Journey to the Good Place.

Know yourself. Love yourself.

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In The Interest of preserving Good Memories




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Judgement Day! Hooray!

So apparently Judgement Day is on Saturday. It’s also my sister’s birthday. I’m planning on throwing a HUGE party. I wanna try and bake a cake and decorate it with a picture of the earth cracking in half and fire pouring out if it’s NOT the end of the world, I’ll write tomorrow to tell you all about it. If it IS the end of the world, then this notebook won’t get much use will it?

In less depressing news: I LOVE tarot cards. Although they may not always give me the answer I was looking for, they always give me something useful. Today I did a reading asking what I should do about the Joe fiasco. All it told me was that things would get bad in the future so I should work hard to stay positive. It also gave a super cool idea for how to do so. It said I should remember a time when I was perfectly happy and content and confident and that I should either describe it in words or create a collage or something and keep it handy to help me get back to that mental state when times get rough. I think I’ll give it a try.

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Home again, home again, oh just kill me please.

Back to my deployment. Same old stupidity. In fact, it seems even worse after being on leave. One day I was in the hot tub at Grandma’s house with Mike surrounded by nothing but mountains and trees, looking at the stars while Mom and Grandma sat inside and planned Mike and I’s someday wedding. Then the next day (well, technically 2 days later, but I didn’t go to sleep the second night so for me it was the next day) I was back in the desert getting roasted alive by the sun and getting sucked into everybody else’s stupid drama.

We were back for less than an hour and Mike got stuck filling out some stupid police report because a girl we know came home to find her ex’s laptop in her room (some drunken prank by one of his friends probably). She immediately returned it and he accused her of stealing it and reported her to the police. Mike and I were in front of my room and saw her arrive home, go into her room, and come out 5 seconds later with the computer in her hand and a “wtf?” expression on her face, so we were considered “witnesses to the crime”.

While Mike was filling out the report a friend of his came over to me and was like, “WTF did Mike do that the cops are talking to him?” Well, I didn’t want any rumors going around that Mike got in trouble with the police (this place is the worst rumor mill I’ve ever seen) so I gave him a reader’s digest version of what happened. As I was doing so an older woman who lived nearby walked by and and said (all fucking high and mighty), “You shouldn’t be telling people. It’s none of their business.”

Um, yeah…I’m calling a BIG bullshit on this for a series of carefully organized reasons:

1) She pokes her nose into other people’s business more than anyone I’ve ever seen. In fact, the whole time Mike was trying to fill out the police report, she was standing next to him trying to tell him what to write down to make the girl look like a thieving bitch.

2) The only reason this woman even cares about this particular incident is because she desperately wants into the pair of pants owned by the same guy who owns the misplaced laptop. Which is gross because he’s young enough to be her grandson, but also fully expected because she’s like that with EVERY young guy on the island. Exhibit A: The only time she’s ever nice to me is when Mike is looking, because she wants him to think she’s really nice and caring and stuff so that she’ll maybe have a chance with him if we ever break up. Good luck you ancient hag.

3) Even if she had a legitimate place to stand on the “don’t talk about other people’s business” issue, she had no reason to open her mouth because I wasn’t even saying anything. I didn’t use any names or even any details, all I said was that Mike hadn’t done anything, he was just a witness to someone else’s bullshit.

4) Even if I WAS blabbing about their shit, it’s up to the drama-causers in question to tell me if they don’t want me talking about it. It’s none of HER fucking business.

And last but not least:

5) If the drama-causers don’t want people talking about their business, maybe they shouldn’t flaunt said business all over the fucking barracks by doing things like screaming at each other from opposite ends of the block and putting their innocent neighbors into positions that require them to fill out a fucking police report.

Grrrrrrrr…SO ANNOYED!!!!! I REALLY don’t like drama and I REALLY don’t want to be back here.

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Visiting Mom. It’s interesting the things I treasure these days; the things I think of as miracles. Every little detail of this house fills me with nostalgia and hopes for my own future. It’s a shitty old trailer home that’s falling apart but every painted wall and wooden stool and house plant and quilt thrown over a couch causes me to think to myself, “Someday I’ll have a home just like this.” And things like the smell of freshly baking bread and homemade chicken noodle soup and the sound of the dishwasher running and the sense of my mom bustling around me while I sit at the bar and write makes me feel like I’m at a spa for my soul.

Been spending a lot of time talking to Mom about Mike and my relationship with him so far and our dreams for the future. A text from him that said:

“I saw this adorable little girl with long bright red hair. I pointed her out to my Mom and she said, ‘You and Meggo will probably have one just like her.'”

sparked a conversation with my mom about how one of the things that caused Mike and I to think that we’re probably going to end up getting married was the night both of us separately had dreams of a little girl with curly red hair in a white sundress.  My mom’s response to this was “Aww, how cute. No babies before you’re married.” It’s nice when she goes all lecturing-Mom on me. I need a parent who will tell me when they think I’m being stupid. Dad does, but he thinks I’m stupid ALL THE TIME, so it’s hard to take him seriously. I talked to Mom about it and let her know that she has indeed earned the right to tell me I’m an idio and she agreed to do so more often. I said if she’ll do that and keep cooking delicious food she’ll make “Mommy of the year” for sure.