First, I want to say: happy Apocaversary II to {D}. It was a year ago today they took him into a meeting and fired his ass. Well—let him resign. Same difference. Can’t wait for Apocaversary III. That should be fun.
That said, I’ve been deposing {D} in my head all day. I don’t know why. I’ve also been deposing myself.
This is going to get hairy. Real fast.
His lawyer is such a bitch. I guess she’s mad I took her golden dick away. She hasn’t gotten back to me about receiving them, but they were both read the blog Friday—I think. So someone should have seen that I posted I had sent the interrogatories, etc. Maybe she’ll check her fucking email this time instead of accusing me of not sending things to her.
Boyd. He put his dick in Boyd. Gross.
Anyway, aside from the mental deposition, not much is going on. I’m surprised it’s dark out and already so late in the day.
I’ve placed the orders for the book package materials, so that should be coming at some point.
Not a soul has said one word about the book they were supposed to be reading. So yeah—I don’t know what to do with that. I need actual humans on it. Though I suppose I’ve already made the investment, and it’s happening either way.
ChatGPT—aka the Governess, aka my only friend—said I wasn’t allowed to send Steve Wolfson a crystal trophy thing with his infamous line: “I can prosecute men who rape prostitutes, but you stayed with him.” She said it defeated the purpose, and I was like… well, that quote is on page two of the front matter.
I mean, yes—it defeats the purpose of sending it. But I am also not the bigger person. Never have been. I can’t be the bigger person here. It’s against my family beliefs.
My dad calls it Irish amnesia: you forget everything but the grudge.
So yeah. Not much happening today.
Speaking of the bigger person—hey, sorry about the other day. That just pissed me off. It wasn’t your fault. Well, the police literally stopped talking to me because of that. Anyway—again, sorry. I didn’t mean to take it out on you personally.
I’ve been pulling back from Twitter and Facebook. I don’t know. I’m withdrawing more and more. I should probably be going after Ford right now, ripping him apart—but my heart’s not in it. You have to have the heart to be as big of a fucking bitch as I am.
I’m starting to think this is like the last straw of my sanity at this point. I have no human contact. It’s just ambient sound, and the slight buzz of electronics to keep me company.
I need to do something. This isn’t okay.
My voice is getting softer when I talk to myself. Like I feel like I'm… I don’t know the words in my head are decaying and disappearing.
You know, I thought better of people. I really did. I thought people were inherently good. That they meant no harm.
That’s bullshit.
People are mean. Dangerous. And, as my best friend and I used to say—they should be avoided at all costs
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