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:: Saturday, November 27, 2004 ::

Let me just say right off that I am sick and tired of constantly living with someone dangling a roof over my head like a fucking carrot. I am 22 frigging years old and I am sick of darting house to house like a god-damned refugee, and still not finding an ounce of peace.

In case you haven't realized by now, there's issues in our happy home yet again. Apparently, Joe's father - yes, the same man who makes up loud, obnoxious, poorly rhyming couplets lamenting our inability to turn off the bathroom taps the "right" way and the fact we use too many paper napkins at dinner (yes, you read that right) has decided we are "taking too much for granted".

Ok. Let me give you a background, here.

We pay him $400 a month for rent, to stay here. $200 each. Our room is about, oh, I'd say maybe 10 by 10. We pretty much have to sit on the bed to be able to close the door. But hey, it's a room, right? That I'm mostly ok with. Truthfully, I think we are paying him way too much for it, considering everything else, but we don't have any other options right now.

I spend at LEAST $100 on groceries and restaurants every month for the house, because if left to his own devices, Joe Sr. would eat nothing but chinese and pizza every single night, and Joe worries about his dad's health. So I cook, Joe cooks, we cook often these days. I buy food, Joe buys food, we buy milk, toilet paper, paper towels (the same ones he criticizes us for using too many of, mind you) and a lot of other things that a house needs. To be brutally honest, I haven't seen Joe's father go to the store for at least 3 or 4 months. If the milk runs out, Joe or I get it. Ditto with toilet paper, napkins, whatever else we're out of. We keep the house running in that sense. We also cook, as I've mentioned before. The entire time I'm cooking, nearly every time, Joe Sr. has come in the kitchen and found fault with something I'm doing. "Well, you know there, if you don't cook that on medium heat, it'll get all mushy..." or something similar in what is possibly THE most annoying fucking W.C. Fields-on-LSD voice impression I have EVER fucking heard. He stumbles to the kitchen after the fourth call of "dinner" and finally puts his frigging bass down and turns off the fucking anime for two seconds to eat. I serve the guys, and pour the drinks, and the one thing I have to credit them both on is that they do compliment my cooking. However, Joe and I always get stuck with the dishes. And I mean always. ALWAYS. Joe Sr. used to do some dishes if Joe's mom was coming down, but now he doesn't even bother; he either yells at us to do them or has Joe's mom do them at some point when she is visiting. Even when we do do them and put them in the dish rack, we leave for work and school, come back, and it's like the kitchen was in a stasis field, save for the new dirty dishes on the table or sink from his takeout lunch.

Ok. Maybe I did this at my mom's house. Mom, if I did, I'm sorry. However, I'm also doing work and school, or at least trying to, and so is Joe. My mom also did the dishes before they started building a society. She's hypocritical about a lot of stuff sometimes, but she's tried, at least with some chores, to lead by example.

But it's not even the dishes. It's just the man. I describe things to my mother and she says the way I feel about Joe's father is how a wife feels when she's trapped in a marriage and comes to absolutely loathe the person she is forced to be near. I hate the way he talks, the way he laughs, the way he sneezes, his views, and, generally, him. My bloodpressure goes up every time he opens his mouth. I so desperately want to put this entire existence at my back it isn't even funny.

It's starting to impact Joe and I, and that really pisses me off. I worked hard for this relationship, and here's this bitter, hostile, opinionated king-of-all trying to unravel what Joe and I have built together. To be honest, I'm starting to have doubts how much longer I can deal with this. Joe told a friend yesterday that he's hoping to be out of here in two years and I damn near had a heart attack. Two Years?? I can barely deal with the concept of another 6 months here! I love Joe, more than anything, but I can't deal with this kind of life much longer. I don't know what I would, can, or am going to do - I want to stay living with him, I certainly don't want to break up, not by a longshot, but I can't stay here or I'm going to go crazy. Or punch someone. Joe's financial situation isn't conducive to us getting the fuck out of here, so..god, I don't even know. I may have to get a place of my own for awhile. I love my mom, but I don't think I could deal with being back there, if she'd even have me. I may have to get two, maybe even three jobs.

I feel like we're living in fear, under the tender mercies of a socially inept power-hungry toddler with one finger on the nuke launch button. I can't do this.

~Fox

:: Fox 11/27/2004 09:25:00 AM [Say what?] ::
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