Drama-Llama Warning

Intertubes, I have a bit of a problem.

This is another one of those posts that is more of a journal entry than it is informative of... anything, really. So, if you want to avoid a whole mess of personal drama, I'd suggest clicking anybody in my sidebar over on the right. They usually have something important/amusing/thoughtful to read, and it will keep you from an overdose of OH GOD WHY.

As you read a few posts back, the Redhead and I have parted ways. I stayed with Sister for a while, but once her newest little one was born, I was underfoot, and I know when I need to make myself scarce. I'm now living with the previously mentioned Bret, Leo, and Mary (henceforth known as Stud, Nerd, and Androgynous, respectively).

Well, it goes without saying that Redhead, in his typical fashion, utterly loathes Stud’s existence. He is so very convinced that I was sneaking around behind his back with Stud for the past year and a half, and the fact that I am now living with Stud just confirms it! Le gasp! He was right!

Not really, but you all know how paranoid conspiracy theorists can be, I’m sure.

Redhead and I both returned to work yesterday. I have been dreading that very thing for the past two weeks, since I moved out. We work in the same building, with him making food on one side of a rec center’s food court, and me working a cash register on the other side. In the past, whenever he has been mad at me for any reason, and we’re both at work… I sit at my register and check out customers, minding my own business. Redhead constantly walks over to my register to hiss and cuss and be insulting and degrading in every way possible.

You can see why I would be apprehensive about returning to work.

Then, the heavens smiled upon me, and a lot of people did not show up for corporate training for the new branch of Einstein Brother’s Bagels we just opened on campus, so those that had any training got pulled to work over there. Which meant Redhead was out of my hair! Hooray!

Except he would wander over to the rec center on his lunch break and hover around my register for half an hour, making me uncomfortable. He was being nice and cordial and making small talk, but his very presence made me extremely nervous. Maybe it’s because I’m so used to his behavior, that I keep expecting an explosion.

Well, when I saw him today, I told him I needed to come by after work and pick up my monster boots. I have to park across campus, and yesterday we got a ZOMG Snowpacolypse. The monster boots are one of two pairs of shoes that I own, the others being soft leather loafer-looking things with slip-proof soles, for work and job hunting. Needless to say, they do not do well when having to crunch across parking lots that have not been visited by the MoDOT Plow Fairy. Not to mention my pants get wet and then I’m just a cranky bitch.

He wanted to know if I would be bringing Wee Idjit with me. No, says I, because it is ridiculously cold outside and I do not want to expose him to that. That’s just mean. Besides, I’d be coming straight from work. He just kinda walked off…. And one of our mutual coworkers immediately sought me out to find out what I said to piss him off. Oh, the old women at work are LOVING the juicy gossip my existence seems to provide.

Look, I understand wanting to see Wee Idjit. I have no problem bringing him over so you two can spend time together. I want you to see him. You’re his father, and a child needs his father. But getting mad at me because I refuse to expose him to dangerously low temperatures multiple times? No. Don’t play that game with me.

Then he called me a few hours later. Told me he was tired of hearing about life with the roommates. He wanted more than anything for me to come home.

It’s too late for that now. This is the third time we have broken up for any amount of time. The first time, I was gone for a weekend and came back. The second time, I was gone for three weeks, in Texas. This time, there is no coming back. Third time’s the charm, as the saying goes. I will not be lured back into the same old routine with promises of change, of less screaming. More nights where I can fall asleep peacefully, without snide remarks and whispered words of hatred because I’m not the little ass-kisser you want me to be.

This is where I make a stand. This is where my life changes. And there ain’t a fucking thing you can do about it. So pull up your big boy pants, if you got them, and learn to deal with it. You can either take me and Daniel and the way we live, the way it is, or you can get angry and throw a fit about it. Makes me no never mind.

This is where the real change begins.