Okay. Where do I begin?
Getting real sick of your shit, to be honest.
I mean, I think I do my fair share when it comes to sharing the spotlight with you and trying to work through the chaos you are constantly creating (and it's not me that creates it, it's definitely you) but we are always having this same disagreement so let's get clear on my end.
I am the plucky and adorable heroine of this story.
It seems harsh to call you the villain, and frankly, I'd rather you just write yourself out entirely, but let's say you're the antagonist. Not necessarily the bad guy, just more the problem child of this tale.
(You're the bad guy.)
So YES, there will be struggles. How else will our resourceful and determined heroine save the day and her life?
This shit needs to be readable. There's a certain line when it's just so pitiful people either want to look away or GoFundMe into an institution (which I'm not opposed to, get organized, folks) and we're nearing that point.
For instance, my first weekend in the new place? Having me break a window 17 minutes into being alone was enough -- and I was a good sport about that shit, I even laughed before/during/after I cried. But you took it too far with the stomach flu, and really attention whore-d it up by starting that whole thing with me vomiting all over a CVS bathroom and cleaning it up with one ply toilet paper and ending it with me sleeping in a sweaty, shivering pile on the floor next to my new bed since I was too sick to get up.
Also, let's talk about the wifi situation here. Okay, the divorce, the humiliation, the car transmission, the uncontrollable vomiting, the constant comments about my appearance, missing my kids, the struggles with work, the loneliness -- that's all fine. It's whatever. But the lack of wifi in my new place is some fucked up level of hell and you know it.
It's like you were like, "What is this story missing? Is it Comcast? It's Comcast. This bitch needs some Comcast," and I'll admit that would be funny if it wasn't so very not funny.
You're not the funny one, I am. And I'm not that funny so we're both fucked.
But I called Comcast, motherfucker. I survived the stomach flu alone. I taped that window up with blue painter's tape and IT'S FINE. I even bought curtains this weekend because I am a GODDAMN HUMAN BEING. (Okay, my mom bought me the curtains, but still, I own curtains.) I am hustling with work. I am hanging out with old friends and making new ones, when and if I can put on pants/brush my hair so not a lot but sometimes.
Please stop trying to edit the story. You're the worst editor I've ever had and there's this one guy who is a serious pain in my ass, so that's saying something. I know what I'm doing (I don't. At all) and I don't need your help (I do. But you're not helpful).
So to summarize, I am the brave and determined hero here and you are the sinister but not quite as crafty bad guy who will be defeated by my cleverness.
So calm the fuck down, thanks.