8 posts tagged “ex”

I'm Free! 

I went to court this morning for my divorce.  Granted.

The Ex appeared on his own behalf.  He showed up late and sporting dirty tennis shoes, jeans, a t-shirt and a wrinkled unbuttoned oxford.  Hello?  EVERYONE knows how I feel about dressing for court.  Especially him.

But this kind of passive aggressive behavior is one reason we cannot stay married.

He looked like a frightened rabbit as he sat in the gallery when our case was called.  I stood up and presented the facts to the Judge.  The Judge asked if the defendant was present.  I said, Yes, your honor" and motioned to the Ex. 

The Judge then asked if the Ex had any objection.  The Ex didn't answer, rather he looked at me and shook his head to indicate that he had no objection.  I was quite bitchy.  Without thinking about how it would sound I said, "Don't tell me!  Tell the Judge verbally that you have no objection!" 

The Judge stiffled a smile as the Ex cleared his throat and answered in a barely audible, "No."

Barely audible or not, it was enough to get the job done.  Judgment for the Plaintiff AND the Defendant! 

Yeah!

It's nice to be Free!

Warning: tedious and boring curvey post ahead.

If you have not already figured this out on your own, Vox, for me, is a place to virtually say, or spill, all of the things I do not feel free to discuss in my “real” life.  Vox provides a safe blanket of anonymity so I do not really have to live with the consequences of displaying my vulnerabilities, save for the very few people who know me and know about my blog.  Those very few people I know in tangible form and trust.  And they are few.

Although I expected Vox to provide the safe forum, I did not expect to find so many truly wonderful Voxers.  I just wanted to say Thank You, neighbors, for all of your support and the kindness of holding my hair as I vomit the past all over these pages.  It has touched me.

It has also made me think.  Something I really didn’t want to do at the outset – at least consciously.  I wanted to make the mess and walk away from it.  That hasn’t happened.  Instead, your support and kind words have made me feel unworthy and led to a deeper introspection.   Maybe the introspection is just part of the natural growth that occurs in one’s 30’s, but you all provided the spark.

Anyway, your comments to my unplanned stream of thought in The Sweetest Thing bothered me a little.  And of course, I wondered why.  I think that being called strong for surviving situations that were ultimately caused by my own weaknesses is what bothered me.  I feel guilty accepting your compliments when we all ultimately create the circumstances in which we find ourselves.[1]

I have had three cruel men in my life.  The cruel boss I described in Of Warty Toads and Owls, well, there is just no accounting for him, but the other two I helped create.

Both relationships grew from my own use of them.  The Guy, my high school boyfriend, I used – initially.  He was tall, tanned and blonde.  I was very superficial in those days and, like most high school girls, placed an inordinate emphasis on physical appearance.  We looked like Ken and Barbie together and my juvenile mind liked that fact immensely.  The other use I had for Guy was that he allowed me to get out of the house and socialize. 

I came from an extremely rigid upbringing.  I was very active in extracurricular activities, but my parents would not let me go out and meet friends, or go to parties.  I could, however, go out with a steady boyfriend.  It was a 1950’s mentality.  Of course, everything they were trying to protect me from, they delivered me, gift wrapped, into.  I do think they bear some small responsibility for my becoming pregnant so early.

On the other hand, I knew exactly what I was doing.  I used the Guy to have a social life.  I did not “love” him.  He “loved” me – or his idea of me – for whatever his reasons.  I was using sex too.  I held it out in front of him like the carrot on the stick to get what I wanted.  I also used it to quietly rebel against my parents.  I was too weak to stand up to them and I thought it would be a way to break their rules without suffering the harsh punishment they meted out.[2]

I am also guilty of leading Guy to believe I would be a compliant wife.  I intended to be, initially.  I thought I had fallen from grace and deserved punishment to pay penance.  I submitted to his control and did as he wished for a great while.  I led him to believe that I would be a domestic wife, responsible for the home and child care, while he pursued his desires in the big outside world.  That is what he wanted, and I let him believe that was what he was getting.  I also intended to slowly change that and manipulate my way into getting what I wanted and what I needed.

When what he expected and what I needed began to clash, I stood up for myself only as much as was necessary to get to the next benchmark.  I let him believe he was still in control.  I let him think he was piloting the ship.  In fact, I manipulated him.  I hated him for his need to control me and I hated him for being stupid enough to be easily manipulated by me.  I stayed until I couldn’t stand to be in the same square mile as he was.  Then, I manipulated him into joining the military – not just the military, but into accepting an assignment in the military that would keep him away (under the sea) for 6 months at a time.  I never considered that the marriage was as unfulfilling for him as it was for me.  I focused only on finding a way to stay in the marriage and still get what I wanted.  I thought the answer was “sending” him away.  I thought if I only had to deal with him for 6 months of a year, I could do what I wanted the other 6 months.

When he realized my intentions, THAT is when he tried to correct the situation and tried to tighten control.  When I refused to submit to his control any longer, he began threatening to hit me.  I would laugh in the face of his threats.  I told him he was ridiculous.  I ridiculed him.  He was at his wits end and finally made good on his threats as I was leaving him.

Now, I am not saying that I am in any way responsible for creating his need to control me.  I am simply responsible for letting him believe he could control me.  This is an error I had to make twice to learn was wrong.

I didn’t learn from this experience, because I ultimately got most of what I wanted.  I wanted him gone – the government took care of that.  I wanted to be left alone and raise M the way I saw fit.  He disappeared for two years. 

I am not responsible for his attempts to control me after the divorce decree.  I am not responsible for his trying, repeatedly, to keep me from going to school.  But I am responsible for him failing where I led him to believe he could succeed.  He was not content to accept the defeat even after I was free from him.  He wanted to let me know I would never be free.  He failed at that too.

As for Art.  We had a very useful, symbiotic relationship in the beginning.  Though it was never articulated, we both knew the score.  I used him for his money.  He used me for my looks.  I wanted an easier way to get through school without working my fingers to the bone.  He wanted arm candy that was also smart enough to make him look good and could advance his business.  For two years, we mutually provided what each other needed.  The problem for him in the end was fear.  He spent A LOT of money to keep me.  A lot more than he needed to and in the end, more than he had. 

He believed I was with him for the rock-n-roll lifestyle he lived.  He wanted that lifestyle too.  But, he believed he had to have and spend lots of money to keep me.  I never told him that.  I never led him to believe that.  It was his own insecurity that made him believe that.  During the third year, his business started to suffer.  His spending did not decrease when his income did.  Partly out of fear of losing me, partly from his own stupidity.

I was oblivious to his troubles.  He didn’t tell me.  I didn’t see.  I knew he had put me on a pedestal of his own creation.  I did not expect him to come to hate me for it.  He felt he couldn’t measure up.  He felt he didn’t deserve me.  In truth, he didn’t.  I am not responsible for his mental snap and descent into Crazytown.  But, I am responsible for taking his abuse.  I am responsible for staying even after he started abusing me.  I am responsible for accepting his “apology” gifts and grand gestures he could not afford.  I sold myself knowingly as a punching bag in order to get what I wanted.  I wanted to graduate.  I wanted to pass the bar.  I made a willing trade.  I did not knowingly agree to trade my very life for it.  But, perhaps, it was my own failure to perceive that he would go that far.

In fact, his eventual stalking, severe violence, and threats made me question my ability to judge character.  It made me question my intelligence.  It shattered my confidence.  I weakly gave in to thoughts that I truly deserved it.  It took me 8 years to regain my confidence.  It took me 8 years to be able to hold my head up.  That is not strength, that is weakness.  I was/am weak.  I am not strong.

After the Art fiasco, I did learn never to give another control, or the perception of control, of my life again.  That is not a mistake I will ever repeat. 

When Ex came into my life, he provided a safe harbor for me to retreat into.  I knew he would never lift a finger against me.  I also knew he wasn’t smart enough to make me doubt my intelligence.  The problem with Ex was that the pendulum had swung to the other extreme.  He refused to take control of anything.  He left it all for me.  I took it.  I controlled everything.  I didn’t abuse the control.  I tried to improve his life.  I tried to better his circumstance, to fill in the gaps in his education, to teach him to recognize opportunity.  He wasn’t interested.  He wanted stability and for someone else to take care of everything.  I did. 

We had no deep connection except for having both experienced Art’s reign of terror.  Once that fear was gone, we did not have a bond.  We did not share our vulnerabilities or our wants, needs, desires.  All of those went unvoiced and consequently, unfulfilled.  I have learned that my inability to be vulnerable to him made him feel unworthy.  I cloaked myself in armor.  He knew he couldn’t reach me.  He didn’t even try. 

So now, after over 20 years of hiding, after working so hard to construct a façade of invulnerability of strength and near perfection, I am ready to be the whole me.  I am indeed weak.  I have insecurities.  I also have strengths.  I am not a superwoman.  I am not wholly strong.  I am not invincible.  I can be hurt.  I am ready to allow myself the opportunity to experience real loss and real reward.  I am finally ready to be able to come into “my own.”  I realize I can stand on my own and don’t need anyone else to justify my actions, provide protection, or make my life easier.  I can do that all myself. 

All I want, eventually, is a partner; someone who could take care of themselves, but actually WANTS to be with me.  I want a partner I want to be with.  Someone I want to share joy with, to have fun with, and have a real open relationship with. 

For now, I am happy.  I am happy on my own.  I am happy being responsible for myself and no one else.  I am happy working; I am happy playing. 

So fellow Voxers, I am strong and I am weak.  We all are.  I am not some incredible creature.  I am human.  I am no better or less than any of you or anybody else.  We all make choices and we all work through the consequences.  Making really bad choices doesn’t make you any more spectacular for dealing with the malconsequences[3] of those choices.

Alright, peace out and thanks for listening to the things I needed to verbalize in order to let them go.  You will now find most of my baggage in Lost and Found, as I no longer need to carry it around.

I had a long talk with Sug yesterday during which he told me that sometimes he wished he could have been around during earlier years to "save" me from some of the difficult times of my life.  He then went on to say that the way he sees it, he was quite literally made for me as just as my life took a sideways turn, he was in the process of being "baked" just for me.

I think I will now call him "Pop-n-Fresh."  He makes me all warm and gooey inside, like a cinnamon bun.

And yes, he is THAT much younger than I am.  I have been the one with the age issue.  He is a decade and-a-half younger than I am.  A fact that doesn't seem to bother him at all, but terrifies me on many levels.  I may just have to decide to get over it, however, as I am becoming increasingly addicted to his sugary sweetness.

Maybe I should give you some background.  This is hard for me.  I don't usually disclose this fact to strangers, let alone the world, but I got pregnant at 15 - just before my 16th birthday.  My "boyfriend" was headed off to college.  I was two years ahead in school and looked and acted much more mature than I actually was.  I had sex with my boyfriend 3 times.  Third time is the charm they say. 

To the chagrin of my parents, I chose to marry the Guy as I thought it was the "right" thing to do.  He was incredibly controlling and would only "let" me go to college if it didn't "affect" his life.  He would routinely take my car and house keys to try to keep me from going to school.  I would just pick up my son, put him on my hip, and walk the 2 miles to college.  He would also initiate fights to keep me from being able to study for exams.  Even without any support and with all the obstacles, I managed to work 50 hours a week, go to school full-time, and graduate Summa. 

Threatened, the guy became violent.  He beat me up in front of my son, "M," who was 3.  M still remembers it.  I took M and left and finished college on my own. 

I didn't hear from the Guy for the remainder of my time in college.  M, nor I, heard from him for two years; not until he heard I was going to law school.  He then sued me, seeking custody, claiming I would be an unfit mother as there was no way a single mother could go to law school AND care for her child.  The judge told me I was crazy to think I could do it.  Everyone else, except my parents, told me I was selfish for intending to go to school instead of working to support my child.  Of course, I WAS working to put food on the table and the kid always had everything he needed.  But, for some reason, they felt it was better for M for me to be unhappy and work as a cocktail waitress in the evening and a church secretary during the day to be able to afford to take care of him.  It didn't matter to anyone that I had been accepted to some of the best law schools in the country, or that some of them were willing to give me a free ride on tuition.

Luckily, just before trial, I fell into a corporate job which I took rather than going to school.  That ended the lawsuit. 

After a couple of years, it was clear to me that I wouldn't be happy unless I went to school.  I quietly enrolled and began school.  The bastard Guy found out just after my first semester and sued me for custody again.  I fought it at first, and then decided to say okay.  You want custody, I am willing to give it to you.  The Guy didn't want it and promptly withdrew his suit.

I drove two hours each way to school every day so I wouldn't have to uproot M.  One of my profs - who was brand new to teaching - decided there was no way I could do that and went to the Dean trying to force me into taking a sabatical in the middle of my second semester.  I had been making the drive for almost a whole year and had really great grades my first semester.  But, he decided to join the chorus already singing "You can't, you can't, you can't."  Luckily the Dean was female and chastized the prof for dragging me to her in light of my good grades. 

It was about this time I met a man, Art, who was more than twice my age and made millions a year.  Art took me in and made me his trophy.  I was more than happy to have someone look at me as a prize instead of beating me down.  M and I moved in with him and I made Art my job while I went to school.  As long as I accompanied him whenever and wherever he wanted, things were fine.  I went to school in the morning, when we were in town, and was with M in the afternoon and Art at night.  I learned to study anywhere.  I have studied in alum boxes at Hockey games, I studied on far away beaches, I studied at dinner while Art was on his cell phone making money, I studied in owner's boxes at football stadiums, I studied on planes.  It didn't matter what was going on around me, as long as I wasn't "needed," I could study.  And I did well.

But, just before I graduated, Art became threatened.  I don't know why, he was so proud that he could say I was in law school.  I think he felt that I would leave him as soon as I graduated.  I had not planned on it.  He soon set about trying to create obstacles to keep me from finishing my last semester.  I kept manuevering around the obstacles and stood up to him.  To keep his gameplan on track, he began becoming increasingly violent.  I sent M to my parents house to make sure he didn't witness the storm that was beginning to brew.  I couldn't just leave.  I had stupidly given up everything I owned.  Art had sold my car, my house had been sold, he had given away all the clothes, furniture, etc. that I had prior to meeting him.  I had let myself become totally dependent on him.  I had no money of my own with which to leave.  With my final exams and the bar looming, I made the decision to stay and take his abuse. 

And he was abusive.  He would punch me, throw me, hold me down, and physically throw me out the door.  He said he was "taking out the trash."  After each episode, he would buy me expensive jewelry, furs, etc. and ask me to stay.  I stayed, hoping to stretch the time between episodes just enough to allow me to save some bits of money, study and take exams.  The day after I took the bar he really beat me up.  It ended with Art throwing me on the bed of a hotel room, holding both of my wrists over my head in one of his hands.  His shoulder was pressed into my face, covering my nose and mouth.  He used his other hand and legs to lift my skirt and pry my legs apart.  I managed to open my mouth enough to grab the flesh just below his shoulder with my teeth - and I bit down.  I bit down so hard, I could feel my teeth sinking through his flesh.  I was close to ripping off a mouthfull of his skin and muscle.  It felt like I was taking a bite out of a thick steak.

He let me go and jumped off me, yelping.  The he began hitting me and tossing me around the room.  Someone heard the fray and called the police.  He was arrested.  So was I.  I was let go a few hours later for lack of probable cause supporting the arrest.  The arresting officer then proceeded to tell me how "lucky" I was to not be spending a few days in jail.  Lucky?  I always thought that an interesting choice of words.

While Art was in jail, I fled home, packed my things and left.  M was tucked safely away at my parents house.  A few months passed and everything was quiet.  M came back to me and started school in a new city.  I started seeing a man.  Then, I began to suspect that someone was coming into my house when I was gone.  Things were going missing.  Things appeared to have been moved.  Then one day, I stepped out of the shower to find Art standing in my bathroom.  I ordered him to leave.  When he wouldn't go, I ran for the phone.  He quickly resorted to violence and proceeded to toss my naked body against walls, furniture, down stairs.  He told me that he was going to kill me.  He told me that he was going to kill M.  He left, telling me that I had 48 hours to live.  He called my parents and told them he was going to kill me.  He called M's dad and told him he had better come get him that I was dealing cocaine out of my house.  He called every lawyer in town claiming all kinds of horrendous things.  He was attacking every aspect of my life, personal and professional.  No one did a thing.  No one lifted a finger to help me.  No one.  The police said they couldn't do anything until he physically touched me again (i.e. until he made good on his threat). I had already filed a complaint concerning his breaking into my house and beating me up.  He had not yet been arrested for that.

I withdrew into my house, making a fortress.  I took my phone off the hook as Art called continually (the record was 150 times in one day).  M didn't go to school. The man I started seeing had gone to South America for three months.  He called one night and I told him what was happening.  I told him I was trying to hire a bodyguard.  He told me to call his roommate, a big, tall, strong, Irish man.  The Irish man came.  He moved in my house.  As long as he was there, Art stayed outside, only calling or daring to come near when the Irishman was gone.  The Irishman stopped going to work so that he could stay by my side 24 hours a day until Art went to jail.  I owe that Irishman my life.  I do.  I spent 8 years trying to make it up to him.  I spent 8 years paying for his service to me.  That Irishman is now my Ex.

So there it is.....a nutshell of my life - and near death.  Not fascinating, not interesting, but mildly eventful.   Wow....I didn't intend to say all of that.  But there it is.    The point of all this is to tell you how it is that Sug is the same age as my son - well actually, a little bit younger.  And THAT freaks me out.  And THAT is why I have all of these age issues.

I will now hit "Save" and post it.   Now.   Okay, not then, but NOW!  *deep breath*  NOW!!!!

EDIT:  By the way, M is a happy healthy and well-adjusted man now.  He is on his own and still loves his Momma. 

I had planned on spending the holidays alone.  I had planned on sleeping and hibernating my Christmas away.  Instead, I am now preparing Christmas brunch.  I am doing a classic Creole-Low Country mix that includes, nach, shrimp-n-grits, andouille sausage biscuits, fruit, mimosas, sugar caned ham, and I-don't-yet-know what else.  The cooking isn't that much work, but it all means I have to clean.  Crap.  I have all hardwood floors that have to be swept and mopped.  I hate hate hate mopping!  I also have to put together a center piece and pick up some candles.  It is too hot for a fire, so candles will have to do.  Finally, I have to get some more Christmas gifts, so I have something for everyone.  So much for R & R.  I really want a servant.  Next life, I am going to be LOADED.

Have been to a few more Christmas parties over the last few days.  All of them were house parties except for dinner at a restaurant last night.  One little party I went to served ginger marinated salmon smoked on a cedar plank with rosemary.  I thought I had died and gone to heaven.  Last night at the restaurant, I had a beef tenderloin stuffed with crab and gargonzola and a rasberry walnut green salad.  I have eaten and eaten and eaten the last two weeks.  You have to understand that this is pretty monumental as until a few months ago, I was a complete vegan except for some milk in my coffee.  Now I am a heathen with clogged arteries.  I also haven't been to the gym in well over a month.

I would be doomed if January weren't around the corner.  Fresh start.

Last night's little gathering was particularly nice.  I got together with my Frenemies that I had cut off early last summer.  They were surprisingly happy and relaxed.  Everyone is in a relationship now and no longer seemed threatened by each other.  They have all just learned the "news" of my split from my husband.  Each of them was surprisingly happy for me and complimentary.  I was shocked to learn that I wasn't masking my unhappiness very well.  All those years, I thought I was fooling everyone; I only fooled myself.  So much time wasted.  Lesson learned.

Sug called last night.  Woke me up at 3:00 am.  We talked for a while.  Maybe an hour?  He is so sweet and open.  Largely untouched by heartbreak and disappointment, he maintains for me the best of my own youth - the time before worry and anxiety; the time before pressure and deadlines.  When we talk or get together everything stands still.  The world is quiet and my mind calms.  I hope I never cause him to become jaded.  I hope I am never the page in his book he wants to turn.  I hope I can always be, at the least, a blissful memory that he reflects upon fondly.  I know I will always remember these times of sweet pleasure.

Have a Merry Christmas everybody.

Warning: rambling post ahead.

Post holiday Monday:

Wow, what a day I had yesterday.  I scrambled through the entire workday, bobbing and weaving while trying to explain the realities of the modern world of business and the necessity of contracts to a man willing to risk 12.7 million dollars on a handwritten three sentence document.  I also had to explain why it was necessary that I take more than a couple of hours to put together this document and the spin-off contracts and documents that were required.  He still doesn't get it and thinks I am just trying to pad my wallet.  The reality is that I am just trying to cover everyone's behinds, including mine.  'Cause guess who would be sued if things went awry.  Moi.

Hello and Fuck You Very Much:

Oh well, finished work at about 7:00 and had what was to be a brief conversation with the Ex via telephone.  It did not go well.  Apparently, now I am a huge villain in his mind that has routinely kept him from doing things he wanted to do.  Excuse me?  I'm not going to go into the details, but suffice it to say that it ended with a round of fuck you's for everyone.  The strange thing about it is that we NEVER had a fight when we were together.  We NEVER raised our voices.  We still have never had a fight face-to-face.  This was a two hour verbal smack down. I was a wreck after that, but the night was not over.

I went to his house to pick up the keys to my life.  He knew I was coming and had them all ready for me.  He had keys to everything, every door I enter, every space I own or lease, every vehicle - everything.  He knew this was it, that I was shutting him out of my life.  He gave the ring of keys to me and cried and cried and cried.  I teared up...I didn't cry - until I had driven a block and half from his house.  Then came the tears. 

I need a drink:

I composed myself with the help of Sug on the phone, went home and took the dog for a walk.  It was 10:00 - and the phone rang.  My poor Charleston friend, E, was having a crisis.  She has had to commit her 15 year old son to a mental hospital for evaluation and treatment.  I think he may be bi-polar.  I let her cry to me for an hour and did my best to console her. 

As our conversation was winding down, my sister beeped in.  I let E go and picked up my sister's call.  I asked how she was and she immediately burst into tears.  Another hour and a half spent comisserating with her about her lost relationship and trying to convince her that her life is not over at 33.  Poor dear. 

I enjoyed a huge and much needed Sidecar.

C3PO:

The result?  I have nothing left.  I am not an emotional person and I don't particularly enjoy dealing with other people's emotions.  I do it on a daily basis for work - in little bite-sized bits.  But yesterday, I suffered a many houred torrent of tears from every direction, including my own.  I'm dead inside now.  Which, oddly, has worked to my advantage today. 

Remember the Wizard?  Well, I talked to him today.  I talked to him about the facts, the course I saw this litigation taking and my client's intent to see it through to the bitter end.  I had no animation in my voice.  I was almost robotic.  Apparently, it convinced him I was serious (well, that and the 20,000 documents I unloaded on him last Wednesday).  He wants to talk about settling this thing.  He is going to have a serious discussion with his client and see if he can get an offer.  I told him my client was willing to listen, but had lost his sense of humor and that anything less than a serious offer would only serve to reinforce my client's commitment to maintain the offense and go to trial.

The Wizard has committed to calling next week. 

The Release:

On a lighter and MUCH happier note, this weekend, I am going to spend three whole days and nights away from work and in the arms of Sug - kissing, hugging, loving, fucking, sucking, pulling, slapping, squeezing, biting.  I hope he is prepared, I have some animalistic rage lurking way down deep that I am going to unleash on him.  I know he is up to the task; if he isn't, I'll pull out the riding crop and change his mind.  Heh heh.

I was going to respond to Doc, Lava and On The Prowl in the comments, but in usual lawyerly style, I needed a bazillion more words to say simple things than the comments box would allow.

I feel I must give you a little background.  Ex and I had a strange marriage.  I really don't know why we got married.  We were both freaking out about it at the time and I don't think either of us really wanted to do it.  We were both late for our own wedding.  We had forgotten about wedding rings and had to stop on the way to get some.  The only store open at the beach on Sunday was a surf shop.  So, we bought some surfer rings.  Mine cost $12 and his $18.  We showed up to my friends boat (a 54' yacht) an hour late.  We each had some wine and then we got married on the water, barefoot, at sunset.  It was beautiful.  I would show you a picture, but we didn't get a photographer either and none of our guests ever bothered to send me pictures.  I never bothered to ask.

We did not spend our honeymoon night together.  I slept with my maid of honor and he stayed up all night with his "brudders"  (he is Irish).  So went the rest of our marriage.  We lived separate lives during the day and met up later for sex.  We never did anything together.  We each had friends that had no idea we were married.  We never wore our surfer rings and never replaced them either.  He would accompany me to our bar association Christmas party every year and we would have dinner together one a month or so.  That was the extent of it.

He was never a jealous man.  He was either oblivious or didn't care as other men, not realizing we were "together," let alone married, would hit on me in front of him.  He never said anything about it and I always backed away and was respectful of the fact I was married.  I never cheated on him, or even thought about it.  I don't think he cheated on me either.

For most of our marriage, I worked during the day, as did he.  I worked at night, while he drank and played.  I worked on weekends, often he did too.  At the end of our marriage we saw each other for about 90 total minutes a week - if that.

Over a period of about six months, I decided I really did want to connect on a more spiritual and intellectual level with a man.  I really wanted a partner.  I tried to convey this to him on numerous occasions and tried to give him incentive to change a little and have a marriage with me.  He really wasn't interested and by this time, his alcoholism was becoming noticeable. 

So I asked him to move out and he did.  I think he thought he was calling my bluff.  After a while, he decided to quit drinking and become clear.  The only problem with that was that I had to go through the breakup twice.  Once by myself, and again with him once he was sober.  That sucked.

So that is the background....as for my telling him about landlord that was just sheer, utter, blinding, blonding stupidity. 

 It was a real WTF moment for me.  Things I haven't measured don't usually fly out of my mouth, but it did.  I have no excuse.  No excuse.  I think I was trying to convey to him in terms he could understand, that I really don't have loads of cash right now.  That his dependence on me financially has started to make me ponder alternatives.  Kaboom!  I knew it would backfire as soon as the words left my lips.  I tried to evade further discussion, but he went crazy; Krazy with a K.  So, I told him I made the whole thing up.  I decided I would rather have him think me a liar than cause me unnecessary difficulties I don't have time to deal with at the moment.

The Ex isn't usually nuts.  He just isn't the sharpest tool in the shed.  But he was sweet and protective once upon a time - until he wasn't.  Now, I don't know who he is.  I never knew a sober Ex only the drinking Ex.  I rowed the boat and he came along for the ride and seemed happy to just take his swigs and feel the sunshine. 

The clouds have moved in however and I keep raining on his parade.  The Ex has always thought that I make so much money and I do; however, our lifestyle was such that we needed his income to keep it up.  Well, his income is gone, but I have all of the same bills. 

I am just making my nut every month.  He has walked away and let me carry all of the debt and all of his continuing bills.  I just want him to take care of his bills, at the least.  I can make more money, but it takes time to see the fruits of my extended work hours.  And even when I do, I really don't want to continue to support him as well.  I may have to.  If it were easy and I didn't have to kill myself with work to do it, I would support him in a heartbeat.

I know you guys won't have much sympathy for me as men have traditionally been in my shoes and paid for their ex-wives.  Doesn't make it hurt any less, however.  Particularly when he makes more than enough to support himself well, especially if I take all of the marital debt.  Wouldn't it be nice to collect a paycheck and have no debt?  Boy, I would love that.  My overhead to operate my office is mind blowing. 

Anyway, a few thousand dollars for a blow job and some acrobatics sounded like a good idea for a minute or two.  Frankly, I take pride in my BJ's and would have taken the time and done my best to make it worth the money.    But, I really would not like to have to think of myself as a whore.  And that is what I would be, now wouldn't I?

On the other hand.....aren't we all whores in one way or another?  Maybe this is just cutting out the hypocrisy.

So, in conclusion: 

·                        Ex - not crazy, just not smart.

·                        Me - had dumb blonde moment, very unusual.

·                        Bills -killing me. 

·                        Work - killing me.

·                        BJ's - verrrrry goooood.

·                        Whores - aren't we all?

I am in a terrible mood.  I had a huge fight with the ex last night.  I was trying to get him to understand what I needed. All I need him to do is to live up to what he has said.  Do what he has promised. It so totally did not work. 

My landlord propositioned me some time back about ways to lower my rent.  This is probably why I remembered the owl toad I described in an earlier post.  I actually considered, albeit momentarily - literally just for seconds, indulging my landlord.  I told the Ex this.  He went berserk.  REALLY BERSERK.  He said he was going to call my landlord and talk to his wife.  Which panicked me as I knew that would only result in my having to move, which I really don't have the time or inclination to do.  So, I told the Ex I made the story up.  I hoped that would keep him from interfering.  Now, he won't talk to me at all because he thinks I am a lying bitch.  I will own up to being a bitch.  But I am not a lying bitch.

Oh well, fuck.  God, I wish I could just do a beautiful swan dive off a really tall bridge.  Instead, I will go dive into other people's problems; wrap myself in the blanket of their distress.

So, here I am again.  In bed alone on a Friday night.  What the hell?  Ugh, frustration is starting to set in.

Long crappy rainy day.  Not cold, just rainy and gray.  I think the high was around 70 degrees today.  Still, I felt the need to wear a sweater - cause that is just the kind of mood I'm in. 

Stayed at work until 9:00 tonight.  And YES PAUL, I cleaned my desk. 

Feeling sorry for myself, I thought I would call up another sorry loser.  Met the ex for dinner.  Bad, bad, bad idea.  It all started friendly enough.  We sat down at a hippie pizza joint at just before 10:00.  He had already ordered a veggie pizza.  Normally, this would have been great, but with the mood I was in - I needed to feel the toughness of some cured flesh between my teeth.  Broccoli would have to do.

The Ex lit a cigarette, I reached across the table, took it from his fingers and took a nice, long slow drag and gave it back.  The waitress came, I ordered a beer.  What is unusual about that?  Well, the Ex is on the wagon - and he needs to be.  He is an alcoholic.  So I ordered a beer - his drink of choice - and proceeded to swill it right in front of him.  Then I ordered two more.  I am a callous bitch.  But, I sat stone sober in front of his drunken ass hundreds of times so, I figured he owes me.

We small talked, and ate pizza.  Then suddenly we weren't small talking anymore.  We were big talking.  Big talking about tangled finances and all our bills I am paying.  He said "you know I will help, just ask."  At this point I laughed.  He has said this many times before and in fact, I had asked about two months ago.  His response to my request made months ago, "Well to be fair...blah blah blah."  Followed by a two hour fight which ended with me, characteristically, letting him off the hook and telling him I will take care of everything - as I always have - alone.  FUCKER  

Anyway, needless to say the rage started boiling in my pizza stuffed, beer filled belly.  And I laughed.  He was very offended by my laughing at his offer to help.  I explained why I found his offer laughable.  He again said, "well, to be fair...blah blah blah"  followed by some excuse about how he didn't understand the situation before.  Which declaration led to even more rage churning deep within me.  Didn't understand?  Didn't understand?  God damned mother fucker - (long story here - but suffice it to say that he has no excuse for not understanding).  Of course, I swallowed my anger and remained cool.  Veeeeeeeeeeeeeeery cool.  I was glad I had on a sweater.

Oh well, dinner ended poorly, but I did snag the take home box and it is sleeping soundly in my fridge.  Take that asshole!  Nothing like a little passive agressive gesture to end an evening, I always say.

So, I made it home.  Home to the dog.  Home to the old faithful bitch.  Home alone to quietly stew and simmer.  Home where there is no TV to divert me.  Home to a house filled with books about the European and other world economies, the rise of American airpower, military and social histories of varied societies, Eudora Welty and Flannery O'Conner.

Is it any wonder I am angry?

Oh well, I will focus on tomorrow.  I have to go to work and then I might go to a halloween party.  Ugh - which means I have to dress.  I hate costume dressing.  I have no idea what to do - my sister went as a field of poppies once.  I could do that - green satin dress and red poppy-like flowers.  Or I could hunt a mexican ensemble down at a local market, draw on a unibrow and go as Feida, or I could go as a sexy secretary - ooooo maybe a 1940's style secretary...hmmmmm - help!  help help.  If I can't think of anything I can put together in under an hour, I will just stay home.  Help!

Update:  I did stay home, but Sug was there and we didn't need costumes......