Good news from the lender Tom called from work yesterday! They said it’d be no problem to work with us. That doesn’t mean the park will accept us or change the fact that they’re super strict about who they take, but it certainly opens other doors for us in other parks if they don’t.

I hope the dream I had last night doesn’t mean anything bad. In it, Tom was calling around to other parks about other homes. Was this dream a sign saying the park will reject us?

I fixed the clogged shower drain by taking the plunger to it and the PMS hunger is kicking in. Perfect timing for it, though, cuz I usually stuff myself on Saturdays anyway. The hunger even woke me up last night so I knew I was burning calories. It’s no surprise with the way Andy worried me in my sleep! Yeah, I had a dream that was both worrisome and funny, but would be anything but funny if he told me what he told me in real life.

He and Kim became friends. I knew he’d eventually come to regret it once he got a firsthand taste of her insanity and the lies and delusions started adding up.

“Just don’t be surprised when she starts two-facing you and sending you rude, insulting messages anonymously while being sweet and kind to your face. This chick doesn’t know the meaning of the words friendship, kindness, caring, compassion and empathy. This chick hates. That’s all she does is hate and play pretend games, some of which may include creating accounts in your name to impersonate you.”

But he insisted it’d be “fine” and that he wasn’t worried about it. I knew, however, that he was a grown adult who had to do what he had to do and there was nothing I could do to talk him out of it till he eventually came to me admitting that I was right about her and he should’ve listened to me.

But then it got worse. Kim doesn’t live that far from him under the state line. Kim, who I’d bet just about anything, has never even so much as been kissed in her entire life. Naturally, I was horrified when he discussed actually meeting with her.

“Ok,” I said, “normally I let people do what they’re going to do but here’s where I can’t help but beg you not to meet with her. You don’t understand just how insane she is. These people, along with the other troll, live in a time warp. Once you let her go she’ll never let you go. She’ll harass you for life. She’ll always believe in her mind that you’re still friends, that you give a damn about her, and that you guys saw each other or chatted just yesterday. I don’t know that she’s physically dangerous, but what if she is? You DON’T want to meet her or let her see where you live!”

And then it got even worse! Andy decided to make her his sex slave and she agreed to it. “You know I don’t care about looks,” he insisted, “if it’s just for sex. Therefore, body parts don’t matter either since I’m not going to be servicing them.”

That’s when I went into panic mode and said, “You’ll care about looks when you see this one, trust me. Also, what if my MPD suspicions are right? That’s usually brought on by childhood sexual abuse, Andy. What if she has flashbacks about whoever molested her and goes crazy on you?”

And so I woke up hopelessly trying to talk him out of meeting with this psychopath that easily outweighs him.

Later…

I’m doing a test right now to see if Kim really isn’t reading my other blogs when I don’t update MD, be it because she can’t view it well on her cell, wants to avoid tracking, or whatever. I didn’t post the entry about the dream she was in on MD. It’ll be interesting to see what “questions” may come in on Ask when I finally do.

It’s a good thing Tom was in the kitchen to stop me from accidentally putting the cheese under the sink. In the box it was in I thought it was freezer bags at first, haha.

We scanned in the important papers we’ll need for dealing with the park people and the lenders.

Other than pigging out and doing laundry, it’s been a relaxing day. Tom put the hubcap back on that fell off, and fixed the car’s AC.

They’ve given Tom back his weekends, but still OTing him during the week. The extra money is still nice, but so is his getting to have the entire weekend off.

We were debating whether or not the home we hope to get but don’t expect to get has dual-paned windows, since it doesn’t say so in the listing. He thinks it does, I think it doesn’t, but then Tom read that if your home was built after 1980, it probably has dual-paned windows.

I’m just trying not to get my hopes up. I won’t even plan in my mind what I’d want to do with each room. He started to ask where I’d put what and I said, “I don’t even want to go down that road again. Not until we actually get a place. Then I’ll decide.”

Later…

I don’t know if some glitch will prevent her from getting it or she just won’t care to read it, but I sent my final two cents to Maliheh. As I told her, she’s… well, here’s what I told her she is, but first, I found a video of her singing and playing guitar on YouTube. I can’t swear that that was her in front on guitar because it was of poor quality. The person seemed a bit tall and heavy to be her, but if it was her, she plays guitar much better than she sings. She’s just an average singer. Like me she’s better than most but nothing to flip over. So here’s what she’ll no doubt call my “Dear John” letter to her.

I don’t know if some glitch will prevent her from getting it or she just won’t care to read it, but I sent my final two cents to Maliheh. As I told her, she’s… well, here’s what I told her she is, but first, I’m not going to use just her initial. I’m not obligated to her in any way and since we’re no longer friends and she dumped me like a hot potato, I’m in no position to really care about her feelings, though I’ll never use her last name.

Wow, I missed your birthday! Guess I was just too busy to care. Well, what do you think? Think I might’ve been too busy not giving a shit? You know, sort of like how you never gave a shit about me. You sure put on a good act for me for a while, though. Are you proud of yourself for proving my deepening suspicions to be correct? Yeah, Maliheh, “I’ve been sick,” or “I’ve been busy” won’t cut it anymore, so please don’t try that one on me. You’ve gotten too obvious that no matter how many times you try to tell me it’s not me and that you’ll always be my friend and not stay away so long in the future, I’ll never believe it.

But you’re right, it’s not me. It’s YOU. You befriended me under false pretenses just to keep your name out of the book like many suggested was the case, and like I came to suspect in time. If your heart wasn’t in the idea of us being friends, why then? Why? Why couldn’t you simply have contacted me and said, “Look, I really don’t want to be your friend, but I’d like to ask you to remove my name?” I would have honored your request. Instead, you thought you could just order me around, make demands, then discard me like yesterday’s trash once you’d gotten what you wanted.

Or maybe you really were a true friend for a while, then got sick of me or something and were just afraid to come out and tell me you were dumping me for fear of me bashing you in my blog, using your name in a book, or taking it out on your friends. I won’t, though. You’re the same person you were in 1991, but I’ve changed. If I said your name would remain out of my books, it will. Same for leaving your friends alone. As for my blog, no worries there either. I won’t make up any tall tales about you, BUT… it is my blog and I have the right to express myself in it. Even though I’m not legally obligated to do so I usually only refer to you as just M. Look up blogger’s rights and you’ll see that as long as I don’t use full names, give sensitive info, or make any threats, then I’m not doing anything wrong.

In coming to learn through your actions and not your words that my friendship meant nothing to you, now I don’t know if the things you told me are even true. Do you really sing and play the guitar? You sure seemed to and the things on your FB account (yes, there are ways to legally view private accounts without hacking into them, including PMs) but then why were you so unwilling to share videos with me? And do you really think I’m a good writer? IDK, maybe you don’t think I’m talented at all. Maybe you really think I suck shit, but I know one thing for sure. I have never done a damn thing wrong to you other than the prank calls I made and pestering your pals. You have done nothing but fuck with my head and lie to me, both in the past and the present, and I’m going to make sure that it never happens again. You were always just a typical bitch wrapped up in a pretty package. If I were single and looking I’d go right for those fatties, uglies and plain lame Janes I always used to bitch about getting stuck with. They’re the only ones who are for real and because I was never all that good-looking myself they knew I was real too, while your kind knew I was too good for you. Literally.

The red flag first went up when you refused to chat via phone and to add me on Facebook. Sorry, but I don’t buy your claims of not being very active there. Maybe you weren’t then, but you sure have been for quite a while now. So to tell me you only check in once in a blue moon to see who’s died is ridiculous. C’mon anyone that can master the guitar is not dumb. And guess what? I’m not either. I think you really did read the book. You probably had nothing to do with whoever was impersonating you for a while there or harassing me on ask.fm, but sending me friend requests and then quickly canceling them wasn’t very funny. I didn’t appreciate it one bit. Did that picture of you and Karen Carpenter really ever exist that you promised to share but never did? I just don’t know what to believe anymore, but it doesn’t matter because this is the last you will ever hear from me. We’re DONE.

Another red flag was when you said you hated it when people would send messages asking if you were ok if they didn’t hear from you for months, as if you knew you were planning on slowly drifting away once you felt comfortable and confident enough knowing you’d gotten what you wanted. Oh, I don’t doubt you’ve had your share of illnesses and hardships. But two people don’t go from talking nearly every day to not talking for months that are good friends. You wouldn’t even take the time to send me a quick message once a week. You promised not to let so much time go by again, but you did. Now don’t worry. I’m not going to beg you to change. I wouldn’t want anyone to stay in my life that was unhappy. I don’t regret what we had, but like I said, we’re done. I lost all respect for you. I’m as done with you as you have been with me. It was fun and it was interesting for a while, but I find it harder and harder to care about those who don’t care about me. Maybe you don’t wish bad things upon me, but you certainly don’t care about me. Nonetheless, you were someone I once loved and so I will cherish the memories of those months of chatting with you. Meanwhile, how you take this “Dear John” letter or whatever you want to call it is up to you. You’re welcome to visit my blogs if you ever really want to know what’s up with me, but I won’t be bothering you with any more emails.

You DID ask me to dance with you as soon as my friend and I entered the bar. You DID give me a reason to think the attraction was mutual. You DID kiss me on the way out of the place. You DID give me your phone number yourself. No, I don’t think you were drunk, but I do think you were deliberately playing with my head and that you were never really attracted to me. Only I was too naïve to see it at the time. And I don’t believe you weren’t behind those prank calls either, I happened to get an UNLISTED number that less than a dozen people had after I was charged with the pranks to you.

You said you like being alone. Do you really? Or are you alone because of how you are? Well, your reasons are your business and while you may like to be alone, I hope you at least have a lot of friends since you burned me as a bridge as far as a possible safety net goes. If you’re ever homeless, I won’t be there for you, and I know you’re not doing too well right now cuz of the dreams. In one dream I was working outside on whatever. You walked up to me and said, “Do you know who I am?” I said, “Yeah, I know who you are.” I made sure to let you know with my tone that I really didn’t care either, reminding you that you threw me away like an old, used-up dishrag once you’d finally gotten what you wanted from me.

How do you live with yourself? I wonder.

Now it’s my turn to tell YOU what to do. You will A, never email me again because it will be marked as spam instead of actually read. You will B, never contact me on Facebook or any other site, though I don’t care if you read my blogs. You will C, find a dildo made of metal, heat it up on the stove and shove it up your arse.

Goodbye “Boss”