Today I have to pack stuff – again.

I’m taking pills to wake up. I have no real food, just some leftovers which are probably too old to eat. I might order pizza. I overheard my coworkers talking about "papa grande" and thought they were ordering a pizza from Papa John’s, only to find out that papa is potato.

I did take a ginseng too, and it will affect me tomorrow as well. I resisted urges to touch Augustin, and I resisted an impulse to "baby" him. The "voices" have to explain to me what constitutes babying. My natural impulse to always help someone having difficulty, probably my -Si base function, is probably not appreciated all the time. He was about to push a very large, heavy container of sauce across the floor, and I heard him say the English word "muscles", but then, near the cooler, it slopped and spilled some on the floor. Like a magnet I was attracted to this mess – oh, poor thing, don’t worry, I’ll clean it up for you so you can finish whatever you need to do. But I stopped myself and allowed him to clean it up. I don’t want him to feel foolish.

A facebook friend, Chris, wants to leave Pennsylvania. I found him when I did a craigslist ad for ENFPs, years ago, however I could not be with him because he used benzodiazepines at the time, and every time I touched him or his belongings, or even smelled him while standing near him, in the miasma of partially metabolized drug vapors coming out of his breath and his skin, I would go into withdrawal a few hours later, nearly vomiting and having partial convulsions. I don’t blame the victim, but simply for self preservation I had to avoid him. Drug industry victimization of anyone who’s different.

Now, it’s impossible to put an ad asking for ENFPs on craigist – there are soul murdering genocidalists who instantly delete my ad. These are the people who control what gets said and done on the internet, to prevent the internet from being used to do anything useful. There is no usable alternative to Craigslist.

I am at my worst right now, badly malnourished and exhausted, no healthy food for months because I threw it all away and didn’t buy more, in preparation for moving out. I can’t get food now when I’m leaving this week. My brain is functioning badly. It’s barely able to think at all.

I have to take a shower but Mike started doing laundry at the exact instant when I was about to get in the shower. We have absolute zero water pressure. The water in the shower will switch from "freshly melted glacier" to "burn your skin off" in an instant. I will wait.

There are devices that pressurize your water. I’d get one if this were my house. I need to rinse my hair thoroughly in the shower, and the gentle trickle of water takes forever to rinse it.

Chris’s wife had an unexplained crazy attack a few weeks ago. I don’t know if he is still with her. I don’t know what triggered the crazy attack. I probably won’t be snatching him up – I have no idea if I would still react to his contamination. Drug residues do not biodegrade or magically vanish. I know from over eight years of hard experience. You must get rid of contaminated objects.

I don’t like Worshipping The Sacred Schedule and being forced to have my one single day off at the exact same time that every other sacred schedule worshipper has a day off. Mike is at home and I’d rather be alone while packing my stuff, because I will need to do weird behaviors, like taking herbal drugs, talking to myself out loud, crying, collapsing onto the floor and kneeling and shaking and trembling and crying because of exhaustion and pain and fear and the attacks and being unable to focus or make decisions. If someone else is in the house, I can’t even so much as whisper verbal commands to myself out loud. I have to turn into a mindless, soulless robot zombie to do a horrifying task like pack all my belongings, and the LAST thing I want is to socialize or have a conversation with the person who, I still to this day, suspect might possibly be making this whole thing up and there is no nephew coming to live in my room. I think he’s going on a bike ride or something now. He goes on these long 500 mile jogs and bike rides in his free time every weekend. Imagine not having chronic fatigue, bad joints, and a manual labor slave job! He’s an engineer. Only men get to work at jobs where they use their brains.

The demons awoke in me, from my boss’s point of view, the LSI-ISTJ, when I was going into ginseng withdrawal (withdrawal lasts about a day) and also getting PMS, worsened by my malnutrition and overcaffeination. I was struggling to put the aerator back on the sink faucet. He saw me struggling. "Tighty righty, lefty loosey" wasn’t working, unless maybe you interpret "rightwards" as starting at 6:00 on the clock face instead of at 12:00.

"What are you doing?" he said. I explained I was putting this back on but it wasn’t working. "But don’t you need more water flow?" he said.

(WHAT!!! I can tell that -Ti along with +Te is your ignore function, like Hitta’s chart / maybe Model B says, because you ignore your own self-contradictions, and -Ti has to do with non-contradiction, I believe. This is the same person who constantly nags me about overuse of water when OTHER PEOPLE, not me, leave the faucet handle slightly on and still running – which is the fault of an improperly adjusted faucet, and not user error – you shouldn’t have to spend ten seconds squeezing the faucet handle with maximum strength to force it to shut off without dripping!)

I don’t recall what I said next, but he said, "Just leave that to the boys. They can handle these mechanical things better than you can."

Yep. He went there. Truth is more sexist than fiction.

In ginseng withdrawal, and in a state of bitchy PMS as well (I heard dear Carlos explain to Augustin that I was "dolorosa / o" after I apologized about being bitchy and not feeling well), I couldn’t hold back the anger. "Oh, THAT’S nice!" I said loudly, in the most sarcastic voice possible. He stared at me in shock, and I walked away.

I am an ISTP. This type is called "The Mechanic." Female ISTPs don’t get encouraged to learn mechanical skills, but they are very good at them if they somehow battle against society’s pressures and learn on their own. The anti-female-mechanic pressure is very real. I won’t go into it while thumb typing.

I’m not angry at my coworkers, mostly just the boss. The coworkers need not fear.

I came back and saw Care Bear was also struggling and failing to put it back on. Finally he did. It turns out this faucet is "lefty tighty" when viewed from above and assuming that "leftwards" begins at 12:00 on the clock face. That’s right, guys have magic powers that girls don’t have.

The shape of a man’s shoulder bones is different from a woman’s, so I do not deny that a man can throw a spear better than I can, although, according to legend, women can use an atlatl. I want to try someday. I cannot pull back a thick, heavy bowstring on a longbow with my short arms.

I also admit that the xenoestrogen, bisphenol-A, leaching from my plastic dental fillings, did indeed make me much stupider, no joke – it made my brain much less able to function, and if a xenoestrogen makes you a brainless idiot, it’s possible normal estrogen might too, up to a point. However, women can still be excellent mechanics and I know for a fact that I am when everybody leaves me the fuck alone and doesn’t jump in to do it for me.

The sad part about socionics is, I actually know my boss loves me. He has a lot of warmth and affection for me, and I do for him if I’m not sick and under stress. I have always felt a genuine warmth towards my quasi-identicals and contrary/extinguisher/whatever, the LSI and SLE. I believe our superegos are dualizing. But socionic patterns are very strong, and these communication difficulties are real and almost impossible to change.

I need to finish this and go shower and try to move stuff. I must move slowly. I still do not comprehend that this is real, that I really am being forced to leave.

I saw Augustin drinking a can of poisonous Starbucks and I wanted to tell him, "Do as I say, not as I do!" I have tried the energy drink, which contains the poison Sucralose (Splenda). I drink these out of absolute desperation in the midst of a horribly messed up life, not because I think they’re good. If all the myelin sheaths on Augustin’s nerves vanish and he gets multiple sclerosis or whatever, I will blame myself as a bad role model. I agree with what I saw in the Mary Baker Eddy book, something like, "That which I would not do, I do; that which I would do, I do not." Basically I’m violating all my own beliefs and values.

Jesse told me he got a tattoo, but he hasn’t sent the photo of it yet. I hope this is not my fault, because of my crush on Augustin.

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