from The Office of the Vice Regent
Principality of Hallisburg
13 October, 2024

By command of Her Lustrous Feline Majesty, the Princess Halliburton Jandreovna Solyndra Cheney Jobamala Donald Trump Elona Duquesne, a.k.a. Halli, H-Bomb, Cutie Patootie, Hair-Ball, or Hallibelle Licked’er, notice is hereby given that you are in unlawful occupation of the Principality, deeds, trusts, and titles to the contrary notwithstanding, and that you must forthwith vacate the premises. All canned goods, kittie-krunchies, and cushy furniture shall be forfeit and declared salvage.

Meanwhile, the acceptance of food, grooming, medical care, or scritches between the ears shall NOT be construed as a surrender of Her Lustrous Feline Majesty’s Lawful Claim of Eminent Domain.

Shedding will continue for the duration of the occupation.

Yr Obt Svt
Toady McMinion

(true photo pending)

previously…

14 October 2022  — 
“It could be that I wasn’t trying to hide it FROM you.
Maybe I was trying to hide it FOR you.”

Many years ago, for some reason or another, Early Riser asked me if there was something I hadn’t told her.  I tried to duck the question, because I am not comfortable with casual lies, but she persisted.  Finally, having had enough, I stood up, left the room, and fetched the new tea pot and paperback anthology that I had previously bought for her upcoming birthday.  I returned to the room, put them both on the table and said, “There!  Now I’m no longer lying to you!”  Then I left the house to walk off the anger and to smoke myself down (because at the time I was still a practicing butthead.)

I don’t remember, but I think she threw them out.
I guess winning isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.

On Getting Over It

31 March 2002      Letting It Be Over vs “Getting Over It”
(or “How can we get past this if you won’t dwell on it?”)

I guess I’m not the adversary that Drama Queen craves.

When things are pleasant, I want them to remain pleasant.  And when things are unpleasant, I want them to stop being unpleasant.  So, when I am upset, I want to be less upset, but “talking it out” just tends to aggravate the mood.  I want it to be distant and past, but “discussing issues” keeps it near and present.

Diva Dearest had spent most of the afternoon laying it on, or “getting it off her chest.”  She was fine afterwards, but all she got “off her chest” was dumped all over me and I’m still dripping with it.  Nevertheless, after L’Historienne got home from school, we shelved it and I pouted.  Or sulked.  I’m often not certain.  At dinner, I was still not yet recovered, so rather than risking bringing it up during dinner, I simply remained cordial and polite and mostly quiet.  I thought that by not saying the wrong thing, I couldn’t get any flack for it.

How little I know.  My reserve became the new problem.
“Will you lighten up?  Why the fuck can’t you just get over it?”
“I was trying to.  I thought you had, but it seems we’re back in it now.”
“That’s because YOU won’t get over it!”
“I’m sorry I brought it up again.”

Then she storms off, leaving me and L’Historienne to awkwardly finish our meals, whereupon the young one quietly asks to be excused, leaving me to clean up.  But probably not well.  Or at least not “good enough.”  After all, if I’m cleaning the kitchen, I’m not scrubbing the toilet or folding the laundry.  I expect my new crimes will be revealed in the morning.

update 210715:  correspondent RD offers up the best relationship advice, id est, “Make sure you’re the crazy one.”
That’s clearly where I screwed up.
Early Riser left me for The Light of the World,
Diva Dearest for a plane ticket to The City of Lights,
and Ojuxit for the sure comfort and security of The Spree Masketeers.
But I’m still the common factor and therefore the likeliest suspect.
And not a flattering trend, either.

A Prelude to Eviction

190719, but a few weeks earlier:  “Do you like living here?” should have been my first and only clue.  Had I simply stood up at that moment and started packing and begun the tedious process of teasing comic books apart, rather than agonizing over it for the last two years, this trauma would be all over by now and I may well be gainfully employed at the QuikkStopp-by-the-Interstate® somewhere in Texas instead.  But I remain trapped by my own optimism, as I keep giving people time to come to their senses.

about 24 months past 19 July 2019:  I will not be moving in with my beloveds (formerly known as “Ojuxit” and “Klint”) after this house is sold.  They no longer wish to be thought of as my beloveds, and I remain unable to pretend that I don’t still love them and that I am not still heartbroken.  Lately, Ojuxit has been starting conversations with “What are your plans?” and she sweetly offers suggestions of employment nearer their new home where I am only intermittently welcome now.  Apparently, they don’t want me or my opinions too close (and grabby?) but still desire enough proximity that I can help out with the heavy lifting now and then.
Texas keeps looking better all the time.
Plus, my Best Girl lives there now.

update 210716:  Okeh… so they never got the generator for Themyscira, but at least they’re getting a new water heater for the Northern Exclave.  That’s gotta count for something, doesn’t it?
update 221009:  Silly optimist!  Forgiveness is for kids!

210928 — additional post mortem
“Silly” may be a necessary condition, but it is not a sufficient one.

210929 — unassailable logistics
Insofar as Ojuxit is old, and tired, and sick to death of taking care of everybody else, she only has the energy anymore to tend to one of us, and it’s certainly less complicated to shed Lethargy Lad than Klint.  How could I quibble?  I’ve always respected practicality and I have little trouble understanding arithmetic.

210801 — Adventures in Bad Lyrics, special edition —

If Mike Campbell & Ian Axel said to me, “Say something, I’m giving up on you,” should my reply have been, “Good-bye?”

If they said, “I’ll be the one if you want me to, anywhere I would follow you,” I would know better. I’ve always known that I had no shot at primacy; the most I could hope for was secondary (and likelier tertiary), and I witnessed no followers for my leads.

Or if they said, “Say something, I’m giving up on you,” maybe I should have said, “please don’t.”

If they said, “I will swallow my pride, you’re the one that I love, and I’m saying good-bye,” I would remain skeptical. Swallow that pride? I don’t see efforts to yield or compromise or accommodate. I either measure up or get out seems to be the case. And again with, “The One.” I’ll never believe that from anyone. Maybe I’m the only one wired this way but NO ONE has ever been “The One” for me. I’m not even sure such a concept makes any sense. Perhaps I was one of a rarefied set, but that’s still not “The One.”

I think leading with “good-bye” would be easier to understand, and ultimately kinder to all. Pretending to preserve what never was just aggravates the anguish.

220707 — probable logistics:  Ceteris parabis, post-menopause, reliable sex-toys (living or otherwise) are apt to be less interesting.

211001 — The Bullies’ Rewards — There wasn’t a whole lot I could do to prevent the regular beatings, beyond struggling to keep my “smart mouth” shut.  Even then, my eyes might betray my contempt.  What I could control a little more reliably were my own tears.  Realizing that tears and cries of anguish are the rewards most craved by cowards and bullies and sadists, I would deny them that.  During beatings (both actual and metaphorical) I retreat to my peaceful interior and let the body or outer mind absorb the buffeting.  “I can’t tell if you’re devastated or relieved.”  Which is the point.  It boils down to basic economics.
If you reward something, you get more of it.

210830: The Comfort of Trust vs Mutually Assured Destruction
Having someone in your life whom you can trust is a boon.
Unfortunately, according to those I love most, I am no such asset.
I presently have keys to the houses owned by Klint (and Ojuxit.) I expressed my pleasure today at the thought that Ojuxit had found a couple of close neighbors whom she trusted enough to give a key. Later, I reflected that I, dismissed, detached, distrusted and rescinded as I have been, still hold keys to both! Just a matter of time before they finally get fed up and demand their property back. For now, what secures their property in my custody, except perhaps the knowledge that most of mine remains in theirs? Without trust we must instead rely on Mutually Assured Destruction.
Meanwhile, I’ll continue to take advantage of my temporary good fortune.

18 April 2022 — As I furiously paddle this life-raft through the stormy seas of turmoil, I can’t help but wonder: What if it were a canoe?

19 June 2023 — L’Historienne asked me the other day,
“What do you miss about Cincinnatistan?”
“Ojuxit and Klint,” I answered.  “Binder Creek.  Tishelle.  Milli.”
Then she got a little misty-eyed and seemed to need to hug me.
Girls can be sweet.