“You’ve changed,” mom said to me today.
“How so?” I asked, thinking about some stupid Faceypages quiz I just took that says I’m more confident than I was in 2011.
“You used to wake up early and take walks. You used to feed cats and birds and ducks. Now you won’t even go out on a balcony because you don’t want to be seen.”
She’s right you know.
I used to work in bum fuck Egypt. Nearly an hour drive each way in my crappy car, doing familiar work to what I’ve done for years. My highlight: I would stop on the way home in a bad neighborhood and feed a big family of stray cats.
Then I’d go home to my beautiful island view that I couldn’t see because it was always dark when I got home and it was still dark when I left for the long drive to nowhereville.
At some point Animal Control rounded up and destroyed my kitties. I went back every day for two weeks. No furballs were there to greet me anymore.
Then I got moved to a nearer, and certainly more fun, town for work. And just as I got a coveted work from home day, I lost my precious view when I had to move.
Alas, I got an ok view at the new house. And constant screaming, banging and furniture-dragging from upstairs to destroy my sanity.
After confronting the violent fucks, I kept to myself. They threatened me twice and hey, my pepper spray is no match for psychosis. So I withdrew from being seen too much.
Then I got in trouble for feeding ducks from the balcony. So when I went downstairs to feed them, I got terrorized by an ugly cunt wirh a big mouth, unleashed mutts and an aversion to cleaning their poop. And she has a bunch of friends with dogs who are equally ugly and irresponsible.
So, here I sit. The ducks have left save for one who stands downstairs and looks up here all day and night. Mom is sad and sick all the time, and between that and Thundercunt’s giant meat flaps, I have nothing left.
Looking at old photos, I can see my happiest times. And what they all had in common were exercise, dating, friends, animals and freelance. Right now I have none of that. And that’s probably why I look so bad in pictures now.
I miss me. And I don’t even know where to look for her. Or if I feel like scrubbing my butt and getting off the couch long enough to put an ad on a (lactose-free) milk carton to find her.