Occupy Atlanta

Ugh.  Sunday night with Psycho aka Deluded.  I was more than happy to keep myself occupied in the kitchen making the salad.  With all of my best intentions of being semi-friendly (at least), I just couldn’t muster up too much by way of conversation.  I chopped up all of the vegetables and left them on the counter for her to assemble herself.  It may seem like I was being sweet, but in all honesty, I didn’t trust her with a knife.  The last thing I needed was for this ditz to slice her thumb off and go into hysterics.  And she seemed pleased enough.  Too pleased.  She semi-snuggled next to me on the sofa while we ate.  I just didn’t understand her.   It’s like any nice gesture automatically reset us back to square one .  It made me feel bad.  Like I just kicked a puppy who only wanted to be loved, so came sniffing back around hoping for my affection once again.  It was kind of pathetic.  And quite baffling.

I couldn’t bring myself to talk to her.  I just wanted to write, watch television and decompress.  We sat at our laptops on opposite ends of the dining table.  She IMs me: our compatibility rating has dropped to 34%.  All I could think was, is she serious?  Was it not already obvious that our compatibility was probably in the negative percentile?  That there was no way we could pretend to even consider pursuing this facade of an affair?  I had to hand it to her – she was persistent.  I didn’t know how much, though.  She jumps in the shower, comes out in a towel to ask me if it was alright if she stayed naked.  Why was this broad determined to ruin my chair?  I took (yet another) deep breath and said, no.  I’d rather you at least sat on a towel.  ‘Oooh, a towel.  Okay.’  She really thought it was my attempt at flirting.  She still didn’t get it.  She sat around in a bath towel for awhile.  Then I think she got cold because after only about half an hour, she put some clothes on.  Throughout her visit, she consistently complained that my place was always freezing.  I had to pull out a second comforter for her.  I admit, there were two reasons it might have seemed chilly: 1. Gas is expensive.  and 2. I have vaulted ceilings.  That’s like throwing money right out of the window.  Explaining this to her would have been fruitless, as she doesn’t pay her own bills – her grandparents do and they can afford to keep the hellfire brewing for Satan, but not me.  Not the kid.  I kept it at just the right temperature to be comfortable, but not sweltering.  That was obviously not warm enough for her.  She refused to wear socks so it was her own damn fault.

Around 12:30, she apparently got bored and announced that she was going for a walk.  At almost one in the morning?, I said.  ‘What, do you live in a dangerous neighborhood?’  At that moment, I wish I did.  They would know what to do with her.  No, I said, but any neighborhood should be considered dangerous at one in the morning.  That shut her up.  For a minute until she blurted out – wow, you really are trying to keep me prisoner.  She’d like to think that, I’m sure.  I smiled and shrugged – bye…She left on her walk.  Good riddance.  It gave me time to call my friends and let them know that I was still alive.

When she came back, I could tell right away that she was high.  I wanted her nowhere near me.  Thankfully, she hopped right back into the shower.  I was livid.  Just when I thought it couldn’t get any worse.  I am strenuously anti-drugs.  I’ve seen what they do to people’s lives and I want no part of it.  I respect other people’s choices, but please respect mine and don’t bring that shit anywhere near me.  This includes the scent of weed on your clothing: it makes me nauseous.  I will say, at least she got in the shower.  And then her routine started all over.  She was friendly, giddy even, as she comes out in a towel, pours a glass of wine that sloshed all over the counter and plops down in front of her computer.  She met up with a great group of Jamaican guys and they offered her weed, so logically, she smoked out with them.  They were really cool.  All I could think was in all her efforts to have great experiences and live life, she was inevitably going to lose hers by coming across the wrong people.  I just shook my head.  There was no point in trying to explain this to her – she wasn’t ready to hear it.  She types, laughs, exclaims loudly with these big gasps as if someone was saying the funniest fucking things ever.  I never gave her the link to my blog so I knew that wasn’t it  (insert maniacal laugh here).

Eventually her pills set in (Ambien) and she was off to lala land.  I snuggled into the couch, appreciating the silence at last.  At least for the moment.  It wouldn’t be the last night I slept on my sofa that week, but it ended up being the last night she slept in my bed.  Thank heaven for small favors…

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