something has got to give in The Tightrope Dance (August 2019)

things that need to change around here:

-I need to buy knives. Kitchen ones. I think that spouse is buying me a set for my birthday, so he can get exactly whatever fucking knives he thinks he wants. I wanted a car stereo, as mine is distorted, but when I suggested that, he said what a great idea, he should get one too.

Happy birthday to me?

-menu. we need to go back to meal planning. Also, these assholes all need to eat at the same times. Providing a constant snack menu plus five randomly timed meals is fucking annoying.

Also, I just went and got a bagel, and I can’t remember if I ate it.

-my bed. part five million. Now it’s unacceptable because it’s full of cats. 24/7 cat party palace. I think if I build them a cat bed on the wall, they’ll appreciate having another place to party. And god knows someone in here should be partying.

-I would put down “sex life,” but I’m so desperate that I had a dream that I had a prison pen pal and he showed up here and I was like “dude, I bet that’d work.” Except half of that dream was a nightmare, so probably not the greatest idea ever.

-the damn children being so entitled. Picture this crappy: I finally get the fucking birthday girls off to bed after a day of letting them play Switch and eat sugar til Lu thought she was going to puke. (She did not.) And what happens when I pick a music file off Youtube and open my doc in Google?

Kid shows back up. She can’t sleep. She needs to watch Phantom of the Opera on the sofa.

But her dad is watching Supernatural because that’s HIS REWARD.

So I have to give up my computer.

I wrote like two sentences. Here they go (beware, pornography. I have no actual sex life, so I write porn now, okay? It’s Harry Potter flavored this week.)

“We’re not going to see eye to eye on this one,” Lilli said. “I think we should, you have a thought that you want to do the charm. If you want to do the charm, we should probably get my clothes back…If not,” she said, feeling a thrill of terror in her blood, “well, here they are.” Maybe the wrong thing to say, and her face was on fire, but she was tired of having what she wanted right in front of her and being unable to simply ask for what she wanted. Maybe it was quintessentially British, but bugger the Queen - she, after all, had married the love of her life, and they had what, five kids?

He sighed, but he let go of her arm and turned away, searching for her discarded clothing. She crossed her arms over her naked breasts and sat in the sudden gloom of fallen night, fighting off prickly irritation, circling doubt, and the wild hope that he’d just say bugger her shirts and Apparate her back to a flat surface (preferably in a soundproof universe, but even magic had limitations.)

As we can all agree, I need to go fuck someone. Or thing. I will accept thing. Only, I have no privacy to store that, and I can’t have it delivered here or use it here, so that’s pointless. (This “room” has no doors. NO. DOORS. And the kids open my mail.)

I don’t even change my menstrual cup alone. Although, to be fair, that watcher is usually feline.

-friends. I need people I can go see when I can’t stand being here and don’t have $5 to go sit in a room with strangers and pretend I like coffee.