No matter how comfortable a couch is, you always wake up like shit if you sleep on it.
I'm glad I'm going back to Worcester in four days. Summer is finally over, the camel's back is broken. I am so tired of Chris that it is not funny. I'm tired of him being an asshole all the time, tired of him thinking he's the greatest man on Earth. I'm also sick of his inability to handle his liqour. No he doesn't get sick, but he does lose control of everything.
I'm sick of him losing his temper and having to fight him when he's drunk. This happens too much. Because he is a fucking asshole.
Yes, I know I'm wrong in fighting back. I know that a responsible pushover should not fight back. I should ignore everything he says. The problem is, Chris is like a dog, you have to train him. If you let him walk all over you, he will walk all over you. That's why you have to teach him that if he's going to belt you, you're going to belt him back.
Fucking moron.
I was going to drive home from Chris Collins' yesterday. I was fine to drive. I was. While Phil was making a phone call, Chris sat in his passenger seat and he told me to go pick up Phil. I said, "No, he's on the phone, he'll be here in five seconds". I don't know what followed, but next thing I know he punched me in the balls.
I fought ferociously. Unforgiving. I hurt him, he hurt me. So it goes.
Aside: When fighting Chris, it's easy to pin him down and tire him out so that you don't have to actually fight. He spends his energy trying to get out. of the hold. Often times though, he will promise you he will stop, but when you release the hold, he will begin barraging you with punches again. That's why you must not let go until he is done.
Chris gets out of the car, so that he may remove me from his driver's seat. I locked the doors while he went around, so as not to have to fight anymore, and so that he could not get behind the wheel. He was not happy. He proceeded to shout, punch the glass, and kick the door, despite Phil trying to convince him to stop.
The Police showed up. HEEEEEYYYYYYYYYY.
As Phil predicted, the cops showed up. They took the license plate of the car, mine and phil's IDs (recording our license numbers), and then Chris' school ID. They told me if they came back, one of us was going to jail, and it would probably be me because I told them in confidence that I had hit Chris a couple times.
I did manage to strike up a friendly conversation with the short cop while Phil went to get Chris Collins and my brother stood with the other cop.
My brother told the police he wanted to spend the night. So we go back into Chris Collins' place, where I am ashamed of myself and my brother. Chris C. shows us where we can sleep. Chris N. sits on the couch and in two minutes he says, "I say in 15 minutes we get out of here." Phil and I, who have recently had our license numbers recorded, are opposed to this on several grounds. Chris doesn't care though. Because Chris doesn't care about anybody but himself.
I laid on the couch with my eyes closed and ears open for a while. When Phil went outside to make a phone call, I told Chris that I don't want anything to do with him any more. I said I wouldn't forgive him for that night. I was serious when I said it, but we'll see how well my resolve holds up.
I did have an interesting dream last night. I dreamt I am adopted. I met my real father who had dark hair and a beard. In the dream I liked him and thought he was cool. He was a WPI grad. We went to go visit my mother, his ex-wife, in Worcester so that she might get to know me too. She lived in a little dump of a house. My dad's diploma was in there. Class of '92, I think. I found it in the old spiral (but square) stair case going up. In a shitty room upstairs, filled everywhere with papers (like writing) I found my mother. My mom had blonde hair and smoked a lot. She was a real bitch, but for some reason, I really wanted to get to know her. Every now and then she would say something nice and encouraging toward me, but for the most part she was mean to me and my dad.
Then Chris woke me up because he wanted to go home. I had cleverly attached his keys to my belt and then slept on them so he could not leave without me and Phil, which he surely would have.
Anyway, that's that. I wish I could remember more of the dream, but it's been over an hour by now and the details are fading.
I'm sick of him losing his temper and having to fight him when he's drunk. This happens too much. Because he is a fucking asshole.
Yes, I know I'm wrong in fighting back. I know that a responsible pushover should not fight back. I should ignore everything he says. The problem is, Chris is like a dog, you have to train him. If you let him walk all over you, he will walk all over you. That's why you have to teach him that if he's going to belt you, you're going to belt him back.
Fucking moron.
I was going to drive home from Chris Collins' yesterday. I was fine to drive. I was. While Phil was making a phone call, Chris sat in his passenger seat and he told me to go pick up Phil. I said, "No, he's on the phone, he'll be here in five seconds". I don't know what followed, but next thing I know he punched me in the balls.
I fought ferociously. Unforgiving. I hurt him, he hurt me. So it goes.
Aside: When fighting Chris, it's easy to pin him down and tire him out so that you don't have to actually fight. He spends his energy trying to get out. of the hold. Often times though, he will promise you he will stop, but when you release the hold, he will begin barraging you with punches again. That's why you must not let go until he is done.
Chris gets out of the car, so that he may remove me from his driver's seat. I locked the doors while he went around, so as not to have to fight anymore, and so that he could not get behind the wheel. He was not happy. He proceeded to shout, punch the glass, and kick the door, despite Phil trying to convince him to stop.
The Police showed up. HEEEEEYYYYYYYYYY.
As Phil predicted, the cops showed up. They took the license plate of the car, mine and phil's IDs (recording our license numbers), and then Chris' school ID. They told me if they came back, one of us was going to jail, and it would probably be me because I told them in confidence that I had hit Chris a couple times.
I did manage to strike up a friendly conversation with the short cop while Phil went to get Chris Collins and my brother stood with the other cop.
My brother told the police he wanted to spend the night. So we go back into Chris Collins' place, where I am ashamed of myself and my brother. Chris C. shows us where we can sleep. Chris N. sits on the couch and in two minutes he says, "I say in 15 minutes we get out of here." Phil and I, who have recently had our license numbers recorded, are opposed to this on several grounds. Chris doesn't care though. Because Chris doesn't care about anybody but himself.
I laid on the couch with my eyes closed and ears open for a while. When Phil went outside to make a phone call, I told Chris that I don't want anything to do with him any more. I said I wouldn't forgive him for that night. I was serious when I said it, but we'll see how well my resolve holds up.
I did have an interesting dream last night. I dreamt I am adopted. I met my real father who had dark hair and a beard. In the dream I liked him and thought he was cool. He was a WPI grad. We went to go visit my mother, his ex-wife, in Worcester so that she might get to know me too. She lived in a little dump of a house. My dad's diploma was in there. Class of '92, I think. I found it in the old spiral (but square) stair case going up. In a shitty room upstairs, filled everywhere with papers (like writing) I found my mother. My mom had blonde hair and smoked a lot. She was a real bitch, but for some reason, I really wanted to get to know her. Every now and then she would say something nice and encouraging toward me, but for the most part she was mean to me and my dad.
Then Chris woke me up because he wanted to go home. I had cleverly attached his keys to my belt and then slept on them so he could not leave without me and Phil, which he surely would have.
Anyway, that's that. I wish I could remember more of the dream, but it's been over an hour by now and the details are fading.