Daily Double Dylan and Hot Morons with Cancer

I am still worried about {S}. The ghosting is strong with this one. Or I’m just like super annoying. That’s a distinct possibility.

I’m not sure if I drive the man insane or if he likes me. One would think if he was waiting for my text on his sober birthday with some anticipation, then perhaps he might be somewhat fond of me, but I’m really not sure. I feel kind of like the second grade girl that the boy put chewing gum in her hair.

I had to have a talk with myself and ChatGPT. I fed ChatGPT like the last two years of texts between us. Basically I was right, he was stupid, but I should be backing off and I talk too much and it frightens him.

For whatever that is worth.

I am stepping back. I went into full-fledged panic mode and tried to take over, and I am learning I cannot force people to see things my way regardless of how wrong their way is. Help them out of a jam I guess, but I used a little too much force.

So I sent him a simple six-part text:

Making this as short as possible.

1. I’m going to lay off, but get fucking medical attention and I’m trusting you to keep me updated. You text me, okay? Like every detail as it happens. Play by play.

2. I want a day. One night a week to fuck. You pick. Standing reservation.

3. I’m going to try to be chill. If I’m not, forgive me please. I’m working on it. I really am.

4. Don’t make me wait a year to hear from you again. I can’t handle that emotionally.

5. I want an entire day to build a guitar with you. It’s been really good for me creatively and mentally, and I think you’d genuinely love it because you’re artistic and you liked remodeling your place so much. It’s the same kind of brain. Plus it’s the perfect short-attention-span hobby because at the end you get to play the thing. Think about it. I’ll bring guitars and weird shit. The con is it can get slightly more expensive than doing drugs.

6. I forgot what #6 was. I reserve the right to use it at random when I remember.

I still don’t know what six was, usually to my sorrow. Eight is the one I forget most of the time. Fuck you if you don’t get it.

I’m trying to be cool. I never thought we would speak again and I’m worried about him and I need to stop being an obnoxious bitch. I should probably do that in general as well, not just specific to this particular situation.

So I’m backing off. I don’t know what’s going to happen. Maybe we are friends finally. Maybe I just intersected with him at a moment he needed and we bounce off each other in equal and opposite directions. Maybe he intersected with me at the right moment.

It would be a beautiful love story, but it’s all bullshit and the only reason he would want me is because he is scared. I’m not falling for it. I can’t trust him. I most certainly can’t depend on him, he has proven that time and time again. I want to. I’d love to, but that’s not how this works. Fairytales are lovely, but they’re just fantastical stories.

I have another sometimes friend, he regularly owes me money and his dog keeps dying, named {K}. He came over and we were talking and he said he had been in the hospital but he ran. I became alarmed and asked to see the paperwork. He had cancer in the bowel, just like {C}. I made him go back. Well he told me he was going back at least. Idiots. I really have to stop fucking hot morons.

Then at 1:45am my phone rings and it is the mama. What kind of redneck craziness am I in for right before dawn on the East Coast? I answered half asleep and slightly alarmed but amused. She was drunk and apparently on a shit ton of pain meds, because they work better if you chew them and chase them with alcohol according to her. They think she has stomach cancer.

She hasn’t even bothered scheduling the CT and she is concerned about the dogs. Like why are there so many and those dogs are healthy so make the fucking appointment.

She won’t move in with my sister because my sister called her and yelled at her for making her sterile by not getting antibiotics after her first abortion. However that is a little hard to accept given the other three abortions. Yeah. She even called MY dad to tell him at 4am. I told him my joke about her.

My sister worked at Planned Parenthood for twenty years and I always said she took the job because the employee discount was better than the frequent flyer discount.

My father made the exact face of a Catholic man trying not to laugh in the face of God.

Then he told me my mother did a great job raising us. Amen.

So I talked to my mother sober-ish later. She did not recall calling me. I got off the phone when she started slurring because she became impossible to understand. I don’t know if she is going to get the test done or if she could have just destroyed her stomach lining with alcohol and pain pills. That could be the issue as well.

Good news is the ex-husband is sending her money for filler and lash extensions, she picked a new 60-year-old boy toy whose wife just died, and that is apparently better than the abusive fuck she is with now who apparently needs Viagra.

But I also wrote up her divorce papers because obviously she isn’t divorced from the dude five boyfriends ago, the one who gave her money for lash extensions. It dawned on me she is filing in Florida because he lives there and had asked when {D} and I were together about getting divorced there and {D} said he didn’t know and then told me he was helping {A} with her divorce which, ironically, was true. Got her out of a jam I guess but used a little too much force. It’s amazing when you quote Dylan twice.

These are not things I ever wanted to know. It does however give me some hope for the future should every man I know get cancer and die. I know who I would volunteer up first to get cancer and it sure as hell ain’t Stevie.