So this morning I get up – still some endo pain, nothing insurmountable, I just have to take it easy today. Gabriel did the dishes last night, so I don’t have to do that today, but there is laundry to be done.

I get dressed, get the laundry basket, and go out to the living room.

Lyndon’s up already. “Hey Amara.”

“Hey,” I respond, set the basket down, then turn to get the bedroom door.

“Woah woah woah. What do you think you’re doing?”

Me: o.o I just put the basket down so I could get the door…

Lyndon: No no, you don’t carry things when you’re feeling bad. *grabs the laundry basket and takes it upstairs*

Me: O_O

He puts the basket down near the laundry machines, then goes back to listening to something on his headphones while doing some dishes. It turns out to be the Bible on audio.

What’s going on here…?

Lil update

So Passover was eh. The ceremony itself was kind of weak, as I had expected – Howard gave the exact same sermonette he did last year (we have to be humble enough to let people serve us), Preston’s sermonette was… strange, Joe’s was meh… Gabriel was excellent as I knew it would be. And then Billy gave the closing remarks (as we left, I gave Gabriel a hard elbow to the side and said “Didn’t see Billy on the speaking list, EH?!”).

After everyone else had left, Gabriel and I were chatting with Howard and two of his friends, Sue and Simone (sisters), and Howard offers me some whiskey.

“Sure,” I respond. Like I’m going to turn down whiskey.

“I have other things if you’d rather,” he says.

“Nope, I’m a whiskey girl,” I respond.

“Ooh, I like you.” He gets a glass and asks, “Ice?”

“Nope,” I answer. Don’t dilute my alcohol.

“You’re starting to scare me, Amara. …I like you even more now.”

So I sit back with my whiskey and listen to the four of them talk, occasionally interjecting with snark and sarcasm as is my wont. I’ve got my lil black dress on, some cute strappy heels, and I’m very happy with my hair for once. I feel more like myself than I have in many months.


Over the past week or so, I’ve discovered several thing about myself that are not great.

1 – I don’t really want to help people.
2 – I’ve always been a sexual deviant.
3 – I’m a massive control freak.
4 – I have a bit of an entitlement complex myself.

None of these are particularly flattering. But when Gabriel brought numbers 1 and 3 to my attention, even though I hadn’t previously noticed them myself, I immediately knew they were true.

Now on to the psychoanalyzation phase of self discovery.


I realize that I tend to be very negative about Lyndon, and I want to… I don’t know exactly. Let people know that he’s not a complete monster.

Lyndon can be very sweet. He is genuinely concerned about my depression, I believe, even though I doubt he realizes that he exacerbates it. When he knows he’s hurt me or done something wrong, he tries to make it up to me. He occasionally asks to make sure I’m eating enough.

He can also be very funny. Right now he’s making fun of Gabriel for being semi-reluctant to go to a funeral. And it’s pretty hilarious.

He’s very disciplined when it comes to bodybuilding – passionate, almost. He cares about this subject (which means he isn’t laying around on his ass getting fat and being lazy), and it’s nice to see him passionate about something other than weed.

I think that way deep down, buried under the narcissism, he does genuinely care about people. He’s very sensitive and innocent in a lot of ways.

Lil update

Lyndon has good days and bad days, which means I have good days and meh days. I think I’m getting better at deflecting his rage and irritation – at least, I hope so.

I think the weather being nice is helping my mood. I don’t like it when it’s cold. Bleh.

Gabriel continues to be patient and sweet when I’m feeling down and bleh.

Really not much new going on in Surfertown…


I actually feel pretty good today. Not necessarily physically – stomach feels a lil gnarly as per usual – but emotionally…

Maybe it’s the weather – 84 degrees in Surfertown.
Maybe it’s that Lyndon’s been gone for the weekend.
Maybe it’s just that I have Gabriel and I can talk to him.

Whatever the reason – I actually feel okay. Better than okay. Pretty good.

Gabriel says it’s because I have a little hope now. (We talked about Lyndon yesterday, and it was helpful.) And maybe that’s the case – I know, from experience, that an existence without hope is pretty bleak.

Haha, I’ve spent so long writing about feeling shitty that I don’t know how to write about feeling good. #amaraprobs

I am beginning to question the wisdom, for the first time in the twelve years of my blogging ‘career’, of making my thoughts publicly available. Usually it’s okay, occasionally it causes me nothing but trouble. But is that occasional trouble worth it? I don’t know.


Me: You know, what I need from people is ‘Amara, I’m sorry you’re feeling shitty and sad, and I know that really sucks. But I still love you and care about you, and if you ever need to talk or anything let me know and I’m here for you’.
Gabriel: Sweetie, I’m sorry you’re feeling shitty, and I still love you and care about you, and if you ever need to talk I’ll try to find someone who’ll listen.

He’s the only person I know that can make me laugh no matter how awful I’m feeling.

Once you realize you dislike a person, everything they do irritates you.

There are no exceptions. There’s no exception to prove the rule. Everything they do irritates you and you get to a point where even the sound of them breathing makes you want to wreak physical violence.

Such as Lyndon constantly losing his keys. The fact that he doesn’t chew with his mouth closed. That noise that he makes that’s somewhere between sniffing, coughing, and spitting. His obsession with his own body. His inability to form a complete sentence. His two favorite conversation topics: working out and getting high. The fact that he spills his supplement powder freaking everywhere. The way he halfasses everything except working out and getting high. The expectation that he will be treated like a child except in the areas where he wants to be treated like an adult. His total lack of self awareness. Farting loudly while he’s laying around in bed not sleeping. Cramming everything in sight down his throat. Cramming all sorts of supplements down his throat and then bitching about the fact that he feels like shit all the time. Using all the butter and not putting another stick out. Leaving bowls with peanut butter in them in the sink. That stupid noise his phone makes when he gets a text which is all the time. Not paying the slightest amount of attention to anything you say so you have to call him by name about four times before he’ll even answer. Every little passive-aggressive thing he does. Asking us to drive him places and buy him shit and then getting pissy when we ask him to do some sort of menial, five-minute task. How he’s only here to eat all our food and then complains that we don’t have food he wants/likes/doesn’t have to make and then leaves. Those damn tooth floss things everywhere. He never makes his bed – not ever – and he’s washed his sheets once in the entire four-and-a-half months he’s been here and they probably smell like balls by now as does my lovely brown blanket. He takes two showers a day. Spends half an hour in the bathroom primping. “Do you even lift?” The astonishing amount of time he spends checking himself out in the mirror. Refusing to study for his test – it’s much more fun to get high. The way he says he’s going on a walk and then spends five minutes getting around for this walk and then leaves and then comes back and then leaves again. Leaves his laundry in the washer and/or dryer for three days (then has the balls to get pissed off when we move it).

Good thing I’m not bitter or anything.