Fear.

Nothing strikes a little fear in the heart of a woman living alone like an overly persistant wannabe rebound showing up on your doorstep unannounced.

This is why I thank God for pit bulls and handguns. Douchebag tried being clever, talking about "how much tension he could relieve for me" if only i'd let him in the door. When "fuck off" fell on deaf ears, he informed me (with a predatory grin) that I was "lucky he was feeling polite and choosing to stay outside", to which I responded with a gun in his face, my big-headed pit bull snarling at my side (love how dogs pick up emotions, and love how outrageously protective Kilo is of me), and a clear-cut, no-bullshit statement letting Mr. Pricktastic know that he had 30 seconds to get his ass off my property before I pumped him full of lead and let Kilo have the rest while I called the cops. I also let him know that if I ever saw his face on my property I would assume he was attempting rape and would shoot first, ask questions later.

Douchebag. Did not know who he was fucking with.

Obviously, I've been on fairly high-alert since then. Luckily, spazztastic little Blue barks when someone shuts their car door three blocks away; he actually heard Pricktastic's car before I did and gave me the invaluable 15 seconds it took to get my gun and make sure there was one in the chamber. Blue's like a freaking alarm system, and Kilo's all muscle. Love my dogs.

I am more than willing to admit I am a prideful, stubborn and overly trash-talking woman. I do not tolerate threats, period. That being said, someone showing up on my doorstep unexpectedly and expecting to be able to simply talk and/or force their way into my bed shook me up a little. I definitely have spent the last couple days with my gun constantly within 2 seconds' reach, one in the chamber, safety engaged.

The funny thing about fear and my stubborness: I hate being scared. I usually get over my fear by getting really, really pissed off that I let something/someone have any kind of control over my life, my mind and my heart.

Pissed off Lace is not someone you want to mess with.

That being said, I'm off to sleep; mostly pissed as hell, slightly scared, and overall, blessed. I have a roof over my head, a dependable car, an income, food, and two stupid dogs who snuggle the shit out of me and keep me warm at night.

Amen.

Solitary

Here's the deal: Matt left me. It sucks. I'm learning I'm a lot stronger than I thought I was.

Living alone is one of the hardest things I've ever done. Seriously. The nights are hard, the silence is so deeply insistent on soul-searching that it burns, and the one-sided conversations with my dogs or my TV are... well... ridiculous. Right now, my goals are to PAY MY RENT, become a pool shark, and learn to rap. The rapping is actually coming along fairly well. I figure Eminem was the first really good white rapper, Nikki Minaj is one of the best female rappers, sooo... I should probably be the first amazing white female rapper. It's gonna happen. Don't worry.

In the meantime, I'm freaking out. Hours at work were cut to the point that I can't afford everything by myself, so I'm frantically searching for a room mate and/or a second job. The downside is that my newest four-legged brute, Kilo (American Bulldog/American Staffordshire mix), is absolutely horrid when left alone. Seriously. So he has to be crated while I'm gone, which means he's locked up while I'm at work.

Also in the meantime, apparently I'm a hot commodity. The rebound offers are nearly uncountable. It's ridiculous. I've never felt more like a piece of meat in my entire life. Have had a couple of bad (and fairly scary) instances, learned my lesson, and have definitely taken more realistic precautions against people who may decide to just show up at my house.

Ugh.

Stupid men.

Other than the incredible weight-loss inducing stress I'm trudging through every day, things are good. Seriously, I'm a lot stronger than I thought I was. There were so many things I thought that I couldn't do, and then when Matt moved out, I found out that I could. And it's incredible, though also humbling, when I find something I actually can't do. Having to ask my neighbors and/or friends for help has definitely brought my ego down to a more manageable level, though figuring out all the things I can do and deal with on my own have solidified what's left of it.

Pretty sure this is a good thing. No, I know it's a good thing, because it's hard. Despite the rumors, threats, trash-talking and loss of known foundation, I'm building my own self out of nothing but myself. It's tough. It's weird. I'm not looking to anyone but myself to be my example, and I'm discovering a lot of ugly things in the mirror.

Here's to flipping off that asshole in the mirror and walking away.