Ridicule is not the sincerest form of flattery.

P


oor heart broken Persad called me at work to get Peggy's number. That's really my number. Peggy is nothing but a fucking, reproducing, delusional houseguest, the recipient of charity that I regret more with each passing day. Persad wasn't really interested in Peggy; he was trying to track down Theresa, his prodigal former girlfriend, asking who she was with and such. I couldn't just tell him "she doesn't love you anymore." After all, he's living in delusion almost as much as Peggy is. Recently he was allegedly seen in a grocery store, pathetically spending his money on her groceries.

It looks like it's up to me AGAIN to be the asshole.

M


atthew Hart says last night he talked to Peggy about her need to eventually leave. But she was in the la la land of delusion. He doesn't think he got anywhere with her, and the others were not being supportive. It looks like it's up to me AGAIN to be the asshole. I'm getting better at that every day.

M


atthew Hart's mother and her husband from Staunton came to visit today. Just so you know the quicky soap opera behind this story: Matthew's mother and father did the "switcheroo" with another couple during December of 1995. Now they're each married to the member of the opposite sex in the other couple. Matthew's father and his new wife (in Waynesboro) have even had a child, as you might recall.

While Matthew's mother toured the house and oohed and ahhed about how responsible her son was being (she was especially impressed by the no-smoking policy, though she herself smokes), her husband mined me for advice about computers and the internet.

But if Peggy is sleeping on my back porch then there's no way in hell she can afford ultrasound.

The sheer stinking quantity of bullshit and pseudoscience people rely upon to view Peggy's unwise pregnancy continues to astound me. Matthew's mother introduced yet another method for determining the child's sex: Peggy holds a needle on the end of a thread, and if it loops in a circle it's a boy but if it goes back and forth it's a girl. Sure enough, it's a girl, just like all the other pseudoscience has led her to believe. Of course, I know too much to take that crap seriously. I know about Clever Hans, I know about Ouija boards, and I know about the power of suggestion. But if Peggy is sleeping on my back porch then there's no way in hell she can afford ultrasound.

Matthew cooked some cheese-filled ravioli in a special soy sauce semi-marinade. I wasn't feeling especially social and went off to bed for a particularly long pre-work nap.

It's becoming clear that my home social environment is completely unsatisfying. I'm cranky all the time and there are so many people who I would rather not see that I spend much time in my room, alone. At least I'm getting lots of sleep.

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