Dom bought me coffee at Starbucks today...was kind enough to TRY to understand at least why I'm so obsessed with this latest incident with Daniel James (how indirectly this is connected to Jane Kartsch and Deborah Moore...even harder is when family and friends occasionally accuse me of enjoying playing victim etc...this is where the relief from thoughts of suicide shuts their stupid hateful mouths...but the realization in my old age, that killing myself would turn into an excuse for a celebration w hese ppl makes me rather figure out a way to turn tables...pull a miracle out of my pocket etc
anyway Dom made some comment about rape...and so trying to convince him of my legitimacy I guess, I used shock to shut him up by explaing I had been raped by a man I worked for in 1990...was even hospitalized within about a week (St vincents)...point was/is I blamed myself for taking the pill he gave me...didn't slip it in my drink...couldn't imagine all the questions about my own responsibility...It didn't even occur to me to call police. I didn't even tell anyone for weeks...Lilyan Severnich was the person I told, and she used word rape...thought I was stupid to keep it to myself...but that was the reality. Only time I ever called police in NYC was when a chore wheel happy roommate named Martin threatened to throw my stuff out of the loft because I hadn't been doing my chores. No shit. Nothing about money! Rent was paid. Over chores. So the insanity of his threats and timing (as I was on my way out to a big film screening night etc) had me grab phone and call police-they came (425 Brooke street soho)within matter of a few minutes. Upstairs friends Nancy and Mark would laugh later about the way the cops joked themselves the whole time-they warned asshole Martin he could not do that...and whatever the point was cops were called when relatively SERIOUS situations were occurring...that was then? Now juvenile scumbag mind game players call the police when characters from their videogames beat their scores-seriously? I'm really starting to see how luck I am to not have to swallow any shit as the parent of the next generation of sophisticated liars. As I write computers freeze while at EXACT same moment my basic cable box ($11 per month best deal in town!) shuts off for non payment (even tho it WAS paid)...My computer on the blink AND my car's tranny burning out at same time? Really? WHile Im not working? While my back and hip are even more fucked up from the depression of laying around too long? I dont get out of the house anymore not because of agoraphobia but because there is no gas money...so I SPLURGE on a coffee, driving my car on its last legs...and I need to have Daniel James FURTHER character assasinate me by decree of his boss....really.
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