Runaway in Dancing on a Blade (September 2019)

I feel so bad that I spend so much time out of the house.

But I can’t work here. I tried to read here this morning, and while it was okay for the first chapter, Alaina started a video game where the music is required (Persona 3, 4, or 5) and then Kitty woke, and then they squabbled and bickered. The cats ponied up my spine and butt, which is fine, cozy even, and it should have been great, it was raining and my room was warm and soft and just well enough lit to read. And I couldn’t.

Music on. Headphones on. Couldn’t concentrate. Couldn’t think. So I left. Went to Wal-Mart, because it has a subway, and pens. I like the thick-nibbed Inkjoys I bought for Kitty, I wanted some, too. And I needed new underwear. Adia steals mine because they’re huge, and she likes space. I guess.

Anyway, I buy new ones instead of stealing them back, okay?

But I ran into the roomies at Wal-Mart, so instead of studying and writing, I took them home. Which is okay, because it turns out the local coffeeshop? It’s nice. I was reluctant to go because there was a shootout there once (a surprised criminal spotted policemen off duty in there and went ballistic, killed four or five) and I didn’t like the idea of supporting that kind of thing, but I thought about that and it’s mildly insane. So I went. And it was wonderful. Warm, wooden, great salad, decent coffee, nice tea. I stayed for like six hours. Did Monday’s Spanish, all the 300 readings but one, all the 329 readings but two, nothing for For Mit, but there’s just one reading (a legal brief.) I’m caught up to Wednesday.

Why do I have to leave home to get work done? The kids never used to bug me before. I wrote like 11 novels with screeching kids in the background. Some of them were right in this room. What broke??

That’s what’s puzzling me most, lately. Where did writing go? I used to do it everywhere. My most productive day was 14k in a PlayPlace at McDonald’s on a Saturday. In summer.

But now I need quiet. What gives? I really resent having to leave my home to do what is most essentially live as myself. I am a writer. It’s what I do. This is my home. Why can’t I work here?

Is it some psychological thing, or is YouTube honestly that fucking annoying? (Yes. It is. As I write this, Kitty is listening to some goddamn loop music and watching shitty Gacha Life videos. This is what she does all damn day. I can’t stand it.)

And she’s using my phone. Which can’t leave my space, because they’ve already either lost or destroyed Spouse’s phone, which means that I haven’t paid for service (it’s monthly) because I won’t pay for a phone that can’t be used, and a phone that’s lost in your kids’ room? It’s not usable.

Sent her off to look for it. Maybe she’ll get lucky.

And at least I don’t have to listen to that shit…but NOW Dick Face has started ANOTHER DAMN JEFF DUNHAM VIDEO. Please no. There is no silence. No peace.

My jaw aches.

My period is back. Bleeding “black,” but not worried, because I’m on an antibiotic and there’s no forgotten tampon or anything. It’s probably very old goo being chased out by the IUD. I should name my IUD. I feel bad about calling it “my IUD.” It didn’t ask to get stuck with my bitchy ass. Honestly, I didn’t ask for it, either. Doctor’s idea. Also, the blood is clearing up and becoming maroon, so 1 - it will get heavier, and 2 - it was old goo, mostly.

I need something to go right, right now. Or go write. Right now. I miss the days when words tripped off my fingertips and I could commune for 8 hours straight with the machine. When writing was its own reward. When it was fun.

I think what I need more than anything is a real office. Maybe I should go buy those curtains and a spring tension rod. Block off the kitchen, but there’s no spring rod that will do the 10’ gap in the wall between formal-living and formal-dining, where I am. Which means the TV is forever. And I can’t think while it jabbers. I just need the world to shut up. It used to shut up…the kids had school all day and dick face went to work. So much peace.

I miss that peace. It will never come back. The damn child has returned. Of course she didn’t find the phone. She “looked everywhere,” too. Man.

Took her like three minutes.