Toxic Dance

I guess I haven’t gotten my blogging year off to a very good start, have I? I’ve just been so tired lately; and I do mean the mind-numbing kind. Not that anything tragic has occurred, but rather just life itself taking its toll on me.  Okay, the puppies and the Old Man don’t help. I just don’t seem to have any motivation to write, correspond, or even bother with emails. I believe I’m depressed again, but am really bothered by this because I don’t feel I should have any reason to be. Nothing is really amiss. It ain’t great…but it ain’t amiss. But then there never has to be any real reason behind my depression. I’m sure you all have picked up on that by now. Not only that but I’m sure many of you deal with the same thing. You know, those invisible cracks in the road  that no one else notices that seem to make you trip at any given time. The really ‘sucky’ ones. Anyway, life has been moving along relatively smoothly and has even had a few positive perks, but I believe the depression is back because the signs are there: Lethargy, too much or too little sleep, and the big one…biting my nails again. I bit my nails from the time I was a child till shortly before my second husband and I broke it off. I didn’t bite them again till a few years ago when the whole ‘Beth thing’ occurred. I was finally able to quit last January when I started writing my blog, then began again a few weeks ago. When I start biting my nails it’s usually a sign that there is something going on in my life which I feel I can’t control and it’s giving me a case of the crazies.

I had a little chat with Pandora Patty about this last night. I told her as nuts as it sounds I think that a good chunk of my depression has to do with the fact that the fan in our fireplace insert went out, we haven’t had the chance to replace it yet, and I’m unable to start a fire in the morning. I know that may sound like loony talk to most of you, but if you knew me as well as she does it doesn’t sound so crazy. I’m a creature of habit. I need routine in my life to push me along everyday. Because I don’t have the diversity in my life as most folks do (home, work, social life, etc..), and am stuck in the monotony of this existence, the only way I’ve learned to make the best of it and adapt is to control my environment. When the seasons change, the holidays are upon me, my winter ‘routine’ begins. For years I have started my winter mornings off before dawn with a cup of coffee while building a fire, and then working on my blog in the glow of it. There’s something magical about the ambiance of it and it seems to just push my day along. This year the fan went ‘kaput’ early on and threw a wrench into it. That, and up until just very recently the weather has resembled more Fall than Winter, which has completely screwed me up too. I know…I’m completely nuts, right? Just a smidgen of OCD, ya think?

I’d be lying if I said that the puppies weren’t a HUGE contributing factor. They are  already quite large, full of energy, are either constantly chasing each other playing, or trying to maul each other while fighting, and my home sees not one moment of peace anymore. I am up and down all day long correcting them, tending to something they want, and letting them in and out. Nights are usually restless because they sleep on the bed, and always seem to be sprawled out on my side at the bottom so I’m in a fetal position most of the time. Not great on my bad back. And of course, that one other little detail I failed to mention: I seldom get a break. Ah yes, the Old Man lied through his teeth when he told me that things would be different this time around and he would actually spend more time helping out with the care of these dogs. We’re right back to where we were before : My being responsible for their care from the time the sun comes up till he gets home around six p.m. Then I should get a break, but no…he sits at the computer for a while and can’t be bothered, eventually finds his way to the couch for his evening ‘nap’, then wakes up just long enough to venture up to bed. Weekends aren’t much better because he spends every Saturday at his father’s farm with his brothers, and then Sunday sleeps most of the day on the couch. When he isn’t spending Sundays on the couch he’s at his dads. I guess I don’t have to tell ya that this got OLD a long fucking time ago, do I?

Well, I SNAPPED last night, which is probably why I’m able to blog this morning. Friday was his birthday which he spent all day at his dad’s (And did take the dogs so I could do a thorough cleaning of the house–and it was the first time he’s ever done that for me, I might add), and then all evening here getting drunk with his two, best friends. I guess it’s no stretch of the imagination to figure out who ‘tended’ to them again, even though he promised me this year I wouldn’t have to. I made it through though. Through his one drunken buddy stomping all over the house to the music and rattling all the china and stemware in my curio cabinet. Through this same friend spilling a drink all over my living room floor, dropping his pizza face side down, and then trying to ‘cop a feel’ when the Old Man and his other buddy made a beer run during the course of the evening. I made it through with some remaining sanity thinking that Saturday I would finally get a break. Umm…okay!

Saturday the Old Man’s excuse for leaving was that he had to help his brother get the water going at his dad’s farm, because something was screwed up with the pressure. Okaaaay….(This is where I should chime in and let you all know that his dad doesn’t even live at the farm. He lives in the city with the Old Man’s step-mother and only goes to the farm he owns to piddle with shit every day.) Then I get a call h-o-u-r-s later saying that his dad fell down the basement stairs, had a bad cut in his leg, the brother took him to the hospital, and the Old Man was sitting at the house waiting for them. Okaaaay…. Hours later after hearing nothing further from him I called the house. His dad answered, said they had to give him stitches, he was all right though, and the Old Man and his brother were busy working trying to get the water pressure working.  Okaaaay…. I believe it was around nine p.m. when he called to say he was picking up McDonald’s on the way home. It wasn’t till he got here that he broke the news to me that he had to leave again in the morning to go pick his dad up in the city and take him back to the farm so he could pick up his car that he’d had to leave, because he was on painkillers. ((sigh)) I made him promise me…PROMISE ME…that he would go pick him up, drop him off, and would get his ass right back. This was around nine a.m. I tried calling him  hours later, but he wouldn’t answer his cell phone. When he did finally text me I was on the phone with Pandora Patty and beyond pissed. All he did was ask me what I wanted him to pick up at the store. Come on! Is he fucking kidding me? Not an explanation….an “I’m sorry!”…nuthin?

I kept my peace after he got home as long as I could. I kept it while he made himself chili, sat at the computer for a while, and even after he sprawled out on the loveseat. I kept it until I couldn’t keep it anymore. I wanted an explanation. I deserved an explanation. And I wasn’t real keen on the way he was just acting like it was no biggee and I would just have to suck it up. I did finally get an explanation out of him. Sort of. It was that he got conned into building a handrail for the basement stairs at the farm. Why he hadn’t answered the phone when I called him, nor bothered to call and let me know he wasn’t going to be home right away, was because he knew I would bitch. Yeah, he actually said that. Ya know…cause I wasn’t going to bitch when he got home or anthing! 

The SNAPPED part came when he told me that this is where he had been all day and if I didn’t believe him I could just call his father and ask him. I’ve heard this many times and never called his bluff. Why involve others in this bullshit? Well, I did this time. I picked up the phone, dialed the number, got his father on the phone, and yes…he said that he’d been with him all day. I guess the nonchalant attitude that he had knowing that the Old Man had been there all day, three days in a row, while I sat here twiddling my thumbs waiting for him all weekend really got to me. Before I knew what I was doing I just cracked, began sobbing, told his father that I was tired of the fact the Old Man can’t cut the umbilical cord, and that he’s on the brink of losing his wife and everything he has because he can’t keep his ass at home. I then tossed the phone on the loveseat next to the Old Man and walked out of the room. I slept on the couch last night, but only after I called Pandora Patty and vented to her for the second time in one day. Crazies! I got em bad right now!

Now before any of you think that I am an inconsiderate, flaming bitch who’s trying to keep him from spending time with his aging father, let me set the record straight. I have been MORE than understanding of his need to be close to his dad. MORE THAN UNDERSTANDING. In fact, understanding to the tune of seven years and ten months of this crap. I’ll put up with sitting at home all week and every weekend for a while, get fed-up, throw a huge tantrum, and he’ll straighten up when he sees I’m ready to walk out. Problem is the straightening up never lasts and he’s gotta go and do something to fuck it up again. In this case lying to me. Two things I hate more than anything are a thief and a liar. My first husband was both,  I had a belly full of it for nearly twelve years, and don’t have any tolerance for it now. Anyway, you make a promise to me, then you damn well better keep it. He didn’t. And of course, to add insult to injury when I asked him why the hell he has to fuck things up when we’re getting along, he has to answer with some dumb-ass reply the equivalent of “I don’t know.” Cause…ya know…that explanation is acceptable, or something!

Well, I have to admit, Pandora Patty was right, I do feel better after venting. A little man-bashing goes a long way when you’re pissed. The fact is though, it doesn’t change a damn thing, does it? He is who he is, IT is what it is, and as long as I’m here this is the way we dance. He pulls me into his arms just long enough for me to match his rhythm, then spins me quickly away from him, only to gather me back into his arms before I fall. This dance, his dance, must hold something of value because I’m still on the floor. ((sigh)) I guess if I were to look at it from a positive perspective he did give me a reason and the motivation to write. He’s just so damn helpful sometimes…