He decided to let me get online properly today. He probably wants to have proof of his latest escapades so he can brag and gloat about fucking with the old guy’s head to all his monster buddies. Oh yeah, I’m drunk. Spellcheck is a wonderful tool, just like that insipid sycamore lurking in my goddamn forest.
He gave me another nightmare tonight. I was sitting in my living room with Laura, cuddled up under a blanket, watching a movie, when suddenly the power went. Without the lights, the room was cast in an eerie dark blue and I realised I was alone. Or not. I looked out the door to the hall and saw the Tree Walker lurching towards me. Rather than wait for him to come in and catch me, I started running towards the window, but the blanket started wrapping itself around me and pinning me to the ceiling like it was being manipulated by a poltergeist or some other generic horror movie monster, so I had to claw my way across the ceiling to the living room window and pull myself out to escape.
Once again, my back smacking against concrete served as a wake-up call.
Luckily I was downstairs this time but there was a seemingly localised thunderstorm raging right above my head and the rain was pelting down. Of course, I’d learned from my previous mistakes and, despite the security upgrade, I was able to let myself back into the house, where I discovered the most infuriating thing.
My furniture has been rearranged.
All the kitchen furniture is in my bedroom, my bedroom furniture is in the living room, the living room furniture is in the bathroom, the bathroom furniture is in the library, the library furniture is in the pantry, the pantry furniture is in my office and my office furniture is in the kitchen. I haven’t even looked upstairs yet.
He’s just taunting me now. He took everything from me, everything I’ve ever loved or cared about. He crippled me like an animal. He won’t give me a single restless night’s sleep. Twice, he made me crawl around on the ground like a worm on my own property. In my domain. Thistle and weeds my ass. He’s broken me, humiliated me and now he’s taunting me. He’s doing these things just because he can.
Or maybe not. Maybe he’s not so easy to rationalise and understand. Maybe he’s so different to us that rearranging my furniture is worse than repeatedly ruining my life to him. Maybe he considers this escalation. I don’t give a fuck. I just don’t care anymore. He won’t leave me alone. He’s so intent on ruining my life that he won’t even let me have furniture arrangements that I like. My life is so subservient to his whims I can’t even have that triviality. Fuck this. Fuck everything. I’m going to go drink myself into oblivion, for all the good it will do me. He’s probably waiting for me there.