to love and loathe

we used to have storage units for the tenants but they had the privilege revoked because the rat-finks were trashing the place and then this dumb fat bitch kept taking my bicycle and using it from my storage unit. when she’d mentioned she was going to be looking for a bike, i offered to let her borrow mine and held out the key to the padlock on my unit. ‘oh no. i’ll just get 1 eventually. i was having a knee surgery-1 of 5 total i’ve had and this 1 was the final 1- so she said no, i put the key back in my earring box and thought no more about it for a few weeks. THEN i went down to chase some garbage picker asshat out of the carpark and saw bike tread marks on the cement floor of the laundry room. familiar bike treads. my lock had been cut off and the bike was NOT in the careful position i’d left it in. since it was the only thing in my storage unit which was like about the size of a toilet stall, that was up on the back wheel, front wheel leaning against the back wall and balanced just so. it was crammed in sideways AND there were books about the Roman Empire and several Greek poetry epics. now there was only 1 other person IN the building at the time that can even read that and the other was this skanky ho that every woman in the building besides me already wanted to hit the slag because she hit on anything male that moved single or non. me? celibate. i didn’t have anyone for her to sleaze on. i didn’t like her because as a very independent woman, the idea of someone supposedly intelligent enough to study romance-root-languages should not degenerate into a flapping puddle of schmooze anytime anyone with a penis wanders past. how bad was she? well, as a regular course, speaking to other women that she considered intelligent (i can’t read the Greek LETTERS but if it’s anglisized or i hear it spoken, i can generally tell you what’s being said. what? i’m dyslexic LOL so i guess i qualified) she affected a posh precise clipped manner of speaking, but if there was a MALE anywhere near her, suddenly she was all (put a sweet southern bell ‘oh my oh me whatever shall i do?! i need a MAYUHN to help me figger this out!’ accent. sickening.) simpering twittery. (as in the act of being a feather-brained twit) how bad was she? she  used to knock on guy’s doors and ask for help  CHANGING A FUCKING LIGHT BULB!!!!! (which i now need a spotter to do because i’m a gimp LOL) what really cued me in to who was using my bike and had broken my lock? there was a box of books. the box was for a breadmaker that i KNOW she’d just gotten (because she wanted me to try a bit of when she tried it out the 1st time) and the books? Greek classic poetry. riiiiight. then she lied to Scott and i about using it, but i’d locked the unit up again trapping her books in it as proof so he knew and took everyone’s key to the room away EXCEPT MINE. why? building’s den-mother and acting manager, thank you very much. i might have green hair and a face full of piercings, but i’m responsible damnit.  i turned around and sold the bike to a friend of mine who’d just blown her wad to buy bikes for her 3 little boys and was planning to run along after them on the bike trails until she could find a cheap used bike. with Shitty-Whitney-Snead playing put and take with mine and having just been diagnosed with the RSD, i decided to make Emily’s year and sold her the bike for the price of the materials i’d coughed up to refurbish the thing (which had been a dumpster dive find by someone and given to me) and Whitney-bitch got mad and started telling people i was out to get her AND decided to ‘get back at Emily’ by seducing her little brother (facepalm) but a couple weeks later came up complaining to me that he wasn’t returning her calls. you can imagine the look on her face when he got off my sofa and came to stand behind me and said ‘you’re an idiot. THAT’s why i’m not returning your calls and you’re lousy in bed. i’d rather hang out with someone who i know i’ll never get anywhere with and is nice to my family.’ LOLOLOLOLOLOLOL


so what brought that memory on-since it happened like 8 years ago?  and what’s it got to do with the title?

well, last night i dreamed Scott had let me turn the storage units into a stable and i was riding this pony around town and i woke up angry. why? because i can’t ride anymore (and i pretty much grew up in a stable)

i love dreaming. it’s the only time i can still do all the things i used to do.

i LOATHE dreaming because i have to wake up and not be able to do any of them anymore.

i’m still trying to figure out why the floor of the petstore in the dream was infested with baby hermit crabs though LOLOLOL



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