Half a Pair

I was watching being human & had this thing happen.

I felt funny in the head, like drugs were kicking in only i didn't take any. I saw roundish bubble like shapes in glowing white & my head hurt on the right side very badly. My speech got worse cuz my tongue got sluggish & my right ear ached like an earache.

S noticed, tho I didn't say anything, and he asked me if I was having a stroke in a blase manner. I thot it was more like a seizure, but just said, "prolly, maybe, I don't know"

I leaned back against the couch & closed my eyes. I wanted to be dying. I wanted for my nerves to be misfiring their last. But after 10 minutes or so I was fine.

I felt uneasy & unhappy, but the pain in my head and ear were gone.

I wanted to take a picture of Foster sitting on S's leg, but didn't get it & the first  snap was of him looking startled.
He asked if I'd wanted a picture of Foster, but my reply was just my observation of the photo I'd taken. I said, : I think you startled" and a stray "him" or "he" came out & S got offended right away; said, "it's always my fault" and I snapped a photo. The way he was looking at me. I was sitting too far away to see his face, but I felt like he was hating me. I'm really sensitive to energies. I was shocked & not shocked that that was how he was looking at me & wanted him to see what I see, to understand that his face gets intensely evil. I tossed the camera over to the couch.


He got up in a huff, saying fuck this and he's going to bed cuz I'm being bothersome wanting to talk about shit.

I was only asking if he *was indeed hating me in the moment* or if that's just what his tired face looks like. I thought I was reading him wrong; giving him the benefit of the doubt I had, or wanted to have. Maybe he hates me automatically when he's tired, I wondered aloud.

He hugged me in a surly way, told me to take my dirty dishes to the kitchen & went to bed. I know he can hear me crying.

I cut the dish gloves the first time I used them, so we just bought replacements. I unpackage them & try to put them on only to discover there are 2 left gloves when all I needed was a right one.

So, I'm crying about that & my storenvy being disabled by complete random error, how I can't eat pancakes or grilled cheese, my gramma being dead and I can't ask her what if was like to not see faces or anything anymore, and about how fucked up and hard and awful my life has been & is, in general, so much of the time.

I feel like that little stroke was a door opening & the only reason I didn't leave is because he was in the room with me.

But, as I'm trying to pull myself together I think of those boots I found on etsy today. I used to put mine on in a rush & bolt out the door. I'd hit the handle & pane at nearly the same time, running from hurtful people who were supposed to love me. That door held up fine to the amazement of any neighbor who happened to witness my escape, to the chagrin of my mother who wanted to add property damage to the runaway report she'd be making in a minute.

The thing is, those boots, I couldn't run in them very well or very far at all. They were the first purchase I made with money I earned working at KBToys:  they represented freedom. Not freedom from, but freedom to; to be who I am. From the moment I first put them on I was more sure of myself, secure with myself being tall and strange. They lace like a dream and I've yet to find another pair of platform boots that are as fast or faster to get on.

I left without them on one time & my mom threw away just one; the left one. It took ten years to track down a pair but it happened; they'd fit my soulmate, but not me.

As I was thinking about my day etwas occurred to me. Ya know? I didn't tell S about my find. I didn't think he'd care. I've spent hours scouring the web & drawn him pictures & when we go thrifting I've crossed my fingers hoping aloud that that day would be the day I get my boots back. But, I don't think he's been hearing me. If I told him I felt he wouldn't care enough & that would hurt me, so I just didn't bring it up. I think thats kind of revealing.

And this is on top of a day stacked with insane coincidences I've been climbing to my belfry.


psh, it's 12 monkey