So, having composed myself, in my perfect place - which was nice, and full of dolphins and vampire bats that only fed on hippies, and sunshine, and tostados con tomatos - I returned to the floating turd of Europe.
Am I a happy little Goth? - No, not really.
Granted, my little Gothic portions have a somewhat tanned appearance and I even went shopping for items that I have no use for at all (and could have stole much faster).
I discovered that, my little Gothess, is being a victim of mindless thuggery. My initial desire - to go there and rip their fucking hearts out - was countermanded by the fact that Mrs Ex-Goth, in her infinite wisdom-less, has decreed that I will not interfere, ever, even if I could fix things faster.
Mini-Goth (the Brad Pitt of Gothic-ness) had a similar issue several years ago. Back then, I was also not allowed to interject or generally show any emotion.
I was so desperate to bring 'furious vengeance' onto the perpetrators - but, I was told I could not. Apparently, the 'system' will deal with them, and spank their bottoms in a jolly hard fashion.
In the meantime, I will remain the "whacks on, whacks off" person and hug some small trees