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5:14PM - Friday November 28, 2003 I'm tired of all his damn whining and excuses, I don't care if he doesn't have much money and that depresses him so much that he can't clean the fucking dishes and empty the garbages. He can go out and get a damn job, he's done it before. I don't care if he can't 'lower' himself to get a job that's not in the damn film industry. It's pretty much winter, the industry is pretty much shutting down right now. I don't care anymore that his tummy is upset and he's constipated/has diarrhea. If he would actually watch his diet and not eat crap, he'd be much healthier and feel so much better. I don't care that the very act of leaving his room seems to stuff up his sinuses. He can open a damn window or actually dust something. And I don't care that he killed his damn computer through his own stupidity. I don't care if he's in even worse withdrawal now becasue I broke my leg and spend more itme on it. I don't care! Butch came over today and did the dishes in an attempt to shame him into doing something around here. I'm embarrassed to have my friends come and visit me. If they want a cup of tea, they can't even get to the counter becasue it's full of dirty dishes. We've been out of bowls and cups for days, if I want tea he rinses out a cup for me. What is wrong with him? I felt really bad because Butch has had insomnia lately and was really tired. She had to even clean some moldy things thanks to him and I was mortified. He has been worse than fucking useless since I got hurt--he's done one load of dishes in ten days, the garbages are overflowing, he went in my sewing room and cleared off the table and didn't put my stuff back, he grumbles about doing anything for me, he can't find things when they're right in front of his fucking nose, and today he threw a really childish tantrum and hurt my feelings and made me sad. You know what it was over? I didn't know where my library card was and he was stopping by the library and I had a book on hold. It wasn't in my wallet, it wasn't around my nest in the livingroom, and it certainly wasn't on the coffee table because Amber cleared that off when the girls came over for Dark Moon last weekend. I asked him to look for it in the box of detritus she cleared away, and to my eyes he poked in it for a minute and declared it not there. Last night, he half-heartedly looked for my box of pens, I gave him a reasonably precise guess about where I last saw them, and he couldn't find them. I walked into my sewing room and found them in two second this morning, right in front of my eyes. You can see why I might be a bit sceptical of his 'looking' skills, yes? So, I told him he hadn't really looked through the large box of crap, and he snaps, slams it into the floor, and starts pulling everything out of it in the noisiest, most agressive and hostile way he can manage. I kept my mouth shut because hey, he was finally actually looking for something properly for a change, and secondly, he was still going to have to pick all that shit up off the floor and put it back in the box. It really reminded me of my EvilEx, and I felt really shitty and almost cried. And the fucking card was in his fucking wallet the whole entire time. And I asked him days ago to put my sewing room back in order! I can still sew, and I might want to when I get bored! But I can't if he's taken all the stuff I need and put it on the floor or somewhere else I can't get it. Bah! When he had his hernia operation in the spring and was laid up for weeks, the apartment was clean for the first time since I let him move in. Know why? He was unable to mess it up. I could actually keep on top of the dishes because I was the only one who made them. Bah!
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