I don’t know how I’m going to roll into this next week. I’ve only got three cups of coffee left, and I’ve got the doctors appointments, one of which will tell me if I’ve got genital warts. I drink like three cups of coffee a day, so here we go. New week, new challenges.
This is what I have to go through: the stint in the baby’s ear, an unfamiliar midwife. Photoshoot today with Musette’s intrusive father-in-law, the baby’s grandfather, just like my neighbor, Gary, who thought that my sister’s one-and-a-half year old was the newborn.
I am doing everything that I can to keep that guy away from the baby. My power to hold and harness reality is strong. I am the magician. That’s what they call me on the force. That’s the tarot card associated with my birthday.
There is no alone time anymore. I’m so tired of seeing my father-in-law, and I can’t talk to Musette about it because he’s her dad. He’s always here, and all that I’ve ever wanted to do with our combined life is get as far away from him as possible. He’s always got something to say, like when he saw me putting away a Sriracha bottle, he asked me if I have gotten to the point where I’m guzzling straight from the bottle yet. I just laughed, a fake laugh, an obviously fake laugh.
Musette is asking me if she can use my phone to take pictures of the baby. I am reluctantly handing it to her. The look of disdain on my face is obvious, and so she says nevermind. I’m doing things with it anyways, like controlling the music in the apartment, and I am receiving notifications from all over the internet. It’s my personal thing. It’s like asking to use my heart or my eyes. I know that we share photo libraries, but she doesn’t get messages popping up telling her that my therapist or my publisher or someone that I’m trying to flirt into reading my writing is telling me that they love me and want to come and visit me, etc.
I don’t need anybody telling me how to act. This is my daughter too. More than it is my father in law’s. That’s for sure, and the fact that he has now seen his daughter’s tit. I know what is on his mind. He can’t fool me. I saw where the sorting hat placed him. He can’t try and hide. He’s been playing coy. He makes me sick. I’m over here secretly praying for his death, but then nobody will take care of his wife. I mean, I’m sure that he has life insurance. He has consulted me into getting it.