie. “Written in Blood”‘s video story is interesting as well: both end with a female character revealed to be a monster. “True Romance” is eerie in a cautionary “be careful what you wish for” way. “These Things” has Shirley Manson in it which makes it an instant classic. I love that woman!

Why the fuck is the client’s niece back? Here to stink the house up again so soon?

We’re all just kidding ourselves: bedridden, spaced out dementia/Alzheimer’s patients don’t know we’re here, uselessly calling out to them. To keep someone “alive” like this is some sick form of torture. I know it’s hard to let go, but at some point you must, for everyone concerned: they’re not with us, they sure as hell don’t want to be with us, not like this. Pretending that what they’re doing, lying there stationary, no will to move or speak, is living: that’s the most moronic thing of all. Your loved one lived: they had hobbies, sang along to the radio, bought things, went places. They didn’t stay here to be sustained by mushy food and nutritional supplement shakes. Keeping someone as a “living” doll is grotesque and I’m sickened that this is my livelihood. I clean and feed them, telling their families the work I’ve done, thought we both know progress will not be made. They’re not going to ever be who they were: they won’t hop out of their hospital grade beds and thank everyone for stretching out their pointless suffering.

Saturday, June Third

I’m growing more annoyed by the day: the client’s husband like to believe (and make it appear as if) I’m not trying to move his wife when I need to re-position her on my own. He doesn’t consider that she knows and trusts him: she does not feel that way in regard to me and this makes turning her over by myself nearly impossible. Every night after working this shift I walk away drained: you cannot move someone that does not want to moved, or at least, I can’t.

There’s no choice but to continue doing my best. He needs to stop blaming this on me. I go above and beyond with all of my clients and I will not be made to feel as if I’m not good enough at my job.

Monday, June Fifth

Last night I finally broke down to Mom about wanting out: out of their house, Out of Richmond, and especially out of this backward, redneck, Bible belt state. She informed me, bringing on a new bout of tears, I can’t afford out of state tuition. This was devastating.

Dreams of Jim Carrey teaching English and practical jokes with my cousin and a frat ended with my teary eyed confidence in a dream woman that I felt I was on the verge of running away. Again. In my dreams I have run away many times, but the reality is I only left without a word twice. As an adult and to be with a man child that neglected my basic needs, stole from, and ultimately struck me.

Luck has been on my side on POF. On my first night I found the lovely Mary of Knoxville. She has such beautiful breasts and an adorable face and figure. Our conversations are fun and sexy; she’s excited to come see me when my parents go out of town. I hope I can save enough money to wine and dine her, with some left with which to move. Man, she’s so pretty she already has me planning how to spend my money on her. Mary has assured me, however, that I needn’t worry about her asking for money.

Tonight I came in my client’s home to find the water running in the kitchen sink onto dirty dishes, soiled counters, clothes in the dryer, and the groceries nowhere to be found. This is the second fucking time I have had to take time out of my shift downtime to do someone else’s job. How difficult is it to read the goddamn care-log or listen to the log in line to know what is expected of you? And for the love of God Almighty, why would you even start a task if you have no intention of finishing it.

Such little respect for fellow caregivers, but most of all for the client. Poor guy had to go without part of his meal due to the laziness of some incompetent airhead. What: she couldn’t be bothered to read? I truly hope it was some clueless new girl. Surely to God a seasoned caregiver would not leave this kind of mess in their wake for another to deal with.

Computer class went well today: I wrote my jury deferment notice and managed an 82% on my test. Score! Colin helped and I got his and Sam’s numbers. She sits with another girl behind us who was absent today. There were a few people missing today: namely Jake the IT Brain who happens to be super cute.

We spent the period making an excel spreadsheet of  the first six months’ expenses of a sandwich shop. This taught us nothing new and only served to make the three of us hopelessly hangry.

I visited the cats for about twenty minutes before my growling stomach and CGC’s lack of social graces drove me away. Ordering more than a coffee at Common Grounds afterwards was, though tasty, a bad idea. I ended up spending over fourteen dollars on a mere quesadilla and cup of coffee I mistakenly did not specify as iced. It was well made, but next time I’ll just bring Rally’s or the like with me.

Now that I’m caught up to Friday in my writing I can sit and just enjoy not needing to play my own music. They even played a song I listened to just before class on my way to into town.

I took Kristina to Third for the third time Saturday night. Once again there was flirting and pool. She managed to do me quite the favor: she told Johnny we both like him, but since she’s moving I’m the logical option. He brought his almost as attractive brother that night and would return after taking him home. She asked, “for me?” “Does your name start with an A,” he replied as he departed. I’m so excited I could squeal.

The plan is to return tonight and scout the pool table until he shows up. Shit. I should have probably shaved my legs, between them too. Trying not to get my hopes up that anything will happen.

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