Where I grew up, we watched our words and we were careful about what came out of our mouths. Because once it’s out? It’s out. You can’t take it back. You can apologize, you can say you didn’t mean it, but you can’t hit control-Z and you can’t just erase what’s already been done.
Y’all keep saying that Hoyt didn’t mean “shit” that way, and you know what? You’re probably right. I know he loves me, vampire and all. And maybe the power of my blood makes him feel small. He’s in a relationship with a woman who’s faster and stronger than him. But that’s the woman he fell in love with. It’s been that way since day one. And while I want to let him be the man, so he can feel big and important, isn’t all that stuff silly? Haven’t we moved beyond all that in today’s world? Women can have careers and men can be stay-at-home dads.
Well I ain’t gonna just sit pretty for him. I’ve never been that way and I never will be.
I can’t get Hoyt’s words outta my mind. Calling my blood shit.
When I think about my blood, I think about its healing nature. Its way of connecting me to the man that I love. At least that’s how it used to be. But lately, it’s like the little rope tied to him at one end, and me at the other? It’s fraying or unraveling. All the fibers are coming apart and now we’re just a mess of string that used to be something strong.
When I think about things that are shit, I think of my daddy’s beatings. I think of what I did to Hoyt, with that guy at Fantgasia. I think of whoever or whatever beat Jason near to his death.
But my blood? My blood ain’t shit. Hoyt Fortenberry, you could not have been more wrong. My blood just saved someone’s life. Maybe it’s my fault that the rope is coming apart, but it ain’t my blood’s fault.
There are things that are shit, and then there are things that are not shit.
Hey folks. First, I’d like to thank y’all for your generous input. I didn’t realize I had so many friends out there! This is a lot easier than just googling “how to be a vampire housewife” and sifting through all the crap on the internet.
So many of you - including Lisa Cheli, R.J., Andrew, and bite me - came up with the brilliant idea of microwavable dinners. Why didn’t I think of that?! Or more importantly… why didn’t HOYT think of that? katiln was right. Hoyt should understand how uncomfortable all this food stuff makes me and consider my feelings a little more. But still, there is one slight problem: Our microwave is where I heat up my Tru Blood. Call me crazy, but I don’t think I could stomach the residual smell of nuked mashed potatoes and chicken in there. And we just don’t have a crock pot, like Melinda and Dana Hilton suggested. I guess I could ask Bill for a housewarming gift, maybe one of those slow cookers, or an extra microwave? But I feel weird asking him for anything these days. I’m trying to make it on my own, you know? I don’t wanna come crawling back to daddy with my tail between my legs every time the waters get a little choppy. I’m sure sometimes I will, but I’d like to see if I can handle this one on my own.
I might have to try amber’s suggestion: bringing home leftovers from Merlotte’s. What does Lafayette do with all those extra biscuits at the end of the night, anyway? And he’s a lover, he’ll understand. If I explain my predicament to him, I’m sure he’d let me wrap up a few items before I go home if it means it can keep me n’ Hoyt together. If I haven’t screwed that up too badly already…