It WAS the last straw.

Voldemort was supposed to take Mira overnight Saturday. He declined, asked for her in the morning Sunday instead. Probably to prevent me from having "fun." Whatever. So, I open the door, hand Mira immediately to him, and he proceeds to let himself inside. He doesn't come inside except to start trouble. "We need to talk," he says. He wanted to know why I'd left Mira (together with Torrin) with "a piece of trash" like Torrin's dad. "Do you have any extra money for me?" he asked. "Because you sure seem to have a lot of money." He walked further into my house with a scrutinizing eye. I said as little as possible, asked him if he was taking Mira and if so, to please leave. Or, rather, "Get out of my house!" when he had me backed into a corner of the living room. He wasn't leaving. I grabbed my phone, was dialing the police department (what else was I supposed to do?). He grabbed it, threatened to break it. He didn't, but the screen is cracked. He slapped me, just a light, quick thing, honestly, I smack Mira's hand away from stuff harder than that...but...no... I called my grandma, crying, when PGG didn't answer his phone.

I was ready file for a protection order, increase child support, and a formal custody order. I was set to go, Monday, 8am.

Well, it's Wednesday, and I haven't done a damn thing. Why is that?

This is a series of texts received from He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named on Sunday afternoon, following his visit with Mira.

3:02pm
I know i need to let you live without saying you do bad things. But you know me and how much i care about doing things"best" and "right."

3:04pm
But its like a sickness. Nothing is good enough.Im never happy. With you. With me. With anything.

3:15pm
:( if i could control it, we would all be happier. but i cant. There is no hope.

3:18pm
Im so jealous of you because you are so happy and are really living your life.

3:39pm
Do whatever you want. You always do. I dont have any hope Or answers. Ill let you lead. I hate to admit it but i love and trust and envy you. YOU know best.

These were followed by a telephone call in which Mason talked about how he wished he could just commit suicide, that he doesn't think there is any hope for him, that he is not able to be happy, etc. This is nothing new, but I still don't know what to do with him. I told him that I can't help him. Because I can't. I hate to admit it too, but I still love him too. It's different, now, though. I have no hope for us, I've let go of that. I don't think there is any single person who knows the entire, full story of us. But there are many who know an awful lot. I can't entirely explain why I haven't done anything concrete about him, but I'm ready. Now I just need that kick to get me into action.

"...makes me want to slap your face."

I've refrained, up til now from sharing the latest He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named Drama. On one hand? It's embarassing, frankly, to admit I've continued to allow this utter B.S. On another hand, I'm afraid. I am afraid of many things, and, unfortunately, he is one of them. It's definitely not for the reasons he thinks. And as for now, I've gained additional grounds for apprehension. Greaaaaat.

So, onto that third hand I'm looking to acquire? I don't care. When I click that 'Publish Post' button, I am fully aware that yes, this is the Internet, and no, I do not have the settings such where only invited readers can view these pages. I've never attempted to conceal that fact that I communicate more clearly in written rather than spoken form, nor am I going to hide its proof. My dream is to find someone who can appreciate this (as opposed to the typical condemnation). I can try my best to make accomodations, but I can't promise change. I can only promise a valiant effort.

Voldemort wishes I would "change." Sadly, he doesn't seem to have the slightest clue as to what needs changing. In another turn of psycho-stalkerness, he composed a doozy of an e-mail message and sent it to an e-mail address which he had somehow hunted down and determined to be that of The Boy Who Lived. I was appalled that any acquaintance of mine would have to suffer through the receipt of that piece of work.

Thank goodness for friends. This is the reply I got from the ever-so-lucky recipient of Voldemort's nastiness: That's ok Jacinda. This proves that he is a major loser and probably suffers from some sort of mental problem let alone self esteem issues. I know what type of person you are. and that is a beautiful, intelligent woman. Take care Jacinda. I hope you are doing well. I am grateful for that friend, and also to Hermione Granger and Luna Lovegood. Both are divorced single moms. Hermione has two, and Luna has three in her home. Hermione and I exchange stories of jealous exes on a near-daily basis, to the tune of a basket-full of laughs. In the meantime, the press is hereby censored from further ramblings pending consultation with The Boy Who Lived.

Upheaval at the Ministry of Magic

Both Voldemort and Harry Potter have taken to reading the Daily Prophet. Goodness knows what Rita Skeeter'll do now.

Sweet Dreams Are Made of These

Who am I to disagree?

I really didn't intend to leave things off in such cliff-hanging form. It just worked out like that...sometimes life is a little bit like the movies, I guess. I've decided that the best way to attempt to explain Sirius Black using his own words. I wish I had the older texts in my phone, because there were some really good ones...SB has been on my MySpace friends list for a few months, but I met him a few years back. He sent me a message in early December saying that he had seen me on TV (your truly beautiful, I saw you on tv the other day and you seemed kinda nervous, but to me you were a Super Star! I want your autograph). He asked me for my phone number. I gave it to him, simultaneously clarifying that yes, I did have a boyfriend of whom I was enamored. Sirius was respectful of this. He sent a sterile, short and sweet text on Christmas: Merry Christmas.

I continued texting him for the next few days through the initial Boy Who Lived weirdness, culminating with the Break-Up-Or-Something-Like-It on New Year's Day. This of course triggered a wooing-while-pitying reaction from SB. I received messages about how he thought we really had a great dynamic, even things like him considering me as a prospective future wife, but regardless of what happened he wanted to be my friend always...

I've travelled the ocean and the seven seas...Everybody's lookin' for somethin'

The following are some more recent texts (spelling errors intact):

:-) I like u a lot baby, i know u love another man, but i feel fortunate (11:31pm Mon 07 Jan)

Yeah no need to apologize, we don't owe each other anything, ur stuck sweat'n another man, while i'm sweatin' u, i need to just chill and let u get ur head str8. (9:10pm Tue 08 Jan)

Once i fall in love with u i would have a hard time with u seeing him, i almost expect it right now though, but i know u love him, and i'll be gone a lot. (9:10am Fri 11 Jan)

But just stay in contact with me, and don't have it in my face, and i'll be able to just deal with it. (9:11am Fri Jan 11)

Nothings defanate, but i plan on being connected to u for life, even if only as friends, if we cannot, then i hope it isn't my doing. (9:22am Fri 11 Jan)

I thought TCO was going to chicken out on me two nights in a row. As previously mentioned, he returned to town on Friday night. Late that night I heard from him, and he said he'd come over...but then his car died. Okay, fine. We agreed to talk the next night. But he was going to go out with his "brother"/friend/roommate person (Viktor Krum'll do as a pseudonym). Whatever!In a fit of jealousy-twinged spite I decided that I, too, would be going out on Saturday night. And I did. I met up with Sirius Black and played a game of pool with him and met some of his friends. Then I went downtown, by myself, to my stand-by going out spot, a bar with a dance floor that plays mostly electronic dance music. One of the door-guys is someone I met through my son's dad six-ish years ago and am friendly with. A friend I met through a friend is also a regular there and it's typical to see at least one other person I know. This is a big deal for me, because I'm socially avoidant, but like being around people, if that makes sense. I'm afraid to initiate conversation, but I don't relish solitude.

Anyhow, after that I headed over to my friend's house, whom we'll refer to as Neville Longbottom. Neville is a buddy from high school. We've never dated. Took Creative Writing together, happened to have a good pal in common, and have been friends ever since. I drove out to pick Neville up 4 hours west of town on December 30th. There was a big to-do concerning Neville and Voldemort a little over a year ago when I comitted the grand felony of allowing Neville to babysit Mira. Neville dealt with the situation beautifully; Voldemort made an ass of himself. That's off-subject, though. Suffice to say, Neville's my homeboy. Neville was hosting an after-(bar)hours social gathering, or as more commonly referred, a keg. I felt I was approximately 87 years old, standing in that room with a bunch of bright shiny faces, many of which appeared to be pre-pubescent. I found a girl there that I'd had a class with a few terms ago and we commiserated about an insane left-wing hippie purple-pants wearing flutter-bug instructor. I left Neville's house and promptly drove by The Chosen One's apartment that he shares with Viktor. By this time is was nearly 3am. Viktor's car was not in the driveway, but the windows were alit, despite TCO's claim earlier that evening that he was tired and sick. I flicked a text in his direction and was soon in their apartment.We didn't talk. A few words is all. One can guess the rest. This morning, I appeared as though I were mauled by a pack of vampires.

This is so definitely not a pattern I want to fall into with the Boy Who Lived. As much as I do not want to let go of him entirely, I have far too much respect for him as a person to have a pseudo-relationship. No matter how unintentional, those sorts of things end up with both parties feeling used.

Some of them want to use you...
Some of them want to get used by you...
Some of them want to abuse you...
Some of them want to be abused...

Full blast

Fair warning: This is a vent, cranked up as high as the heat will escape...

Dangerous Driver
It figures that I post about being a 'dangerous driver,' and then the next day I get a ticket. In all fairness, I would like to report that any images captured while driving are always at a stoplight. You know, when the car's not moving. But anyway. Last night TCO and I went to the movie theatre to see a movie that we didn't get to watch because it was sold out. So, Mr. Movie Buff TCO was all aggravated by that, then there we are, minding our business, driving home. In the snow. And ice. The ice that's been coating the ground since Monday/Tuesday, and melting, freezing, and re-freezing ever since. And the snow, some of which had been there before the ice encased it Tuesday early in the morning. It started snowing around 8pm. Big, fluffy, flakes, the kind that make very pretty glittery snow and further disguise the ice. We went to a movie that started at 9:45, so it was pretty late by the time we got out. Snow blowing everywhere. Driving slowly, both for purposes of limited visibility and possible slick spots lurking beneath the surface, I approached an intersection cautiously. I noticed two police cruisers, and stopped until it was safe to cross the road. We get to the other side, and one of the police cars whips around in a parking lot and starts following me. Ummmm. Okay. Keep driving. Three blocks (and stop signs) later, he turns on his lights and aims his spotlight at me.

I got a ticket for failing to obey a traffic device. Apparently at that first intersection I mentioned, there was a sign that said "right turn only." Okay, fine.

I have two bones to pick with this. One, visibility was very poor. It's not like I totally ignored convention. I came to a complete, slow, stop, drove carefully, etc. Two, IF I had seen the sign, I assure you that I wouldn't have disobeyed it in front of TWO police cruisers. Come on. Isn't this a prime opportunity for a warning?

No, I still don't have a lawyer, but I need one.
Basically, all I've determined is that I am legally the custodial parent, but since no formal visitation has been set, I'd have to go to court to get Mira back if Voldemort decided to be a [insert foul swear word here]. I need a lawyer to get anything done. I'm also poor as hell. I may have a professional-sounding job title, and the work I do could be construed as higher-level, but the truth is that I make poverty wages and have zero benefits. I am loathe to trust the over-worked, under-funded prowess of legal aid but I have little choice at this point.
Voldemort actually revealed this evening that he has looked into trying to get full custody of Mira. You know, since I'm a sex-craving, STD-spreading, child-abusing prostitute.

He and his brother (who, coincidentally, is friendly as pie towards me) borrowed Mira this afternoon. When Voldemort brought her home, he noted that my house smelled like pot (marijuana). Then he asked me, "so was your boyfriend smoking pot?" and promptly left.
Uh, no, dipshit. You're the pot smoker. Actually it's been quite lovely having a boyfriend who doesn't smoke. I don't know if he still smokes it, but I know that he was at least through the summer of 2007, and had off and on throughout the five years which I've now known him for. It's been an an ongoing battle between he and his psycho-depressive self, and it's been a means of self-medication. When we went to Chicago in June/July to meet up with a bunch of my Internet Mom Friends? (that's the true IMF, I tell you, far more valuable than the International Monetary Fund). Yeah, one of the times when he left the house he went to find a frisbee golf course and he got high with some guys he met there.

So, in true adolescent form I send him a text a few minutes later which said, "You'd know the smell of pot better than me anyway!" Yeah, I shouldn't have sent it. It just pisses me off how he will totally ignore me when I try to talk to him (about MIRA, mind you, when he's picking her up or dropping her off). Then, when he does talk, it's to wedge in a sneaky jab. As soon as he left (which coincided with his pot comment), Torrin asked, "How come he always asks dumb questions, mom?" Good question, Torrin, good question, but not one I can answer quickly or concisely, beyond "because he's a sad, sad man." Or "mentally-ill," take your pick.

He responds by completely ignoring the marijuana conversation (probably a moot point anyway) and asking, "New TV?" See, there's a cardboard box on the porch by my recycling bins. An empty cardboard box that once housed a nice decent-sized flat LCD TV. It's not mine and it's not in my house. But Voldemort needed to obsess about WHOSE television it is...um...who cares?

Why, oh why, was it Torrin's dad who moved away, and not Mira's?

Happy to be home...or am I?

We got back into town around 10:30pm last night. While I am relieved to be home, in my own house, with our own things, our own food, both of my babies, etc., I am not entirely thrilled to be here.
It's all part of the larger frustration mill, churning away. Of course, there's Voldemort. But then, there's other things, too. Like the unpaid internet and natural gas bills. Oh, if only I were a prostitute like He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named thinks, I'd have no outstanding debts! (Whatthebleepever). Then there's work. I get paid crap to do crap. On one hand, I really like that at the end of a day I can sit down (yeah right) and think, wow, I helped this-n-that-person, however-many-people today and be able to attach something tangible to that. Two families are getting free packs of diapers, about twenty will get free christmas gifts for their children, two people received vouchers for gasoline. And that's just today, in a few short hours. Then there's also the sadness...the people we couldn't help, or the people we did help but shouldn't. The ungrateful folk. The people who get mad because there's a $17 limit on the free christmas gifts, or the ones who call to say, "don't help so-and-so with their gas bill." Then I think about how I should be done with graduate school by now, instead of not-even-applied yet. How I'm thousands of dollars in debt with both credit and student loans. But I pay for YMCA membership and recycling services? I spent ten bucks on another pair of shoes for the Buffalo Dinner last weekend, but I haven't paid my phone bill? I complain about how I have no time, then I spend hours on the Internet and preoccupy myself with my way-too-cute boyfriend? Really, I don't have time for a boyfriend. But surely the happiness makes it worth it? Then Voldemort swoops in for an attack, complicating things...or at least causing a nuisance.

Sometimes, I think it would be most diplomatic to bow out, to extricate myself from the situation, pack up, and move away.

Would the problems follow? Surely, they would.

Update: Tom Riddle vs. Harry Potter

I'm somewhat chagrined to report that I have not taken any absolute action in respect to Voldemort's prying and pestering, aside from not answering his calls or texts.
On Tuesday afternoon, Torrin, The Chosen One, and I departed from Lincoln. Mira stayed in Lincoln. She was to be staying primarily with Voldemort's mother, known as Merope Gaunt in the HP series. I made no arrangements with Voldemort personally but it was understood that Merope would coordinate the efforts between she, Voldemort, and Tom Riddle Sr. (Voldemort's dad, who is not dead in this story).

So, we're driving through Iowa. Iowa sucks. But, all seemed to be going pretty well. The drive was progressing favorably and The Boy Who Lived was doing an excellent job at initiating and maintaining conversation (not one of my fortés). My phone rang...Santeria by Sublime, which has become (unfortunately for Sublime) Voldemort's anthem. Since Mira could have conceivably been with him, I felt it was fair to answer the call. "Let me talk to your boyfriend," he demanded. I said no and hung up on his dumb a$s.

We stopped in Dubuque for gas, as has become the custom. Torrin was passed out in the backseat by this time. We were just about to leave, when the phone rang again. Morbid curiousity won out over logic, and I answered, taking off for the service station's restroom and ditching The Chosen One as he opened the door to re-enter my car. God, that was rude of me.

But not nearly as rude as what Voldemort had just done. I said hello, and Mr. Riddle replied cooly, "I just got off of the phone with your boyfriend's mom." Then, he said her name. She has a distinctive name. The blood drained from my head and I sought refuge in the bathroom. "How did you do that?" I wanted to know. Voldemort was not satisfied with this reply. I'm not sure how he expected me to react, but he gauged me incorrectly by supposing that I only wanted to know how he found it out so that I can better "hide" my "tracks next time." He considers it a sort of public service that he called The Chosen One's mom to warn her about me. Says he was on the phone with her for half an hour.

Seriously, WHAT THE FÜ(K.

What kind of crazy son of a fool (no offense Merope and Tom Sr.) calls up his ex-GF's mother to make himself feel better.

I'm not even sure how Tom Riddle got that information. I've been pretty careful to not slip any identifying information to him (duh) or his mom. We're pretty sure it must be internet-related, possibly off of the local University's studentfinder via Facebook (to get his name).
At this point one can probably gather that I am definitely p!s$ed off. Come Monday you can be certain that I will verify that there is a document stating that I have legal physical custody of my daughter. Until then, I try to forget that the whole thing happened so that I can enjoy the weekend. That waste of oxygen is not worth my time spent worrying.

Been a long time, been a long time, been a long, lonely, lonely, lonely, lonely time

Well not really, but it sounded like a good title. I'm busy, as usual, with the children and working at the Indian Center. If you would like to see pictures from our trip to Kansas City last weekend, go here: http://picasaweb.google.com/lajacinthe
Sunday March 11, 2007 - 10:35pm (PST)

Thank You, Mason

Funny how I am addressing this post to someone who has never, to date, looked at this page.
Invariably, it is necessary that I use this space, as it is highly available, to thank him for the washer and dryer which he bought for me (us, as in my little family living in this house, which includes myself as well as Mira and Torrin but not Mason himself).
I've had a couple of inquiries as to Why Mason is being nice. Well, I don't know, but I certainly won't question it until given cause to wonder.
Monday February 12, 2007 - 12:24am (PST)
Comments
Hey, that´s cool! I know how much having laudry facilities in-house helps--especially you with 2 youngsters! That sucks about your class. I guess there´s always next quarter. Maybe the schedule will be better, too. Anyway, I thought I´d pop you comment cherry and say HI!!! --Edie
Wednesday February 14, 2007 - 04:23am (PST)

He's So Purdy...

And he starts his new job at ITI tomorrow morning! Monday @ 8am!
Coindentally enough I start something new tomorrow at 8 as well...I am officially a student again, although I'm not in any program. I'm taking Human Anatomy at SCC to fulfill some prerequisites I need in order to apply for graduate school.

Remnants of Thursday Evening

Mason and I had a wine date and a Fashion Show. Yes, those are champagne flutes, but I've never had wine in my house before. Sue me (or buy me some wine glasses).

UPDATE: The Lovely Ms. Amber bought me wine glasses as a Christmas gift. :D