Thu, Sep 21, 2017, 1:52 AM

About 30-20 minutes before. 12:30-ish.  I felt strongly like I should get what I wanted/felt I "needed" out of the fridge, get any snacks (like what, a piece of bread?  to go with the boiled potato and carrots and corn cob I have collected this evening, post-"him"-gone and post-Safeway trip where I spent all but $6 of my remaining money on fruit (a red pear (never bought one of these before), a red plum, a Pink Lady apple, and a Gala(?) apple, green grapes) and millet ($7.50+!!! for 7 half-grown sprigs of millet spray marketed to bird owners - death penalty highway robbery.  Thanks, Obama) for the birds. 

I got myself a large Russet and 3 large carrots.  And a corn cob.  I get very sad when they're not on the market anymore,  I boiled the potato too long and burned my pot with a black resin of burn.  I might just throw it away, I despise scraping that shit, and it seems like once I do, everything sticks to the pot forever and always, no matter how many pints of olive oil I add. 

Absolutely regretting not getting that ish out of the radiating rectangle.  My point is: he is weird.  He gets here, always lets the door close loudly (for some reason, when leaving he is always silent with it.  Entering, it slams, which I appreciate, but often I never knew he was gone, which I do not appreciate), so I hear it and feel it slam. I can feel his questioning; looking for signs of me. 

There is eager enthusiasm as he strides swift without hesitation into the kitchen - and opens the microwave?  He closes it again almost immediately.  The sink runs a few seconds, but that's all.  Then directly to my room.  Knocks.  I have all the lights out, and had them all off in the other areas of the apartment, too. 

I silently consider my options, peering slightly over my right shoulder (I'm sitting in the bedroom with my back to the door and facing the birds (and lit laptop - otherwise it is all dark in here.  Aside from my Himalayan salt rock lamp.  And my solar powered garden lights, which occasionally flash a dim but crystally-white light), in the walkway atop on a BRUTE plastic lidded, rectangular bucket between the bed and dresser, each of them situated on a respective wall, the king-size bed over-dominating the room).  I decide to remain silent.  I will say I was listening to music if he questions me. 

His energy has immediately drained of much of the enthusiasm and his once-springy steps are now concentrated on other methods of "me" now.  A few seconds later I get a text: "Are you home?"  My phone volume is on vibrate and I flip it over so I can't see any more notifications.  He does something in the kitchen and comes back.  Knocks again.  Again, I am silent, wondering if he will have the nerve to come in.  He does, and almost runs right back out when he sees me sitting here.  He stumbles over excuses, and almost immediately asks me if I'm okay.  I ask him why he is asking me that.  He quickly goes to the closet and starts digging for nothing, trying to start a conversation. 

When he leaves he gives my area a few good look-overs, taking in my papers on the bed, but particularly gazing at the neon pink swim top and bright turquoise bikini bottoms in a balled up pile in the middle of it all.  Why did he go to the microwave.  He tells me my donuts are out there.  I never asked for donuts.  He made a huge to-do about getting K.K. donuts.  He sent me a picture of 12 of them; 6 filled and 6 holed.  The text said they were all for me.  That's retarded.  I can't eat that many and never could ever.  He just bought me a 12 pack of Albertsons donuts and I had like 1 1/2, which was a sympathy eat.  He gets mad when I dont eat what he buys me, even if I didn't ask for it, and even if I dont know it's something he bought for me. They're still sitting on top of the microwave.  I messaged back telling him I can't eat that many and I dont understand why he would buy me that many donuts.  Fuck. 

I know it's not me.  I know there's a weird mental thing with him.  I know there is.  But being stuck around all these, honestly, certifiable head cases, is starting to make me question what little sanity I had left.  Being in quarantine, self-imposed or not, has not done me any favors these last few months.  Only being exposed to this and Cole.  Is there something about people not respecting you that makes them a little crazier?  They definitely act much different to me than they would if I weren't in this situation.  They think I owe them and they own me and I should feel and act the way they  want because I don't have money = I'm not a person = I'm worth less than shit - but I have value to them because I'm a somewhat attractive vagina.  This one doesnt even laugh at my jokes, doesnt see me as human at all.  Looks at me strangely, awkwardly.  Put me down the other day when I was smoking and he was trying to "spend time with me."  Earlier today he tried to tell me not to keep the door to the room closed.  Every time that I accidentally fall asleep I wake up panicked, wondering if he had been there, wondering if he had touched me.  I know he goes through my things when I'm asleep. I'm a chick.  I can immediately tell if someone has been through my area, unless they use the upmost of care.  Even then, I set markers, traps, indicators, that if moved, won't be noticed or replaced by anyone else, and I will know what has occurred.