Don’t pet the sweaty things

It was such a dumb thing. A “friend” thought to tell me I couldn’t discuss a certain topic in light of real things going on. Apparently, you cannot call out your peers on silly stuff. There will be no jokes here. Yes, a petty male type once again telling the little lady none of that smart talk us menfolk are the end of all discussion. Well now, he doesn’t know everything he thinks he knows and he’s going to blow everything up because one time I had a different POV. Mr. Petty went so far as to play games with my social media page, lock me out of certain things. Here’s the thing little piggy, your reputation precedes you. I get it if it was something heinous but it was just male ego getting butt hurt about something stupid. Just like the day, some dentist on a minty green Harley called me a beeyotch because I took him to task for cussing out my older and differently-abled friends for taking too long to get out of the car with their canes and walkers. You, sir, are no gentleman and no I don’t have to cower just because you are too lazy to swing around the end of the car (plenty of room) or because nanny boo I don’t drink your brand of flavorade. I’m so bored with dullards who want to play games. He told me I sounded stupid. Why do people call you stupid when their limited understanding can’t follow the big words? I tell somebody something true and I’m stupid?

This world makes me so tired sometimes. Seriously, I live almost 100% in the world of men these days. I have a very tough hide. I generally know some pretty good ones. That’s why it irritates me so bad when somebody I’ve never had an issue with suddenly thinks I’m a convenient target because they were out of jelly doughnuts today or they started sniffing their own farts and got overwhelmed.

And I’m not just whining about that today. Erda wants me to “help” her with something. Being “helpy” doesn’t seem to go too well for me and I’m damn mad at myself because I have this mindless urge to say yes to any damn thing someone brings me. Things get set up. I get set up. I don’t exist until somebody needs a ride or the better entertainment options have all run-out. I’ve quit trying to tell anyone about the herculean effort it takes to put on shoes and go out the door. It’s a thing I must do. There’s a world out there worth seeing. I cannot do that if I’m sitting on the curb waiting for somebody who doesn’t really care how much effort it took to get there.

I tried to explain this to someone who is supposed to be an “expert” the other day. I got talked over there too. Then I was trying to do more of that fiddley stuff that keeps the train on the track and I guess I was asked what my thoughts on lunch were so someone else was stomping off in a huff because I did not hear the request. Do you want the tabs on your truck paid for or do you want me to spend every waking hour wondering what you want to eat?

So much I never say. Being “nice” again and just plodding forward.

My friend’s service is in a week. I don’t want people to think I didn’t care and I don’t want to deal with it either. Emotions still don’t work right for me. I was told it was because the head injury kept that stuff away. It made me really good in a crisis, cool as the other side of the pillow. Well, that pillow is kind of a rumpled mess. Ironically that lady would understand, we’d swap encouraging little pep talks when the fires got too close or the lights went out on cold and windy nights. Now the bad things have happened and there is no one to reassure. I didn’t realize my bravery happens when I can tell somebody else it’s going to be alright.

Wu keeps showing up when I’m ugly crying over stuff I can’t tell my youngest. He seems to know when hugs are needed. He helped me move the timeout chair so I could lay out a new pad of fake grass.  I don’t know if I’m safer there than anywhere else but the implication of “time out” seems to be understood. That damn black dog just sits its ass down if I stay in the house. I’m allergic to that kind of dog. I miss the white one, the one I couldn’t have around because she tended to give asshats a good chomp on the backside. Okay, so I couldn’t breathe when she was around and she loved Hubbin way more than she did me but I always was safe with her around. There are shots for that sort of thing.

Think I’ll finish American Gods tonight. Not the show, the book. Somebody said they weren’t into Neil Gaiman. Effin neanderthals!!!

OK, I know what I need…