This Doesn't Happen to Normal People

But what DOES happen to normal people? Email: iamthecoloursapphire@yahoo.com

Sunday, February 23, 2003

Well, blah. You know who hasn't called me in a million years? Magenta. No, I don't have any concept of time. Deal.
I'm fucking still in pain. And I can't call the doctor until Monday and I'm out of my drugs. Woo friggin' hoo.
Oh, AND I'm trying to get Amethyst and I passports. But there's a difficulty as I have no proof of sole custody-or of custody at all, really. And I have no idea who the biological sperm donor is, and I can't exactly ask Ruby to help me out because he refuses to speak to me. So I don't know if I'll be able to do that until she's eighteen, and can legally do it on her own. Because there's no way in hell I'm even going to try tracking down the asshole who knocked me up-I refuse to allow anyone that kind of 'in' into Amethyst's life. Besides, they all had that opportunity, and they all passed. And she's MY kid. So there.
Slate and I had an arguement/discussion. We seem to be good now. None of this would even matter if he wasn't such a stuff oriented person. But he is. I'm not. There's so much of my stuff-even stuff that's sentimental or important to me in some way-that's scattered across the nation, that it hardly matters. I'll never see most of it again. Do I care? Yeah, sure. Does it matter? Not at all. Not that I don't like getting presents. I do. I REALLY like getting presents. I ESPECIALLY like getting presents in the mail. *grin*
I actually slept for more than four hours last night. I needed to, I've not been sleeping well. And when I went to bed, all I had were nightmares-not bad enough to wake me up screaming, but bad enough to give me a sense of forboding all day. Horrible, horrible dreams.
Anyway, I'm going to go pretend to do something. When all I'm really doing is waiting for my love.
Laters