Update: The Saga Continues

Tim gets out Wednesday.

Meanwhile, Squeaky is driving me Bonkers Q. Batcrap, calling me every...single...solitary...time she talks to Tim on the phone, or thinks she should talk to Tim on the phone, or wonders if she ought to CALL Tim, or wondering if Tim is going to call HER...and that's saying nothing of what she's doing to poor Tim. Apparently she's calling him when she has nothing to say.

Now, calling when you have nothing to say is an excusable thing when you're 13. Or 16. By the time you're 20, you should know when it is or is not appropriate. "Calling your 34-year-old ex-lover at the psych unit" is definitely on the "not appropriate" side of the checklist. And, predictably, he's getting snappish with her. Then she has to call me, in case I talked to him and he said something about her. Every conversation has to be dissected and analyzed and picked-over...(I realized at one point that I was feeling guilty, and wanting to look up my high-school boyfriend to drop an apology for when I used to do this....when I was 17, 18 years old. I refrained; believe me, I owe him about ten thousand times more apologies than for THAT.)

The maddening thing is, though: Squeaky is clearly Not With the Program regarding the significance of all that's happened. Her worry for Tim is couched largely in terms of "but does he love me?" "does he know I love him?" "Is he mad at me?" The issue at hand--Tim's health and welfare--she comprehensively fails to understand; she claims in one breath to want to do what's best for him, but then in the next she's talking about how she wants him to come back and live with her and Old Bastard again. Apparently, she and Old Bastard had a discussion, entirely without Tim's input, regarding what conditions Tim would be required to agree to in order to be allowed to live there again. The conditions are fairly insulting, first of all, and then there's this other small problem: Tim doesn't WANT to live there. He never did--the only reason he lived there in the first place was that she moved all his belongings there and told him it would be a stable place that he wouldn't be kicked out of! But he hates it there; he's said this a hundred times at least.

The best thing for Tim, I think, would be to take up the offer his friend in Ohio made. His friend offered to give him a room and line him up with a job, no questions asked. The reason Tim gave for not going when it was offered was that he didn't want to just turn up on the guy's doorstep in the middle of the holidays; well, the holidays are over now, so that barrier is removed. I'm going to offer to buy him the bus ticket, in fact, when he comes by on Wednesday; the way I see it, getting him out of this stress factory would probably be $40 well spent. Between me, Squeaky, and Betty the Bartender, I'm reasonably sure that I'm the one who has Tim's welfare most in mind, and who has the fewest ulterior motives. I just want him to be healthy (i.e. not constantly drunk off his butt and using "stress" as the excuse); happy (i.e. not constantly submerged in so much stress that he can USE it as an excuse); and self-supporting (because I think THAT will do more for his mental health than ANYTHING. I remember the old, self-reliant Tim, when he had a job; sure, nothing was perfect--he still drank, still did the occasional stupid thing--but he was in his 20's at the time, so that makes sense. And he was HAPPIER--that I know. He took pride in paying his rent and bills on time. I really think being in the socioeconomic dumps has hit him a lot harder than many people realize; then again, there aren't many people in his life who knew him back then, or who have seen him in circumstances besides the ones he's in.)

I wish Squeaky would leave him alone, or at least act like a grownup.
I wish Squeaky would leave ME alone. I'm a solitary person; I don't deal well with three phone calls a night, all from the same person (to whom I didn't want to talk anyway) and all of which say the same thing, to wit: nothing.

I'm reasonably sure neither of those wishes will come true.

Maybe if I changed my number and moved to Borneo....?

And of course, the person I feel worst for is Tim. -I- can just not-answer the phone; he doesn't have that option. I'm not trying to save him, mind you; I'm long past the time when I thought I even COULD save him or anybody else. But I still feel bad that he has to go through it, and if I can give him an avenue out--well, then, so much the better.

Update From The Farm

All is quiet in Gladystopia.

Squeaky, safe at her AA-evangelist friend's house and/or her baby-daddy's, sends word through Tim that she feels much better. Tim informed me that the AA-friend has promised to buy him a carton of smokes to thank him for taking care of Squeaky. She ought to be sending me a case of Pepsi, if that's the plan; I was just as responsible for her care and feeding, only more! But people look at things the way they want to; and anyway I didn't do it for credit--it's just annoying to see other people getting praised for things they wouldn't be able to do if I wasn't around to help THEM. Whatever, you know? The important thing is that Squeaky's safe and, according to Tim, is trying to get herself together. I'm glad to hear it; nobody deserves the life that girl has had.

Tim and I spent a quiet night at home last night--he brought home some beer, and while I watched "Don't Forget the Lyrics" and "So You Think You Can Dance", Tim fried some pork chops and watched Nicolette's Cardinals whomp the bajeebus out of his Cubs. He and Nicki are going to try the long-distance relationship thing, it seems, which is cool--as I've said, I like Nicki and I think she's good for Tim. Plus, if I lose the house, he says they've talked about it, and he will probably go live downstate with her.

That may happen soon. I haven't been able to get a hold of the lawyer, and the sale date is scheduled for next week. If I lose it, I lose it. If I can, I'll buy it back. If I can't, I'll move to Mom's. It's all fine with me, really, unless you count the actual MOVING part.

The job is AWESOME. I'm developing my little likes and dislikes of people I work with; so far, there are many, MANY more likes than dislikes. Everyone is SO helpful and friendly and there really aren't any snobby or judgemental people. And I haven't even started on the neighborhood--I can't mention which one it is, because every Chicagoan would instantly be able to figure out where I work--but I have found YET ANOTHER Chicago neighborhood in which I would totally love to live, if only I could afford it. In fact, if I lose this house, after a year or two of building up my savings, one of my options would be to rent an apartment in this neighborhood--that's how much I love it.

So--aside from total exhaustion and the side-effects of too much caffeine--I am completely happy. I'm even eating healthier--the cafeteria in my workplace is woefully short on tasty crap food, so I find myself eating things like....fruit. Or....sandwiches. Or....soup. (I did have a burger from one of the local places yesterday, but I'd have to file that under--as the LOLCats would say--Not So Grate, Akshuly. Or possibly even Pleh...Do Not Want.) The commute is kicking my butt, I'll admit--largely because a) it takes about 90 minutes one-way, most of which is spent either walking from point to point or switching buses/trains/etc, and b)the train ride involves passing JP's building twice a day, and all the emotions THAT conjures up--but I'm learning to deal with even that. (Well, most days I am, anyway.) And even the commute seems like a small price to pay for going to such an awesome place daily.

Is it normal for someone not to know what to do with herself because there's no longer anything to complain of? I think I understand now why local news is always so depressing--it's because good news, while it's nice and wonderful and everything, makes for pretty boring stories.

NOT, mind you, that I'm looking for drama; heavens, no. :)