Caustic

I really ought to be careful as I write today. I am profoundly irritated with a particular individual, and blogging about these things can make others squirm. Like the time I mentioned the totally inappropriate sexual harasser I had the pleasure of working with.
Today's individual would be just about as thrilled to be mentioned in print. (Although, if I describe a psychotic rapist, or a drug dealer, or an axe murderer, and you recognize yourself, well, let's just say that the problem is not the fact that I typed about it!)
Today's diatribe would be about an individual who is entirely repulsed by paying bills, debts, or federal taxes. And also he yells a lot. I would too, I guess, if people kept bugging me to give them money. That I owed them. With interest. That's enough to make anyone cranky.
I suppose that there are two possible solutions if you find yourself in this predicament. One, you could get a job.
Or two, you could try really hard to borrow money from a poverty stricken single mom.
It's a tough choice.
The question which naturally arises is: Why would this individual think that a request for money could possibly be met with success?
The answer is that I am an idiot.
Do you need my stuff? My time? My credit cards? My reputation? Are you completely irresponsible? So much the better! Someone is a little co-dependant.
But here's the good news.
The past few years I have been undergoing a rigorous training program called Girl Gotta Get Some Boundaries. It's been a very difficult program wherein God shreds me completely, and allows me to reap loads of consequenses from the whole lack of boundries. It's a very effective program. I am nearing some sort of graduation, I think. The next lessons I'll need to learn are liable to be just as hard. Probably: Love Thy Neighbor And Say No. Or maybe, Get That House Clean Right Now.
So, annoyed as I am, I recognize that I am really the one at fault. I tend to excuse bad behavior until it becomes so grevious that there's no denying it. By then, so much damage is done. Instead, I need to expect that people (particularly men) treat me with absolute respect. If I am getting those internal warnings, I will pay attention the first time. And I will flee. Or punch him in the nose. Either way.