Still Finding New Ones Nearly 5 Years Later!

Still finding new ones nearly 5 years later!

bitches hate when other people are in the kitchen because they’ve spent their entire lives being criticized for doing tasks imperfectly and having their eating habits policed and now have incredible anxiety about other people judging their cooking choices that can’t be easily explained in a few words as to why they’re acting so hostile about someone else being near them during this very vulnerable process. it’s me, i’m bitches

I'm feeling it tonight. This shit is a bitch.

You know that feeling where you're eyes are burning, and you can't focus on anything because you're so exhausted, but your body is wired and so pumped up with cortisol and dread that you can barely sit let alone actually sleep?

I felt like that for 10 years straight.

Oopsie.

You know when you know something is a bad idea, but you do it anyways?

Have any of you figured out how to curb that yet?

Does anyone else have this trauma symptom?

Thinking about my childhood and any pleasant things from it makes me cry. I just watched something that played the theme to Mr. Dress Up and I'm weeping.

He got in an accident on his bike and I found out by chance by googling his name and finding the GoFundMe. My very first instinct was to donate $$ to him. I didn't, but that's another post.

I was surprised by how much money he'd already received and the number of donors. He always said everyone is useless and incompetent, and that he doesn't have good people around him to rely on. He keeps friends and people around him purely based on their utility. When they cease to be useful, he removes them from his life.

So it's shocking that he's amassed thousands in support from dozens of people. There's people here who put down some serious cash for him.

I wonder if they'd give him a cent if they knew.

Did I mention I have to go back to this fucker to get him to sign things? 

Apparently I’ll never be safe.

So.  I got sexually harassed by one of my tax clients yesterday. 

He’s on disability and CRA (Canada’s IRS - less scary, still irritating) is jerking him around.  He’s “not going to file” to solve this issue (it won’t, but you can’t tell some people anything).  CRA will probably just cut off his benefits if he doesn’t file, and as I’m a fucking fool with no sense of self preservation or foresight I offered to do his return for free.  

So I’ve just agreed to do him a favour, and he starts calling me sweetheart.  I’m don’t say anything, and I wish I had because it went allll downhill from there. I roll up to pick up his documents and he’s shitfaced.  I don’t know what he was drinking, but I can’t get that sickeningly sweet smell out of my nose.

He starts trying to get me to “feel” his body parts that are “fucking jacked” now that he’s been working out.  I’m visibly uncomfortable. He asks me to grab his ass. “No, thanks”

He asked me to come up to his apartment.  I said that I was in a hurry to see other clients.  He asked me to go out to dinner with him and I told him I had a partner and wasn’t interested (why did I have to mention my partner, isn’t ‘not interested’ enough)?

THEN he says, and I fucking quote “Well you could always come upstairs for a one hour romance.”

“….Nope, I’m not interested.  I gotta go.”

“Oh come on, it’s just a sexual experience baby, that’s all it would be.”

*walking away dry heaving into my mask*

“Oh, ok, well thanks anyways!”

For the love of fuck, asshole.  I do your fucking taxes. I had half a mind to leave his docs with him, but I am propelled forwards by this self-destructive sense of compassion for people who are simply not worthy of it.