Monday, January 4, 2010

How many times can you lose somebody?

I feel like he's gone all over again, just when I was ok.  I feel like the knife slipped, and I cut where I never meant to.  The smug little bastard will probably read this and think he's won.  He hasn't won so long as I can breathe.  He hasn't won so long as I can hold a paintbrush, or hold a camera, or hold a conversation!
First he went away.  It hurt.
Then we broke up.  It hurt.
Then he said he was moving far away.  It hurt.
Then he came back, but he snuck past without letting me know.  It hurt.  A lot.
Then he cut me out of his life without my say so.  That's what hurts.  I never said you could leave you miserable good-for-nothing piece of shit!  I never said you could leave until I told you to go!

I feel there must be other people who know how I feel.  There must be other peoplewho have half-hour showers, just to try and wash the pain away; but are there other people who go through that same stage five fucking times!? Who's goat did I steal in my last life to cop this shit?

I just need to know that at least some of what I feel is normal.  Can somebody please leave a comment here to tell me I'm normal?  I don't even care if yoou have to lie to tell me; but sign your name.  I can't handle any more unsigned comments on this thing.

Signed with love, because my heart is still full of love despite myself,
From The Pretty Kitty.

PS- This may be my last blog post here.  I'm gonna start another, just maybe not here.

Tuesday, December 29, 2009

I Remember...

I remember when Postman Pat had no wife or child.  I remember being allowed an ice cream every day after school, and nobody worrying that it would make me fat.  I remember petrol being 80c/L.  I remember the Gateway Bridge toll being $2.  I remember a $2 toll being considered a rip-off.  I remember Paddle Pop and Billabong ice creams being 75c each.  I remember Magnum ice creams being really expensive at $2.50.  I remember "A Country Practice" the first time it was on, and I remember the first time my Daddy was at work for Christmas.
My family had always head a family Christmas party when I was little, Christmas was a big deal on both sides.  My Nana had come over from England as a litttle girl in 1925, and was still cooking a traditional hot Christmas dinner in 1991, til my mum (her daughter-in-law) explained to her, very gently, the insanity of her plan.  My Mum would always organise a Christmas lunch for whomever was available to come from both sides of the family (mostly my dad's family, because my mother's family in the local area was just her brothers and one of them had a wife.  Their parents had died before I was born).  My Nana would do Christmas dinner, mainly for her children and their sposes and her grand-children, but sometimes a spouse's brother or sister would be there, and Nana liked a big gathering, because it made her feel needed and gave her something to complain about.
In 1996, my Dad started work on an oil rig out in the desert.  He was working as the campie (camp attendant) which means he was essentially the "house keeper" for the camp where the drillers live.  Dad started work on the rig in August.  I was told he'd be away for three weeks, but then come home.  I presumed that after he went away for three weeks, he'd be home for good.  Imagine how I felt when, only one week later, he went away for another three weeks!? Christmas 1996 was my first Christmas without Daddy.  I was nine years old.  My Nana had stopped having her Christmas party about two years before, sighting "oldness", but Mum still had hers, even without Dad there.  I was excited that the party would go ahead, and extra excited because Mum said we would have a second Christmas with Dad when he came home.  It would have been OK, but at the "real" Christmas party, well-meaning friends and relations kept trying to comfort me.  My Aunty was the worst, my father's sister, whose husband had gotten Daddy the job in the first place.  Her husband was rostered off for Christmas, so I didn't want any comfort from her!
The next year Dad was working Christmas too, but Mum didn't have the Christmas party.  She told all the family they were welcome to come to our Christmas party when Dad got home, but none of them did.  I had my Christmas breakfast that year on December the 25th, and I opened half my presents, but Mum left all of hers for when Dad got home.
When I was fourteen years old, they started shutting down the rig at Chritstmas Time.  My Dad was home!  We'd moved from the Gold Coast to Maryborough by this time, so we had no family for a Christmas party, even if they chose to come along for the first time in five years.  I'd stopped caring about Christmas, and started being embarressed about how many presents I got each year.  Just.  Too.  Many.  Especially since I knew that, even with the rig job, my parents could not afford what they gave me.
It was nice to have Dad home for Christmas.
So now fast forward to the present day.  I've wanted nothing more than to move back to the Gold Coast since about a year after I left it.  This year, I make it back.  After some mental tossing and turning, a lot of re-shuffling and ridding myself of 80kg of ugly fat in just one day (for those of you who are slow, I dumped my boyfriend) I ended up living with my Uncle.  You can read about him if you search for the tag "potato".  It's actually not too bad, there.  So, anyway, my mother's other brother has kinda been kicked out by his current whatever-she-is, not because of anything he's done, but simply because she's crazy.  It's kind of OK, because he was going to come to Maryborough for Christmas with his sister, anyway.  He now lives in a tent in our yard until further notice.  I came up to Maryborough by train, and even though they've stopped closing the rigs for Christmas (because they are miserable arseholes) my Daddy came home a little after me. My uncle on the Gold Coast won't take the train, so got his brother to drive down and get him, all for the low, low price of double-the-cost-of-the-train.  We were together.  Not my whole family, but my immediate family and my mother's brothers, currently both wife-less.  Family Christmas was beautiful.  I'm going home in January, my uncle is already home, having again gotten his brother to drive him.  Dad's rostered off for a break, so I think I go home before he goes back to work.
A lot of shit went down this Christmas, and a lot of shit hit the fan, but over-all, this was the best Christmas I can remember.

Signed with love,
The Pretty Kitty.

Saturday, December 19, 2009

I'll be home for Christmas...

...Whether I like it or not. I'm here, Mum and Dad are both here. My two uncles are still on the Gold Coast. My father is a very upsetting human being since he turned sixty a few days ago. He keeps saying things like, "I'm old, I might be dead tomorrow!" and "Nobody wants an old man around, I'm just gonna go rot!" I find these things very distressing. Last night he came out with about five similar things in a row. I burst into tears; he then berated my mother for upsetting me. In a wet, puddly mess I went into the room he'd skulked off to to tell him my mother had not, in fact, upset me, he had upset me. He yelled out to my mother, asking her why she'd made me lie about who upset me. I'll be 23 next month, I believe (although, I have been wrong before) that I am now old enough to know how I feel without being told, and in fact have been old enough to know how I feel without being told for oh, 22 and a half years!

This situation has elevated my father from "stupid potato" to "Giant Retarded Butt-Monkey"!!!

Thank you for your time,
Signed with love,
The Pretty Kitty

Friday, December 18, 2009

I live with my uncle now.

It may not be a creative title, but it's the truth. No, you freaks! Not that sort of uncle! My actual uncle; my mother's brother. It's... interesting. At least there is no secret meat. I'm not on the Gold Coast at the moment, anyway, I'm in Maryborough, visiting my Mum and that guy she's married to. Ok, he's my Dad. I have an interesting relationship with my father. I don't dislike him, but sometimes it's like trying to be friends with a potato. A really stupid potato that moves my stuff without asking, and then forgets where he put it.
My Uncle is exactly the same, but the opposite... He keeps the box to absolutely every appliance he buys so he can put everything in its own original box if he moves house or if the Secret Toaster Police come around or some such thing. I dunno. I took one look at the pile of boxes and I quit. I just plain quit. The boxes may not be flattened. They are all box-shaped, full of air and in my way. Don't touch the empty boxes, whatever you do! Also, don't touch the garden! The land lord weeds the garden twice a year. That's right, two times every year, so there's no need for you to weed the garden! Never mind that you go outside completely devoid of vegetation upon your person and end up a vector for about seven kinds of seeds, you don't need to pull the weeds up, the land lord will do it in three month's time!
"Did you wash my mug?" My uncle asked me the other day. "Yes." I said, "I wanted to know what colour it was." Honest to God, that mug had not been washed in over TEN YEARS! I bleached it. I plan to bleach it once-per-month.
I like, love, the area where I'm living now, though. I walk across the highway and then down a few metres and I'm at one of the most beautiful wave beaches in the world. Stunning! And, of course, owing to my dream to one day live in the ocean, I do so love that location! I seem to be in a very '!' mood tonight. It may be because it's just after 3AM? We may never know the truth, but be sure the truth is out there... wait, I don't have to pay copyright to use that line, do I!?
I'm also near a great shopping centre with everything, including a place that sells kitchen sinks.
But for now I'm in Maryborough. It's Christmas time, and so I will be with my family. For the first time in about 14 years, my mother and both of her brothers will have Christmas together. My Dad is home from work (he works on an oil rig in the desert) and I've come up from the Gold Coast, so we will be having a family Christmas! My Mum's brother (the one I don't live with, not in any way potato like) in camped in my parent's back yard in his tent. He's been here for about a week already. Tonight he drove down to the Gold Coast, and on Monday night he will return with his brother. That's the other thing about my uncle. He doesn't drive, (well, neither do I), but he won't take the train like a normal person, even though the train is less than half the cost of his brother making a round-trip to drive him... POTATO MAN!
I'm gonna go put stuff on ebay now, then I'm going to bed, coz the sun'll be up real soon!

Signed with love,
The Pretty Kitty.

Friday, November 13, 2009

Some stuff about me.

My name is Cassandra, Cassie, Blossom, Blossy, Iris, Kitty or Kitten, depending who you ask (don't ask my mum. She'll give you the boring answer). I have six friends my own age (between 16 and 32) living in Australia. Only one of these six friends lives on the Gold Coast, and that's a very delicate, new friendship which is still in the stage where it needs to be sheltered and protected. Should turn out well, though; she's a very nice girl, and I'm the Pretty Kitty. Four of these friends are male, out of these four, one is ex-boyfriend, one lives in Victoria, and is in jail, so it's difficult for him to visit, one hasn't been answering my messages or calls for a few weeks without letting me know why, and one is getting married to my very best ever human friend.
My very best friend ever was a dog. A little yappy dog who thought she was the biggest animal on the face of the Earth. She died five years ago, aged somewhere between 12 and 16. I still miss her every day, and sometimes I sit in the park and talk aloud to her like the crazy lady I am.
I believe in Faeries.
I read Tarot.
I want to live in the ocean.
I love people, and take any opportunity to surround myself with them, even people I don't know, and even though I'm painfully shy and socially retarded.
I'm slipping back into depression, despite things going well for me at the moment, and I may have to go back on anti-depressants, even though I hate every little thing about them, except the not feeling quite as depressed part.
I hate shop mannequins. I hate that they try to tell me I should be shaped like that to wear those clothes- which means sometimes I should be silver and have a 20 inch waist and no head- and now they all have nipples, so I know my nipples aren't the right size or shape for their clothes either, so maybe I should just go naked all the time!?
I love that all babies, all around the world, make that little "ble-le-le" noise with their tongues.
Why am I telling you all this seemingly disjointed stuff? Because I'm moving house on Monday and I don't know when I'll get back to tell you more.
If any of my friends are reading this, call me, I'm pathetically lonely at the moment, and I really miss my cat! I also miss Alvin. Alvin was my pet crayfish. S/he died early this year. We'd almost gotten to the point where s/he'd let me touch him/her.
I think I should go now. If I stay I'll start saying even more ridiculous things.
Signed with Love,
The Pretty Kitty

Tuesday, November 10, 2009

And now I just want macaroni

A few weeks ago, ex-boyfriend told me he was moving to Tasmania. No plan. No reason. Just going. Fine then. I don't need you anyway.
Few days ago I got a phone call from a Queensland phone number I couldn't place. It was ex-boyfriend. It was his parent's phone number. Ex-boyfriend explained that he really was in Tasmania, but he had had his calls routed through his parent's phone number.
During the call, however, he spoke to his dog (which is at his parent's house). He later admitted that he was at his parent's house at the time of the call, but "couldn't see the point of telling me the truth". Now I'm dead inside once again. I'm only worth lying to. Thanks for that, butt-monkey.

Pretty Kitty.

Thursday, November 5, 2009

Moving house.

I've told you I have to leave the house I've been staying in. We all do, it's been deemed "unlivable". I'm going to be living with my very wonderful uncle, who obviously loves me more than Nana does (maybe she found out about the "secret meat" blog post?)... only kidding, Nana. Anyway, I won't be paying rent at his place, just a few dollars a week for utilities. I plan to use the money I would otherwise spend on rent to actually have a life! I plan to go out and do "person" things. Yesterday I went on the monorail at Broad Beach for no real reason, to practice being a person, doing person things (people go on monorails for no reason, right?).

I know this will be a wonderful new start. I'll get an actual job and maybe make friends with people I didn't meet via the international-computer-webby-thing. I'll be kicking everything off with a picnic in the park in my new suburb. I've tentatively chosen a park, but I've never been to it yet, so I'll keep everyone posted.
I also know I'm going to miss a lot of things about Southport a really big lot, despite what I've said about it in the past. Especially five-year-old, dog and baby (in no order).

I'll try to keep you posted,
Signed with Love,
The Pretty Kitty.