And once again, The Boy Who Can’t Feel Feelings saves the day.

The Pedant continues to be pretty solid at helping me through shit.

Yesterday he asked if he could come over later. At first I said no, because The Jock was due to come by. Then The Jock cancelled so I said yes to The Pedant after all. Then a couple of hours later The Pedant called and cancelled and I exploded into a bit of a rant (although I gave the disclaimer at the beginning that I wasn’t mad at him per se, just frustrated with my brain). See, all day long I’d been thinking there were things I needed to get done because I had company coming. And now I didn’t have company coming after all. And that sucks.

“It sucks that you had a productive day?” The Pedant said.

“I didn’t, though, that’s my point! I had personal things I wanted to get done and things I felt I should do because guests and I couldn’t decide which thing to do first so I froze up and did absolutely fuck all and now the stores are all closed because it’s Sunday.”

I also told him about the other day, how I went outside but everything was all wonkus and surreal. He said that sounds like what happens when a person is overtired. Oh shit he’s right. I’m backed up on sleep lately and I guess that day it just kinda peaked to the point where everything went all funhouse-mirror on me. I couldn’t recognize the symptoms because I was in them – too delirious to be thinking clearly.

And then The Pedant talked me down, in his nonchalant but perfectly logical way. He reminded me that since the stores had closed, there was no point worrying about those errands; I couldn’t do them anyway. He said I should try to make sleep the focus of my night: do some mindless chores like cleaning the apartment so I’m not on the computer getting all wired from the light of the screen, get in bed by ten, and read until I felt sleepy and hopefully crash out really early. Then I’d have the energy to do all my crap the next day.

He doesn’t grasp the concept that my attention span is too fucked up to read when I’m like this. But aside from that it was an excellent plan that gave me two or three simple priorities: stay off the internet, do some cleaning, go to bed early. That’s what I need in these situations: for someone to reduce things down to a simple Next Step so I stop obsessing on the big picture.

It’s not a foolproof thing. I did still end up on the internet for most of the night and went to bed at 4am. But somewhere in there I managed to deposit a paycheque, sweep my kitchen floor, and wash most of my dishes, and I even fed myself an actual meal that was not a thing of strawberry yogurt. That’s more productive than I’d been in days.

The Pedant has been yelled at by partners for being “too unfeeling” or lacking empathy or whatever, and he obviously has baggage about this. The last time he angsted to me about it, I told him that I want to take my clothes off and roll in his lack of empathy. I’m not sure he’ll ever understand that but it’s true. I don’t need someone to feel my feelings along with me when I’m like this. I need them to stand firmly in not-sad-and-fucked-up-land and throw me a rope so I can find my way there, too.

I mean, he does seem to “get” me, in the sense of knowing what sorts of actions I require in order to be not-sad. And that’s something I need in a partner: the ability to recognize patterns and solve problems, and the desire to help me. He may not understand what my particular brand of sad feels like, but who gives a shit?

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“Extreme”?

The Pedant is so baffling. Last time he was here he told me he met someone he might date, except maybe not because she’s sexually submissive and he’s not into that.

I was like “Really? I was under the impression you’ve been toppy with most of the people you’ve ever dated.”

He said yeah, he does get a little toppy, because most women seem to like a bit of aggression. But it’s important to him to have partners who will initiate sex with him, not make him do it all the time, and he feels that women who are full-out submissive will fail him in that regard. So I guess these women he topped were just vanilla chicks who liked a man to be a bit forward with them?

Here’s the part that’s incredibly weird to me: he went on and on about how he’s nowhere near “extreme” enough as a top/dom to want to get involved with a bona fide submissive – and he cited a picture he once saw of our friend Pixie and her boyfriend (who is her dom) as an example of extremeness that wigged him out.

I’ve seen the picture he’s talking about; Pixie posted it on Fetlife. It is literally just her boyfriend pulling her head back by the hair and looking down into her eyes (I assume by their respective head-levels she’s kneeling¬† and he’s standing but the picture cuts off at her chest). The connection between the two of them is palpable and totally hot, but, I mean…all he’s doing is holding her head by a fistful of hair.

Mind you, The Pedant once bragged to me that he could tell just by looking if a woman was into being choked (although apparently he can’t because he tried applying pressure to my throat during sex a time or two and HAHAHA NO). He once bragged to me about going down on a woman until she was so overstimulated that she scrambled backward to get away from him and he grabbed her ankle and slowwwwwwly pulled her back down the bed, relishing the conflict in her eyes.

I expressed incredulity that pulling a woman’s hair was apparently that big a deal to him, and reminded him that apparently he’s a connoisseur of choking women; he gave me one of those defensive nothing-answers where there’s a lot of talking but afterwards you realize the person never really communicated anything.

It’s true that most women – even vanilla ones – seem to crave a man who plays the aggressor in bed in some capacity. And I know that a lot of guys develop a totally fake “aggressor” persona in order to play to that and score more chicks or whatever, and that many of these men are in fact submissive. I’m kinda wondering if that’s The Pedant’s deal. When we were first dating he was forever pushing me up against walls to kiss me and physically repositioning me in bed and shit like that, but once he finally realized that I prefer to be the one doing those things, he relaxed into it and now he is only a sub/bottom with me. Maybe he’s realized that subbing/bottoming is so totally where he authentically belongs that he no longer wants to top anyone because it feels wrong. But instead of saying that, he’s playing it off like he was never a top in the first place.

I mean I guess I don’t actually care or anything. What he does with other people doesn’t affect me. I just value consistency in people and it distresses me when they change – especially when they claim that they didn’t change and were actually like this all along.

But seriously? Getting all squeamish over a photo of a dom *holding his sub by the hair*? So surreal.

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Meh.

Bad brain day today. Showing signs of depression and whatnot; stuck in a rut of fucking around on the internet instead of getting things done that need doing.

I managed to go out for a little bit to the park and then to get groceries. Often, when I’m feeling cranky and low-energy, getting outside and having a nice walk motivates me; I start feeling better, get a spring in my step, and end up walking much further than I’d originally expected to because I’m enjoying myself and feeling pretty good. Other days, my body is just fucked up and walking places never stops feeling like I’m wading through waist-high taffy*. Today was a “taffy” day.

Also, though, I seemed to have completely forgotten how to be out in the world. This happens sometimes. I just…couldn’t seem to perceive things properly? Like I forgot how to pay attention to my peripheral vision so the world was reduced to this little window right in front of my face, with everything around it being dark and blurry. I couldn’t see things until they were practically on top of me, and lights and movement were confusing and chaotic. Shadows moving on the ground made me flinch, thinking that something was flying toward my face. Once it got dark, headlights from cars seemed to explode into my vision out of nowhere and I’d cringe, thinking I was about to be splattered all over the road, but it turned out the car wasn’t that close to me after all. My balance seemed off. I couldn’t make eye contact with passers-by.

It didn’t feel like anxiety per se. It felt like my fucked-up perceptions were making me anxious, not the other way around. But maybe I’m wrong. If I’m correct though and I was genuinely not seeing the world correctly, and it wasn’t due to my anxiety fucking with me, then wtf causes that?

 

*The Pedant, incidentally, doesn’t understand this and is one of those people who thinks exercise is the remedy for everything. Or maybe he just keeps suggesting exercise to me as an unsubtle hint that he wants me to lose some weight. Either way I wish he’d shut up.

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Don’t trust the B**** in apartment 23

This sitcom is on Canadian Netflix and I’m kinda digging it. I wish it had gone on longer. It’s not Citizen-Kane-Only-Funny or anything, but it’s quirky and cute and doesn’t have a laugh track.

Also, it occurred to me recently that there’s remarkably little slut shaming. One of the main characters (Chloe, the titular “b”) is unquestionably slutty – is shown having random hookups (once with like five people at the same time), mentions having six guys in her current dating “rotation,” etc. – but aside from the other main character sometimes tut-tutting her inappropriate dating choices, I can’t recall anyone making a big thing about it. Nobody’s treating her like a pariah or making cracks about avoiding touching things she’s touched so they don’t get herpes or whatever.Contrast this with an episode of Friends where the guys hire a woman they think is a stripper for a bachelor party but she ends up being a full service sex worker – at one point she sits fully clothed on Chandler’s bed and later he makes a crack that he’ll obviously have to burn those blankets now.

And Chloe’s character stays remarkably consistent. Or at least consistent in her inconsistency. She’s a monumentally self-centred person with occasional flashes of empathy for others, and that is what she remains. Most times when a show has a character who’s “extreme” in some way, the character mellows out over the course of the show. And not in a conscious, character arc, growing-as-a-person way, more in a “the writers used this huge gimmick in the pilot to reel you in but they went so far with it that they can’t properly sustain the momentum in subsequent episodes” way.

Two complaints, though:

  1. Season two’s episodes are way out of order. Some major plot points happen and they’re all scrambled up and it’s annoying.
  2. There’s an episode where Chloe is dating a guy she really, really likes – and it turns out he has a “rotation” of women he’s dating just like she has a “rotation” of men. Chloe is affected by this far more than one might expect, and of course her straight-laced roommate, June, says it must be because she’s falling for him.¬† Chloe ends up confirming that this theory is correct and she does indeed want this guy all to herself because she has Real Feelings for him, because I guess the writers don’t understand that polyamory is A Thing and that you can be in love with someone without automatically needing to nail them down. I think it would have been far better on all counts (funnier, far more true to Chloe’s character, and not poly-erasing) if the issue had turned out to be simply that Chloe wasn’t first on the guy’s rotation. He blatantly names someone else as being in his top spot, and we know from previous episodes that Chloe is a supremely petty and competitive person. I would have loved it if she’d had a small crisis over June’s theory (“Oh GOD. Maybe I DO love this guy so much that I want to drop all the others and live a conventional monogamous life with him!”) but then later the guy’s top chick gets hit by a bus or something, Chloe gets promoted to number one, and she’s like “Yay! I win! …I guess I don’t need to be the only one, after all. Just the best one.” And life goes on.

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A visit from a boy.

One of my boys (I can’t remember if I gave him a name; I think not) spent the night recently. He’s lovely: smart and pretty and sweet. Also, young. Well, like 24 or something; not scandalously young. For some reason, knowing a younger man’s actual age doesn’t ever faze me but knowing his birth year makes the age difference hit home. Just for funsies I asked him at one point what year he was born (shut up, I can’t math). NINETEEN-NINETY-ONE. We’d been watching Stranger Things on Netflix and I was on some level assuming that he too was grooving on the eighties vibe of the show, even if he had to remember back to being a toddler. But he was not alive in any part of the eighties at all.

Sometimes I feel so alienated from men; they just so totally don’t grok what it’s like to be a woman and be thought of by a guy as a prop to use in his sexuality rather than as a person with a sexuality of her own. I told this boy how I’m really enamored with him because he’s been really good at just…letting my body do what it does, in bed. Learning what gets me off and doing it without imposing a bunch of wishes or expectations. I told him that a lot of guys seem to think my orgasms are a performance for them rather than a bodily function that works in a specific way, and so they ask/tell me to orgasm when they’re not doing anything that would reasonably cause this, or they tell me how awesome it would be if I orgasmed from this or that thing that they like doing. And I’m sick of it. I told him how it’s been especially frustrating for me lately because my body has been changing and I can’t get off in the ways that I used to and it rubs salt in the wound when a partner makes a big huge deal about how he wishes I’d get off in some way that I once could but now can’t.

One thing I mentioned was that I used to be able to get off by humping stuff, but now I can’t, and it makes me sad because I like the idea of using a guy’s passive body to get me off. He was like “Ooooh, I would love it if you humped me and came all over me!” and I didn’t say anything to that but Jesus Christ dude learn to read the room. It’s depressing as hell that even the good guys in my life have hints of the same shitty objectifying behaviours, let alone that someone would display such a behaviour literally in response to me talking about how inappropriate such things are.

But we got to talking about the humping thing a little more and it came out that the boy didn’t care if I incorporated a vibrator into the mix – he didn’t seem to have any big specific picture of how getting humped would go – he just wanted me to get off literally on his body, one way or another. And he kept referring to it as being fucked. He didn’t qualify that with “…y’know, even though nobody’s getting penetrated.” He simply equated me using his body to get off as him getting fucked, literally regardless of what I actually did to get there. I liked that.

Sometimes when I’m alone I get off by laying the Hitachi on a pile of pillows, straddling it, and humping. Humping stuff was the first way I ever learned how to masturbate, and although I figured out other methods later on, it still does call to something primal in me when I’m grinding my weight down into something and really engaging my hip and stomach muscles. I need to hump a vibrator these days – a stationary object doesn’t provide enough stimulation – but I can still get there. It seemed feasible that I could replace the pile of pillows with a person. And this boy – as I’ve said – is open minded and tends to just want me to get off however I do, without trying to make my orgasms conform to some image in his mind.

I had him lie on his belly. I propped the handle end of the Hitachi against the mattress between his legs so that the head of it rested on his ass crack. And I climbed aboard.

For some reason in my fantasies of objectification-through-humping the guy in the equation was always totally passive and silent. I’m not sure why. I guess for me to eroticize the idea of “using” a guy, I had to picture him as being an unwilling participant? I don’t even know. But the idea of the bottom being passive was so ingrained in my head that I just kind of assumed that’s the only way it could go.

But when I actually began to hump this boy, he gyrated his ass up at me. He made breathing and moaning sounds. He softly and breathlessly said “fuck me ohhhhh fuck me please” over and over. And it was amazing, both because it was hot as fuck and because dude didn’t use his submission as an excuse to be a passive lump. I assume all of his theatrics were exactly that – a performance for me – but I’m just so grateful and impressed at the way he was using everything he knew about me to make this experience as great as possible for me.

It took a while for me to orgasm – I kept getting stuck in my head, thinking about how stupid this whole thing might look to a third party and wondering if the boy was secretly finding me ridiculous and blah blah blah – but I did get there. I’d wrapped my arms around his chest for leverage and gripped his hips between my thighs and just gone for it. And afterward I rolled off him and he rolled onto his side and we looked in each other’s eyes and it was…kind of magical. Even though I’m sure there was nothing physical to legit make him moan the way he’d been moaning, the humping had clearly been a profound thing for him psychologically. His eyes were all hazy and he was acting fuzzy-brained and stunned. For like five minutes we basically took turns going “That was…that was, um…” and giggling and kissing.

And we lounged around in bed for a bunch more hours – including more sexual stuff and orgasms all around and me taking some naughty pics of him – and then he had to go.

I enjoyed his visit very much, but I’m an introvert and find people’s company a bit tiring after a while (although when I feel really close to someone, like I do with The Pedant, it takes much longer for that tiredness to kick in). So when the boy left I reveled in having the place to myself again. I ate junk food and watched NetFlix and went on FetLife, where I promptly got into a tussle with some douchebag who (of course) proclaimed that I was being mean to him because I was lonely and sex-starved and bitter. Because it can’t be that I just genuinely disagreed with the dumb shit he was saying, right?

I get a tremendous kick out of making douchebros angry, but it’s even funnier when one of them says I can’t get laid when in fact I’ve had two different guys over so far that week and am expecting another in two days. Of course if I told him that, he’d think I was making it up, so there’s no point. But I know.:D

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Malleable

Any time I’ve put up an ad on FetLife looking for a sub, I get a ton of responses from men whose profiles list them as dominant. And they’re not (usually) trying to convince me that they can “tame” me and make me submissive; they’re straight-up responding to the things in my ad and saying they want to do and be what I’m asking for.

I also get random solicitations from dominant men who tell me that they actually have a submissive side (that they don’t mention anywhere on their profile, nor is there anything bottomy in their list of kinks) and they’d really like to explore it with me.

And on several occasions I’ve been talking to some dude who self-identifies as dominant, and we’re having a good discussion and becoming friends, when suddenly he’s all “let me submit to you! I could totally submit to you!”

I don’t presume to think that my mighty domly awesomeness is converting anyone. I suspect what’s going on here is one of two things: 1) these guys are only pretending to be kinky at all because they think it’ll get their dicks wet; posing as dominant hasn’t yet granted them unlimited access to women’s holes, so they’re branching out. 2) These men are actually either switches or full-out subs, but haven’t come to terms with their sub side because it goes against what society tells them a man is supposed to be. So they won’t list themselves as sub or switch, but they’re still intrigued by the idea of submitting.

Still, though, this shit happens to me so damn often that it’s messing with my head. Like if I come across a profile online of a guy who’s hot and interesting and funny and I feel like I could really be interested in him except he lists as dominant, I find myself thinking “Pffft! We’ll see.” Because so far it feels like there have been maybe two dominant men I’ve ever interacted with who held fast to their stated orientations, and the rest of them were flinging themselves at my feet after two messages.

When I catch myself feeling dismissive of someone’s kink orientation like that – when I find myself thinking “Meh, I should hit on him anyway, he’ll probably roll over soon enough” I stop myself because that shit’s not cool.

But I sure do wish more guys knew what they wanted/were self aware/told the truth/whatever so there was a modicum of consistency out there. It really is hard to take dudes’ chosen labels seriously when seemingly eighty percent of them change at the drop of a hat, or aren’t really what a guy is but his true label is a secret because reasons, or whatever.

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The parent visit

Okay so I need to just quickly vent about my parents’ recent visit.

I had told my mom about the shit happening with my landlords (complaints that other tenants could smell my cats’ litterbox from the hallway; pressure to fix the issue; obviously the implication being that if I didn’t fix it, they could evict me or whatever). Mom had been wanting for her and my dad to come visit, anyway, and I guess they decided to use this debacle as an excuse. My mom declared that she and dad would come over and help me clean.

I did not want them up in my personal space. They have a history of boundary issues, from the five million times they came into my room without knocking when I was a kid to walking right into my husband’s and my home once when I didn’t hear them knocking. Who fucking does that? It’s weird because they were sticklers for privacy when it came to giving out my number; once I moved out of their place, if anyone called for me, my parents insisted on passing me the message so I could call them back. They wouldn’t give my phone number out without permission. And yet they’re weirdly rude and nosey in other ways.

One time when they were here, they saw some loose change on my floor and wouldn’t fucking shut up about it. I didn’t think it was that weird to throw a pair of pants on the floor every now and then and maybe coins would fall out of the pockets and not get picked up immediately, but goddamn, all night long they were making jokes about how I must be so rich that I can just throw my money away. Like okay ha ha you can let it go any time now.

So yeah. I was worried they would judge me for my lax housekeeping and I was worried that if they saw something intriguing poking out of a dresser drawer they’d go “derrrrrp what dat?” and fling the drawer open and also I just generally hate my dad and didn’t want to be in such close quarters with him at all. My apartment is tiny.

But I could use the help and it seemed like they would be stubborn about it if I tried to say no. So fine.

They are so fucking socially weird. I asked them to text me when they got here because I couldn’t remember which doorbell in the foyer was mine (the labels fell off ages ago). So what do they do? They text me saying “We’re at your door” and I flung open my apartment door to go down and let them in but they were standing right there in the hallway. They’d taken it upon themselves to ring a random doorbell anyway, causing my neighbour to answer the door and let them in. Then instead of texting me that they were on their way up, they chose to carry all the supplies they’d brought up the stairs in dead silence, stand outside my apartment door in dead silence (the walls are thin as hell so it takes some doing to make me not realize someone’s going up and down the stairs/standing right outside my door), and text me instead of just fucking knocking. And so I didn’t goddamned know they were right there, and I coughed as I opened the door to go down and let them in, and they made a joking comment about how rude I was to open my door and cough right in their faces. Yeah, okay. I’m the one being rude. Sure.

They did bring a steam cleaner and a bunch of helpful products they’d bought for me, which I appreciated. I figured the best way to keep my sanity was to set them each to a particular task and then leave to run some errands. I’d taken the precaution of hiding my sex toys in a bin under my bed, wrapped in a blanket so you couldn’t see them whatsoever, so that was one thing off my mind. If it had just been my mom there, I might have hidden the toys less well and if my mom saw the tip of one and did her whole “derpity derp what’s this?” and yanked everything into plain sight, she’d be mortified and I’d be like “Okay, now what did we learn about touching my stuff?”

But my dad was there too and as I said in a previous post he’s been sexually sketchy with me. I honestly think that if he found anything of mine that hinted at a sex life, he’d feel compelled to offer some commentary about it, or at least get a look on his face that he was speculating about what sorts of acts I might enjoy. Which NOPE NOPE NOPE NOPE NOPE NOPE NOPE. So I hid shit really really well.

I asked my dad to change the litter in the two litterboxes and sweep the floor, asked my mom to steam clean the couch, and then begged off to run errands. When I returned, my dad had thankfully fucked off to do a little shopping and my mom had finished the couch and kindly decided to tackle my dishes for me. The closed bedroom door was still closed so if they pried they at least had the decency to cover their tracks (but I’m…pretty sure they wouldn’t pry on purpose? I think they just act without thinking when they see something interesting, but they wouldn’t go out of their way to open a closed door or drawer. Probably).

My mom and I sat down and chatted for a while. But then she asked me if there was anything my dad could do in order to fix my relationship with him and I found myself furious. Like um I dunno, go back in time and not be an abusive dickbag for the first twenty years of my life? …I can’t remember if I said that out loud or just thought it. I definitely told her that there was nothing he could do, since he probably wouldn’t admit to or maybe even remember most of the things he did to me so an apology would feel kind of hollow.

I’m not sure whether mom was asking me this on my dad’s behalf (I know he wishes we were closer) or because the way I barely tolerate him makes these visits awkward (she hasn’t specifically said this, but it’s true. She’s the one I want a relationship with; I don’t care about him; but the two of them always come visit as a unit. So I acknowledge his existence the bare minimum and focus mostly on her). Either way, though, I’m pissed. Awwww, so dad terrorized me for two decades and now he has a sad that I don’t fawn all over him? And mom wishes I’d be more chatty and affectionate so the visits go more smoothly? GO FUCK YOURSELVES.

My dad returned and then my parents started indicating that it was time for them to go. I’d kind of expected them to take me out for a meal or something – their last few visits comprised¬†only dinner together in a restaurant before they went off and visited other relatives in the area – but nope, oddly this time they opted to drive three hours each way just to come give my place a rudimentary cleaning and then leave again (with no other local people to visit, as far as I know). I had no particular wish to extend my time with them so that was fine.

I hugged my mom goodbye while my dad stood around looking jealous. Then he stepped up and was all “can I get a hug, too?” and, again, GO FUCK YOURSELF. He said and did sexually uncomfortable things to me when I was younger. For years I was convinced that he’d sexually abused me and I’d blocked it out. If you are a family member and you want me to press my body up against you then maybe don’t ever, ever do anything to indicate that you’d get off on it kthx.

Our visits have such a veneer of civility, though, and my dad seems so benign that there’s nothing about him (now, in his current incarnation) that I can reasonably object to. And both my parents were always really big on controlling me through guilt (“we were having a nice visit and you went and ruined it!”). So I couldn’t bring myself to just say “NOPE!” and walk away. I grudgingly offered him a handshake. I wish I hadn’t. It disgusts me to touch him and when I turned and walked away to run yet more errands I was wiping my hand on my pants convulsively for the next ten minutes. And now I really never want to see him again because I suppose he’ll think this handshake was progress and he can try to push for a little more next time.

Bringing me cat litter and cleaning spray was nice but it doesn’t buy him a get out of jail free card for making me walk on eggshells in my own home until I moved out at nineteen. There is literally nothing he can offer me that would make me be the kind of loving daughter his stupid preening ego thinks he should have.

I considered writing to my mom after this visit and telling her in no uncertain terms that it’s her I want a relationship with – not him – and that if she keeps pressuring me to be closer to him, I’ll cut them both out of my life again. Maybe I’d even put my foot down and tell her I’d only see her alone, never with him in tow, or else they’re both cut out.

Then I remembered that they are pushing seventy and I’m pretty sure I’m the sole beneficiary in their will. Their big three-bedroom house has been paid off for a long while now and they’ve indicated that they have hundreds of thousands of dollars in savings, too. It would be a shame to lose such a huge and life-changing bounty right when it’s maybe about to come to fruition.*

So I’m staying silent. For now. But I never have been good at playing nicey-nice with folks I don’t like – even when I stand to gain a lot from it – so it’s entirely possible I’ll ultimately cut them off, after all.

Especially since they both seem to be in relatively good health. They carried stuff up my stairs. They get around okay. No mention of any upcoming surgeries or current wasting illnesses. It’s possible they’ll live another twenty years. I don’t think I can deal with my mom’s mopey passive-aggression or my dad’s obtuse “Duuuuh why don’t u like me?” bullshit for that long.

 

*Although, my parents are really really into appearances. It’s entirely possible that they’d keep me in their will no matter what because if they left their money to someone else, or to a charity, people might talk.

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