Windsparrow, when he can keep his mind on his work, he's knowledgeable about a range of issues. I was impressed. And also saddened that his fantasies are so juvenile, but after all the Philip Roth, not as surprised as a lot of people. But it's still sad--risking your whole life for Joseph Gribble shit like "Naked in high heels." really? Not that I'd be like "Tony, next time there's a scandal, I want you to be a real fucking *perv* or it's not worth it," but kind of.

OMG. I am totally the drama llama right now.

First though, ND, I hope the intertwined stressors let up soon...in a fruitful manner. And, Connie, I hope you don't leave a trail!

More house drama for me with a side order of batfuck crazy.

One of the things I was proudest of over the holiday, was taking it upon myself to trim the roses back in my front yard...rather than bitching that my landlord has (quite actually) not laid a hand on them for the last 10 years. The roses hurt me, and he doesn't care, so it's on me to do something. So I did, and frankly, they looked great when I was done and I told him about it immediately.

SEVERAL of the neighbors have complained about the way the place looks, but hey, he doesn't give a shit.

This morning, one of my neighbors, who has been threatening to sneak in and chop them down herself, said that I didn't trim them back enough. I don't know anything about roses and don't have the equipment to do any more, but she offered to lend me her loppers.

I assented in the that, yeah, sure, someday sort of way.

I walk out of my house a few hours later and she has chopped two of the four bushes to the ground and left the thorny branches strewn around like they some crazy person had a fit.

My landlord thinks I did it out of spite.

I don't want to tell him who DID do it, for fear that some war will break out. So, I begged her to tell him the truth. All she wanted to know was if I'd said her name out loud.

PLUS, the outside door has broken for about the 8th time in the last year. EVERY time this crap-ass, dent bin, 'bargain' he installed breaks, it's my fault because I don't open the door properly. Or whatever the hell.

There is no mail slot, like the previous door, so I have to leave the 'security' door unlocked all day because the Post Office will refuse to deliver my mail after so many lock outs.

He's bitching that he has had to buy 3 new mechanism and I'm furious because I'm getting blamed for other people's choices.

GOD. I could chew nails.

You don't want a war between your landlord and the neighbor, but you're willing to have the landlord think you spitefully cut down the roses? I'd want to minimize grief with the person who could decline to renew your contract on your living space.

Your logic is sound, Connie, but the neighbor is actually crazy. Having him lip off to her, as he would, would spark her to greater heights of crazy and THAT would be my fault because he is pathologically conflict averse.

To his way of thinking, the fact that I ever spoke to anyone about the roses makes this my fault. Because he's crazy too.

eta: In the end, I made it clear that this is not my business and I hope the other person comes clean.

In a rather impolitic outburst, I told the neighbor's son (we chat all the time) that his mom had 'fucked me' and that I hope she takes the heat off of me.

If she had any honor, however, she would have walked down to the store immediately, so yeah, that's a long shot.

bonny, perhaps you could tell the landlord that you didn't do it and didn't actually see anyone else do it - literally true but not pointing a finger. That's all I could suggest.

In unrelated news, a collection of knitting cartoons. Called It Itches.

Hubby update:

Next 4 Fridays, up to Cancer Center for surgeries, tests, first round of chemo. Tomorrow there's a lung test that he said "scares me." If all goes well, the rest of the chemos will be done down here.

Doable, but I'm going to have to cope with his daughter, who will meet us at the train and drive us to the center. By all rational measures, she has as much right to be there as I do. But just the thought of having to cope with her in this situation makes me want to weep. I don't want to fucking bond, I don't want to have to be understanding of her grief, I don't want to.

He's scared out of his mind, he keeps fucking apologizing to me, I don't want to try and untangle 30 years of father-daughter relationship. He said, "Oh, she'll be working on her homework." Yeah, right. She's a chatterer, she wants to be able to call me Mom. I am not maternal. I cannot be maternal in this situation. He says he's explained it to her, but I've met her, I think she thinks Lifetime movies are a good model of behavior.

I'm only going to be able to bite back my own reactions so far, and it's going to get ugly, which he so does not need to deal with. I comfort one person in this universe. It's not her.

The above brought to you by an unfeeling bitch with no respect for a father-daughter relationship that's suffered over the years and who is digging around in the muck of her soul to even find the decent feeling to even feel sorry about that. And who is not finding it.

Fuck it

I'm sorry, I didn't mean to break Bitches. By being one.

The cancer center wants to do research on Hubby, because they don't see his cancer that often. I think I shall ask if we get royalties for this, to watch them squirm. Though research for the greater good and all that. Turns out his type of cancer is more common in the Nordic regions. But Germany has done good work on treating it. Go go, Team Nordic Mutants!

Teppy - insent on a whole nother matter.

Connie, you're not a bitch. You're in pain, too. You get to grieve in your own way, the same as she or anyone else does. It's hard to deal with your own sorrow when you to have to also deal with people whose grieving process is intrusive. For me, dealing with my sister's grief was actually harder than dealing with my mother's illness. Go easy on yourself.