So yesterday Connie went off on me because I put her mail in her room. She wants me to now put the mail on the counter...in the same living area that she recently banded me from with the same stack of mail thatwe are supposed to be returning to sender. She claims she has told me not to put her mail in her room before. She is mistaken. Then she curses and yells about how I don't clean up enough for her. Sigh. For about ten minutes, she cursed and hollered, talking to me like a child. I told her I don't talk to her crazy. She says I do. This truly is not so, because, if I talk to her crazy, I won't have a place to live.
Connie is supposed to be my friend. Do what that what you want.
I emerge from this situation mad. Mad that I am not in grad school. Mad that my mom doesn't have a job. Mad that my grandma is losing her mind. Mad that I have a lot of shit on my plate and I come home to get bitched at about mail!
Today she asked me if I was OK, but not sincerly. More like an 'are you over it' OK. I said yes. I closed the door and layed face down on my floor; the life and times of a homeless girl. Sigh.
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