day 396

yin/yang, tomato/tomahhhto, best of times/worst of times

went straight back to Toxichouse yesterday after work, tired of giving Stoney his "space," only to be met by a sullen emo spoiled punk who has developed an inability to say "thank you." STILL smarting from that. He doesn't work, is given TOO much freedom, and is grateful for zilch. We ALL want our kids to have it better than we did, and he certainly does, but the effects of his spoiledness are showing, and I'm not having it.

Shebitch is in full on rage, tired, so naturally it's taken out on guess who? The presenting problem was a bag, and the vacuum. I asked if the bag was garbage and if It was done vacuuming (It left the dog in the den, despite being repeatedly asked not to, hadda clean up). My questions were met with Linda Blair. Unfucking believeable. Stoney, sitting in the living room-of course-on his slaptop.

So, how is this a balance? Woke up this am, what's on the dining room table, his x-box, in pieces. Apparently, it's experiencing the red ring of death, again. Pity. THIS time I won't have it repaired. Let Shebitch step up. I'm done.

It, of course, hurts to see him unhappy, however, the fact is It leaves him to his electronics instead of taking advantage of Its being home for hours on end, and doing something together, while I'm @ work. If YOU had mountains of time and a great kid, wouldn't YOU? No, instead, spend all your time and energy on your pathetic friends. Ignore what's under your own roof, then buy junk food (Stoney's been living on pizza, big surprise).

Has It taken him for his physical, the prerequisite for working papers? No. So, he sits, and couch potatoes, and expresses nary a "thank you." REALLY demoralizing. Hurts in ways you'll, hopefully, never understand.

St.Francis + Kissena, 10+. Now you know why.

Might not do Ocean to Sound, gonna havta flip a coin. Lots of other stuff going on that day n' don't wanna get stuck in a rut. Might be time to change things up...or not.


***What gnaws @ me: when I remember my youth, I remember mom breaking her balls to take us places, make memories with us, expose us to stuff. What will Stoney's memories be? He takes offense-bless him-when I try to explain mommy's nuts, so I drop it. Never, ever, wanna do to It what It does to me: drag my name through the mud, that's just wrong. But he DOES need to know the bitch is mental, that normal people don't have pill containers everywhere, nor do they abandon their kids for hours on end. He WILL eventually, wonder why our place is a shipwreck rather than an inviting safe haven. Instead, he's a couch potato glued to electronics. Absolutely kills me. Really hope he knows how much I worry about him and would do anything. When I try to explain it, a.k.a. "set the record straight," he responds like emo boy. All I can do is try. It DOES really hurt.


...I felt the coldness of my winter. I never thought it would ever go.