What he forgot to tell me was that he was planning on going to the chess club this week and playing. Here I am, with a bunch of stuff I want to talk to him about (read: Kathy) and he doesn't want any part of it. He isn't even being sweet and playful about it, so, of course I cry. I'm such a baby sometimes. Eventually after a half hour of phone conversation he convinces me to come over and talk to him until Star Trek: Voyager comes on.

One of the reasons I love Joseph so much? I walk in the door, my eyes are red and puffy from crying, I'm sniffling, and the first thing he does is give me a hug. Joseph's hugs have a way of making the whole world just go away, and I feel so safe in his arms. It's so instantly calming *sigh*

I talked to him about Kathy, and we decided on a plan of action. One that I actually began working on today. But that comes later. I also asked him to hold money for me from my next four paychecks, so I can have the money to be able to afford to go to school this Fall. It will cost only one arm and one leg! *laughs* but seriously. It's something I have to do. It's like I said yesterday to someone I work with "If I can get my degree from the same school I dropped out of 8 years ago to go out and enjoy life, it will seem like it was all worth it" It will be my way of proving to myself (and my great-grandmother) that my way was, in fact, the right way...for me, anyway.

So today I need to fill out the application for Valparaiso University and send it in. I'm really dreading writing the "personal statement" you have to submit with the application. I don't know why...maybe it's because I haven't written anything (not including journal entries, of course) in years and years. The last thing I wrote was probably that six page poem that I have somewhere at home about the evils of a child growing up in a world that has been taken over by corporate america. Me, of all people, writing that capitalism is bad. Who woulda thunk it? Ah well, Chris was quite an influence on me then. He thought everyone was a facist. He was probably a freedom fighter in some third world country in a former life. He was just like that.

Gosh, about a week ago in the car, I was talking about Chris, and Kathy breaks down crying talking about how much she missed him. I thought it was so odd. I wasn't crying, and she's blubbbering. I was fascinated. I think I finally can just look back and watch it like it was a movie. It's doesn't hit so close to home anymore. My home doesn't look like that now, and there is really no place for those kind of furnishings. Bad analogy, I know, but it makes sense to me.

This morning I drove into work with Kathy (as usual) and stopped to get gas at the gas station (today, you may have guessed by the title of this page, is payday) and put my ATM card in and was denied my transaction....very distressing. I whipped out my cellular and called Joseph whining about having no money and needing gas. He told me to come over and he'd give me money. So I did, and he did, and off to work we went. After a few "HUD"s of course. (He says he's a blonde and it's duh backwards, but when he says it...it sounds like a whole other language that has only one word but communicates volumes by the tone of voice while saying it...it's SO cute!)

In Chicago. We park, I go to my ATM machine to see that *taDUM* I have money now. So I get some and trot my happy butt over to the Marquette Inn for my morning Honeydew melon and English muffin. And coffee, of course. Kathy orders a Honeydew mellon and then hemmms and hawwwws and pulls out some change and puts it on the counter and says "I have 28 cents" I say "so?" (I can be terribly eloquent, eh?) She says "I guess I'll cancel the honeydew mellon" and I say "Whatever"...so she calls over the waitress and does just that. Then doesn't read, doesn't do her makeup, doesn't do anything but sit there looking like a whipped puppy while staring at me or the table while I'm trying to eat. It took a lot of willpower, but I didn't offer any to her. She would have taken it. She needs to learn that she has to take care of herself and she can't get whatever she wants whenever she wants it. Life doesn't work like that. And if a 27 year old relying on a 24 year old for financial support doesn't seem wrong to her, that's part of her problem. The other part of her problem is that she's not me. She doesn't make the money I do, and she doesn't have my job. She really can't AFFORD to eat at the Marquette every day. I only can because I do not buy a bunch of miscellaneous stuff before/after work. I only get the food...It's a luxury I enjoy and feel I have earned. Kathy doesn't understand the true meaning of the term "to earn" she just follows orders and thinks she can get whatever she wants and someone will always be there to help her out.

I feel bad, but she needs to learn now, or it will only be worse later. She mentioned giving me her check to deposit in the bank (she only has a savings account at a bank that's in Lansing, IL, which is very far away from where we live) and I said "I'm sorry, but I'm not going to deal with it like I did last time where you give me your money and before the check clears you take all of my money saying "Take it out of my check when it clears" "I have bills and I am not going to have checks bounce because you need money and want mine" this doesn't go over too well. I suggested she find out what bank her check is drawn on and go and CASH it...and think about opening an account of her own. She seems even more depressed. I ask her why she's so unhappy when she's about to have scads of money and she sighs ever so deeply and says "It's my daddy's birthday"

You'd think she'd be a little more sensitive to the fact that the Father's Day holiday makes me want to grab a sniper rifle and trot on up to the top of the nearest belltower, but no. She sighs and whines and hemms and hawws (she's very good at the hemming and hawwing) and talks for a while in an extremely childish voice about "missing her daddy" and pouting like a five year old.

What she misses is being a child and being taken care of. Too bad. Time to grow up, it happens to the best of us. Some of us never had daddys to take care of us and we are a little unsympathetic about pooor wittle girls who can't pay for a two dollar honeydew mellon because they just HAD TO HAVE the two hundred and sixty dollar bedframe shown below

I mean, it's a nice bed and all, but she bought that before she bought mattresses, so she's sleeping on my couch, which is an antique I got as a gift from my great-grandmother. I love that couch, and the longer she sleeps on it (and occasionally DRAGS the cushion into her bedroom to sleep on) the more the seams rip and stuffing falls out. What does she have to say on the matter? "I hate sleeping on that couch, I can't get a decent night's sleep on it" It was fine for the longest time, but now that she doesn't WANT to be on it, it's suddenly bad. I'd be more than happy for her to get off of my wonderful couch and stop destroying it. But of course she doesn't care about my things. It doesn't even dawn on her that she should be taking better care of it. Of course I just don't want to say anything because I'm afraid I will yell or say something ignorant to her and hurt her feelings. Which everyone tells me is stupid, because she's not really caring about my feelings.

I swear I feel like she's my child, and not my friend.

Jennifer

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