*blue balls not included.
I tossed-and-turned over whether to post this today… but I realize I’m still pissed. Hopefully, this vent will help me move through it.
I haven’t felt so hot the last few days. Maybe it’s delayed jet lag, maybe it’s another bout of the flu coming around. I attempted to retreat to bed early the other night (at the boyfriend’s house) to no avail. I just asked to leave me be and stated I needed some quiet time. I just wanted a glass of red wine, my new book… and QUIET. Too much to ask apparently. You see, I have a huge annoyance with loud noises and brights lights — all of which are in abundance at the boyfriend’s house. He proceeded to play guitar for about an hour loud enough to hear two blocks away, then fall asleep in the basement with the TV loud enough for the cat to hear in the front window across the street. I hate that the lights are all on dimmers — and when they’re on all the way, they’re too bright and bring me head discomfort. I hate that when you dim them down, there’s this irritating high-pitched squeal. He can’t hear any of this, of course. I have canine-like senses when it comes to sound and smell, and all these little sensations begin to grain on me. I slowly went insane lying there in bed, trying to sleep — covering my head with all the pillows attempting to drown out the noise. I wanted to just pick up and go home, but easier said than done. I wanted to tell him to PLEASE!! turn it down a little, but my past experiences (and lack of calm in these situations) caused territorial rifts for no real rational reasons.
Then, I get an email at work requesting some "time alone" for peace and quiet the next couple days while he works through some insane body fast and detox. Which Mel’s head translates to: Get the fuck out of my house for the rest of the week. You might figure, that’s fine, go to your own house, you have a great place in which you pay (ie: waste) a lot of money, all lonely and under-used. But seeing as how I practically live at his place (and subsequently moved the "rest" of my clothing and accessories to his house this past weekend), I had to pack up a suitcase of crap and lug it BACK to my fucking condo, since I have nothing left there to comfortably get ready in the mornings. I don’t even have a set of fucking pajamas. It’s absolutely ridiculous.
My question posed to him was: So, when I actually AM living here and have no place of my own to go back to, what do I do when you need "alone" time? Go to my fucking mother’s?
I don’t do step-backs very well…
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This blog is about pursuit: a transplanted Clevelander (me) in a new city (that's you, Pittsburgh!), pursuing the role of a self-employed copywriter, becoming a roller derby badass and somehow merging all my to-do items into one ever-growing Bucket List.
And of MY boyfriend. His blue balls started this mess.
