The deal…

The parents are out to get me dad especially. People spy on me stalk me every fucking second of my life every little sound I make they care so much about me but they want to hurt me make sure I am worse off damage me make me hurt.

These insane fuckers, need lives, need to be in therapy, need to be in prisons, need to be in institutions. Dad just retired. He’s got a whole lotta time on his hands now but no real good way to spend it. He’s going to work on his businesses. He’s not. He’s a liar and a cheat. And he’s angry when anyone stands up to his vile, stinking, evil.

Mom is going to work for the night. She retires next year, when I have some stable permanent employment and income. Assuming I get hired on with my current company. Then we buy a house, live without my dad, without the terrorist threat of a nightmare that is my father, who has abused both of us both our lives without any repercussions somehow, miraculously.

I have to go to bed but it’s a Friday so no I don’t. I have to figure out how to be happy. I have to figure out how to be at peace. In a psychic war zone. That is the challenge at hand. That is my reality. In the sink there is a food processor and the thinking is that we either put our hands in it, or leftovers. And obviously one or the other happens, but given the circumstances it is very divergent, the cutoff. It is very divergent, indeed.

Well what can I say, dear. What can I say. I need to figure this out, don’t I. It won’t happen immediately. Every little bit counts. I forgot, it’s not just on Twitter, it’s In Life (R)(TM)(C). So man up and have some fun.

Or whatever…

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