Meh. I said meh damnit.
Things haven't been bad, but they haven't been great in the Poops household lately. Paul's brother showed back up on Monday night, telling us that he had a day off and would like to stay the night and visit. I got a funny feeling, but passed it off as not ever being all that comfortable around him in the first place.
The plan was for Paul to drop him off at the airport on Tuesday and Phil could hitch back to the Caverns since we didn't have the gas nor the time to take him back. He had to be to work at 11 am, so I was crossing my fingers that he'd be back in time and not lose his job over something so stupid.
Around 9:30 or so that morning, the dogs started going crazy and I found myself staring through my streaked sliding glass door at a sweaty, disheveled Phil. It freaked me right the fuck out and I panicked because I knew immediately he'd lost his job.
He said that he'd gotten about a quarter of the way out to the caverns when he'd decided to come back and be honest with me. He'd lost his job the day before because he'd asked to be let out from work early to watch a football game. I think it's bullshit, but he said that he'd worked seven days straight, asked to cut out early so he could watch a game, and the kitchen manager had allowed him to go. A little later the owner came to his room and chewed him a new asshole, telling him that if he didn't have his shit out by 11 the next morning, it would be on the side of the road waiting for him.
Consequently, he didn't take a single thing with him except his frisbee and his trench coat. He left the books he'd borrowed from us there, the brand new cooler Paul had won from work. We could care less about everything else, but Paul lent him an out of print book that we won't be able to replace.
Phil broke down and grabbed me in a bear hug from hell. I practically had to pry him off of me. He told me he was having anxiety problems and thought he needed another visit to our local nut farm. He stayed long enough to eat some breakfast and nap until I nudged him and reminded him of his plans. He left on Tuesday night and we didn't see him again until Wednesday night.
He came in cocky, tried to open the door and just walk in, but I had it locked in to place with the bar. Paul let him in and Phil acted like we were just going to let him grovel, he'd listen to us yelling, and then everything would be peachy fucking keen and we'd go back to helping him.
He made the mistake of lying to us.
Paul didn't yell, he didn't say much of anything. When Phil said that he'd only come back because he needed a cigarette and hadn't eaten since the last time I'd fed him, Paul told him to take his coat and get out. There was no fight. Thankfully.
I had an itty bitty breakdown about the situation. Not so much that he'd used us...I think in some little nook in the back of my head, I'd expected him to.
No, it was more of a black and red rage that I've finally snapped about helping people. I give so easily that I make it simple for people to suck me dry. I don't think helping people is a bad trait, but I certainly believe that the compassion that I've carried with me all these years is dwindling. I don't think I'll ever just turn my back on someone I care about, but I'll have to seriously think twice before I extend the hand that has sucker tattooed on it again.
I wasn't planning on writing such a huge bitch fest, but I guess I needed to get it out.
I don't know how updated I'll be keeping this diary for awhile because I just haven't been interested in writing in depth entries lately, but anyone that reads this anymore can catch me on the yahoo 360 page every couple days or so...with song lyrics that pertain to my moods and pictures.
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