2004-06-18 - 4:07 p.m.

I have been ready to leave this place for close to eight years. And, for a moment a week ago, I kind of thought I had been hasty with that desire. I was kind of sad to go.

Until today. Now I remember why I was so ready to get out of here. I mean, there are so many reasons...but this cat situation (from next door) is one of the main reasons. These people have pretty much destroyed the peace I had around here at one point because they let their cats get to such a vast number that I always have at least three of their cats on my porch starving to death. And those are just the ones that are tame enough to let a person see them. They have many more that are so wild that no one ever sees them, they just know they are there because they are always fighting and shit. of their cats is this little black cat who never shuts up. She hangs out on my porch ALL the time. Meowing. Constantly. And she is all skinny and beaten up and I feel bad so of course I feed her and usually in the summer I end up treating her for fleas because she loses her hair from infestation. And every once in a while the girl from next door comes to retrieve her. This has been going on for years.

So today someone knocks at my door and when I open it I find an angry neighbor who says, "Can you please come and get your fucking cat off my porch?" And I say, "All my cats are right here." And he says, "No, that little black cat is on my porch again. Normally I wouldn't mind much but I have been feeding this cat and now it has an abcess that needs to be taken care and I'll be damned if I am going to take care of it." So I reitterate that my cats are all accounted for and that my cats (who all weigh so much that I can't even fly them like normal cats because they exceed the weigh limits) wouldn't need to be fed by anyone. Then I tell him that the little black cat belongs to the girl next door and he tells me that Jim (another neighbor) told him that the black cat was mine because the other day he had talked to me about it. Which means he talked to Felicia...which means that he thinks Felicia is me. Which means that my neighbors must have been thinking this whole time that I was her. And I don't want to be her. I don't want people thinking I am her. I take care of my cats and yes, they go outside, but I also only let them out for a couple hours a day (unless it is my day off and then I let them out from morning until night)and I take care of my cats and I am not AT ALL like her. I feel this desperate need to make sure all these people are not thinking that she is me. I mean, I like Felicia, a lot, in fact I always dream about winning the lottery and helping her out, getting her out of here, because I see a lot of potential in her...but really, she is just a simple minded girl who will probably end up pregnant (I am suprised she hasn't ended up like that already) and living with a string of abusive men for the rest of her life without ever having picked up a book or doing anything to better herself. I am desperate to fix this misunderstanding and that makes me feel bad because somehow I must believe I am way better than she is. And that sucks that I believe that. Even if it is true. I also don't want people to think I abuse my animals. Because I love my animals.


My mother is still not speaking to me since the day I ran into her boyfriend at that store and invited him over for a quick beer. And I am totally pissed at her about this. Not just because I am right in believing I did nothing wrong (I see him at the store and instead of standing outside talking I ask him to go two blocks to my house to have a quick beer while finishing the discussion and he calls her and tells her and said he invited her and then five seconds later I get a scathing call from her calling me a bitch because I don't invite her and how wrong I am and how terrible I am...all the while I was just trying to get to my fucking porch to have a beer (because that is what I had been exicted about all day) before the sun went down instead of standing around in the parking lot)and thinking that her boyfriend had told her where he was and that she should stop by (as though she needs an invitation)and then when I hang up on her (because I can't listen to her anymore) she calls my answering machine and tells me, my boyfriend and her boyfriend that she hopes we all go to my eyes I did NOTHING that would elicit that kind of response)but because I think that when you get mad at someone you really need to look at levels. I mean, I could never imagine getting so mad at my child that I wouldn't speak to them...over ANYTHING unless it was murder and even then I would probably still speak to them. I can't imagine a level of anger that would make me miss one moment of my childs life. My mother doesn't know that I am most likely getting married IN A MONTH, she doesn't know that Eric bought me my dream ring from Morrisons, she doesn't know that I have been really sick, she doesn't know anything...she missed it all and I am NOT calling her because I almost hate her for this. I hate her for doing this to me. I hate that when I was sixteen I was FORCED to move out because of a fucking afghan. No one understands what I am talking about...but if you knew my mother you would know that ANY situation can be so blown out of control that one could indeed be FORCED to move out at sixteen over a disagreement about an AFGHAN. I hate that I am always biting my tongue, that I have to keep things from her because she will take it to a level that cannot even be dealt with. I hate that she can make an issue out of anything. I hate that she is SO unhappy about something that she feels the need to make an issue out of anything. Seriously, she could make an issue out of someone pouring a glass of milk. It's really something.

And now I have to go clean. Since Eric left on Wednesday I have been trying to recover. As usual. Trying to get some sleep, put this house back together, get into my normal routines. I haven't been doing so well because I have been sick. We had Chinese on Tuesday and the leftovers are STILL sitting on my table. That is so gross.



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