Resentful Love

Sunday, June 8th 2008 at 1:00am

I just need to accept who he is, and accept that I can’t change that, and then figure out if I want this for myself. It’s hard to chill out when my heart is breaking, but he doesn’t reach out to me when I’m in despair like I am now, he only moves farther away. He complains about how I need to deal with his Cav-ness, but he won’t deal with my tears and my aching heart.

It’s time to do like he does and say whatever. The only problem with this “solution” is that if I say whatever and truly mean it, then I’m going to stop doing all the things I do for him. I’m going to stop doing a lot of things for myself as well. Right now, he’s god-knows-where. He came home at 11:30pm (which means he left work at 11:25pm because it’s a five minute bike ride for him) and he didn’t greet me. I was watching the Tyra show but I paused it and waited for him to say something, when he didn’t I said “hey beautiful” but he didn’t respond.

I pressed the play button after a minute. He sat on the bed after a few more minutes. I paused the TV when he seemed like he wanted to say something. I don’t even know how we got into an argument. Oh wait, yes I do. He said, “I’m gonna go grab a couple beers and play some video games or something. What do you want to do?”

I replied, “I want to fall off the face of the planet.”

He asked where that came from, and I told him that he asked what I wanted, and that I had told him what I wanted. Then he said, “Why are you looking at me like that?”

I said, “Why haven’t you smiled to me in the last two days? Same difference, isn’t it?”

“You haven’t smiled at me since I got home yet,” he said.

“You didn’t even smile at me after morning sex and biking with you to work, which are two things you say you want a lot of.”

“Yeah, so you did that stuff one time. Like I’m supposed to get so excited because you did it. All I can think in my head is ‘about time’ is all.”

“And you expect me to keep doing it with that attitude?” I asked, getting angry. “If you made me tea and I didn’t drink any of it, and I just went back to sleep, would you ever do it again? You probably wouldn’t!”

He didn’t respond to that. He instead tried to defend himself in a different way by saying, “It was just an off-day. Everyone kept asking me all day at work what was wrong. I kept saying nothing, but no one would get off it.”

“But if it was an off-day then something was wrong. Why couldn’t you just open up and tell me what’s wrong?”

We went on that way for about twenty minutes. I said to him (again), “It’s not what you’re doing, it’s the intent behind it, the meaning of your action that is clearly illustrated by when you’re doing it, and how.”

“So what do you want me to do?”

I throw up my hands at this point. “You’re still not getting it!”

“Yeah-yeah. It’s about the meaning behind it. But obviously different actions have different meanings. I’m not stupid.”

We also touched on the drinking again. “Do you believe you have a drinking problem?” I asked again.

“No, I don’t,” he replied.

“But you wrote me a letter that said you believed that you do. You lied to me.”

“Not this again.”

“But that’s a real issue. We’re not arguing about nothing. This is important, because you do have an issue. The definition of a drinking problem is when it interferes with your family or your work.”

“My drinking doesn’t affect my work.”

At that point I should have pointed out how he was showing how little he cared about me to think about his work before me, but I didn’t, I said, “It affects me. How can you say you care about me so much more than I care about you when you don’t care how your drinking affects me? You were so drunk the other night you couldn’t operate a fan, and when I tried to tell you, you got mad at me, you treated me like shit because I was trying to help you. That’s okay with you?”

“It’s not the beer, it’s that I drank too many of them. I just need to learn not to get that drunk.”

“But it’s not like this is the first time,” I protested. “This isn’t even the second, third, fifth, tenth time... This is like the twentieth or thirtieth time you’ve come home drunk and treating me like shit.”

“Well I’m working on it.”

“Continuing to drink isn’t working on it. Quitting is working on it. Admitting you have a problem is working on it. If you continue to drink in your regular life than drinking will always be a part of your regular life, and getting drunk is a very logical result to drinking!”

I began crying at this point, but I didn’t actually stop talking to cry, I just let the tears fall while I spoke. I’ve already learned the letting the tears take over will not make him stop to comfort me, it won’t make him see how much he’s hurting me, and it won’t make me feel any better.

After about twenty minutes, he stands up, says “whatever” and starts to walk away. I said to him, “When did I walk away from you and say whatever? You’ve been doing it to me from the beginning. Every time you get sick of it you walk away and say whatever. I’ve done that to you how many times? What? Like one, two, maybe five times in our whole relationship? You think that doesn’t hurt?”

He just shrugged me off and went out to go buy his couple of beers, and he’s not back yet at 1:14am. I didn’t really look at what time he left, probably shortly before midnight. Once he was down the stairs, as usual, the flood of tears comes over me. I tell myself to stop, but I couldn’t just stop immediately, not yet have I gotten far enough to cry for a few seconds and then stop. But I down to minutes from hours.

He came back upstairs about sixty seconds later, and ignoring my tears asks, “think your parents would mind if I took the car?”

“Yes,” I said, without much contemplation. I’m not sure if they would mind, but I can’t imagine my mom would say, “yes, go ahead and leave my daughter in her room crying so you can go support your bad habit of drinking.”

I’m not sure why he needed to go anywhere requiring a car to pick up a couple beers. I guess he changed his mind about his plan. Beers never took him more than five minutes to acquire from the corner store before.
I’m kinda relieved that he’s not here right now though. Arguing with him is too hard after feeling like I’m so lost all day. I’ve been a drift... I’ve been talking to my mom most of the day. Hardly even talking, but rather, just listening for a lot of it. Too depressed to make a bowl of cereal when I first got up... I got out of bed at 5:00pm.

I woke to Crusifer calling me and was delighted to hear his voice. We chatted for a while and I asked why he didn’t call me last night. Why he didn’t borrow someone’s phone if his was dead. He eventually just hung up on me. I’m so tired of trying. I poured my heart out to him again on the phone...

I told him that I couldn’t look at hot girls any more because my heart had no room for anybody but him. “I’m just horny” he says. I told him, “I know, but this has nothing to do with being horny. It has to do with what’s in your heart.” I keep trying to explain how his actions are telling me that I’m not one of his real concerns. Why do I keep trying to explain this? If I’m really not, then I’m not, and I probably never will be because I’ve been busting my ass trying to prove my love for him all this time.

The cooking (and not just any cooking, but exactly what he wants, when he wants it), and the cleaning, (and carefully organizing his clothing, which I stopped doing because he clearly didn’t care), and the scanning and editing his art, and organizing all the files (which takes hours of focus) which he has never really appreciated either. Now this week I visited him four times at work. I rode with him to work once, I came to pick him up another time. I washed him in the shower, and he washed me. I gave him pedicures, and manicures, as I always do. I picked out his hair the way he likes. I did everything he said he wanted, including the morning sex and everything. I got on top.

What he doesn’t know is that I also bought him a birthday present this week and am working on a surprise for next week. What about all the times he came home to candles and his favorite underwear? I quit that because half the time he either argued with me, or wanted to do “something else” or whatever. He’d probably deny this, but in the future he’ll deny how he completely pushed me out after his coveted “morning sex.” He puts so much emphasis on what I do for him, and then claims I do nothing for him even when I do everything he says he wants. Either he’s not being real with himself about what he really wants, or he just doesn’t care what I do regardless, or he’s blind to everything I do. No matter the answer, none of it sounds like love to me...

With Tre I was stuck on “what if I can’t find someone as attractive?” and “he’s so strong, and I might not be able to find someone who can protect me like that” and so on. Then again, I was also stuck on the weed. Now I feel like I can’t find another artist, much less a goth/punk artist. But I guess that’s just a superficial excuse for the fact that I’m attached to him and everything about him including his flaws. I should know by now that his hobbies are unrelated to what’s really important between us. It’s not the hobby, but that we do it together. And we’re not doing much of anything together.

It’s not pay that you get for your job, it’s if your job allows you to enjoy your life and to be proud of yourself. It’s not if you’re attractive, but if you’re confident in your body. It’s not if you do or don’t give gifts, it’s that you mean well and are thoughtful in giving your gifts. It’s not if you have money or if you don’t, it’s how you spend how much or how little you have. This is what I keep trying to get through to Crusifer. It’s not if he goes out or if he doesn’t, it’s if he comes home fucked up, or coming home all excited because he found out that this hot chick wants to fuck him... Those things ruin everything. If he called me while he was out, came home when he said he was coming home, told me ahead of time, and gave me affection when he got back... Everything would be different.

Sunday, June 8th 2008 at 1:22pm

I might have gone to the gay pride parade if no body didn’t hurt like hell. My glands are swollen, have been for two days now... My neck won’t allow my head to turn all the way in most directions. When I sit down my stomach muscles clench too hard for comfort. When I stand up my thighs adamantly complain. My hips are sore when firm pressure is applied. My arms feel heavy.

This is the day Crusifer tells me El and Connie want to take him to Zor Valley. Do I want to come? Of course I want to come, but I can’t, and good-luck making anyone understand that. I’m in enough pain already, but if I went, I don’t think there is a chance that I wouldn’t get sick. I’m shifting between enjoying the extreme heat up here to being a little cooler than I like. Signs of a mild fever. Swallowing don’t “hurt” per say, but it isn’t comfortable. I would stay in bed, but that would hurt my muscles even more by the time I got up again. I’d just be stiff again, like yesterday.

My body freaking hates me.

I don’t think I’ve been this depressed since I was with Tre. I feel trapped. I’m arguing myself in circles, and at every turn I have a physical problem to overcome, and an emotional problem to overcome. Every turn in my chair strains some muscle...

He says I always am in pain, as though that’s reason for him not to care. So if I got in a serious accident tomorrow and lost use of my legs, I bet you his sympathy would last about ten minutes. Not that I so much want the sympathy, I just don’t want to face what it means that he doesn’t have any...

He’s going to go without me I guess. If he really does, which I expect he will, since he spent the last two nights away from me without problem, I think I know what I’ll do with my day.

I suppose vomiting the night away, and not getting to sleep until five o’clock still doesn’t warrant it being called a drinking “problem.”

All I can do is accept it at this point. Accept that he is who is he is, and that he’s not changing, and forget about any and all plans that I may have had. And then just chill out. I’m stressing my point to being the verge of being sick, and I’m paying for my stressing right now. That’s no good. I certainly can’t live my life feeling like this. Hell, I won’t make it through the summer at this rate. I’ll melt. (He, he, he, like my dry humor?)

I’m back to shivering. Moments ago I was sweating. This isn’t good. I suppose what I should do it go back to bed... But if I do that I won’t be able to move because I’ll get so stiff. This is quite the conundrum, just like my relationship. I’m torn between trying to show him how he behaves by acting like him, and by setting an example by treating him the way I want to be treated. I’ve taken the latter route around eight-five percent of the time, but... It’s difficult in this position. At the moment I’m not really doing either.

I’ve seriously considered getting high and drunk twice a week to show him... I’ve considered not being home when he got here... I’ve considered not calling him... I’ve considered not smiling... I’ve considered not initiating conversations... I’ve considered not answering his questions. But that would just make things worse, and I’d feel bad about it. I need serious guidance. But from whom?

Well, I suppose I already wrote the answer to that in my last entry, but we know I can’t just arrange that of my own accord...

I feel helpless. Anything new about that? Nope.

You know what else I’ve been considering? Getting a job. Being in this condition makes it a laughable prospect, because this is one of the large reasons why I can’t imagine getting an ordinary job. I’d probably get sick on the third day of work and be out for a week and then get fired. It could just be another excuse, but it sure as hell is a likely one. I’d love to get hired as the florist at Wegmans though. That might be fun, but we all know that getting the job you want is about as likely as winning the lotto.

But if I had a job... I’d meet new people. I’d see new things. I’d make my own money. If I worked part time I could still have time for some of the things I like to do, and if I got a well-suited job I might not get sick from it... I should apply for florist at Wegmans, just because, if I did get hired, I’d accept the job happily. It can’t hurt.

I’ve also been thinking about college again, but I don’t know how I could afford it...

I think I’m going to lay down and read now. Sitting up has become difficult.

Sunday, June 8th 2008 at 3:03pm

I’m copying pictures from one of the various SD chips I own. I think I have three, and Crusifer has two. Sometimes I clear off one and have it in reserve to switch out with the one Crusifer is currently using so that I don’t have to clean a chip on the spot without warning. I figure now is as good as time as any to upload all the chips. It needs doing.

Unfortunately just copying the pictures from the chips is time consuming. Often copying like twenty pictures will take seven or eight minutes. I’m not sure why is takes so long. I don’t know if it’s the chip, and if my computer speed is irrelevant, or if it’s my computer and the chip is irrelevant, or if both play a part in the speed at which the pictures are copied. Perhaps it has nothing to do with either and it’s more about my operating system, or about the method I use to copy them, or even the size and quality of the photos? It’s running at about a minute for every six photos.

Did I ever mention how many files I have? I have 15 gigs of files, and only about 2 of those gigs are music or video. It’s all art, photos and text. The text is in poetry, journal entries, HTML, game-design and novel-writing. The photos are of tattoos, family, friends, but mostly me. The art is Crusifer’s art, my art, digital art, maya models, and mores. There’s also things like the board game files, which include over 2000 graphics for the cards, and many very large files for the board-map. And of course there is a large number of charts and the manual, though those don’t take up much space at all.

Fifteen gigs in the 21st century isn’t really a lot, but considering that it’s not music and videos is incredible. I mean, fifteen gigs of movies is only like five to seven movies. Fifteen gigs of photos and text... That’s a lot of photos and text. I pride myself on my collection. It’s all very well organized. (To be exact, I just copied 63 pictures and it took a total of about seventeen minutes.) For example, under photos there is “Crusifer’s downloads,” “Family & Friends,” “Events,” and “Pictures of Me.” Under each one of those is five to twelve sub-folders. Under events you would find “Hawk Creak,” “Christmas 2007,” and “Christmas 2008" as well as a variety of other events from the past few years. In the fifteen gigs there are over 1000 folders; go figure.

I guess Crusifer isn’t going to Zor Valley because El never called him back and isn’t answering his phone. I really don’t like his friends. They’re so not reliable. Probably why I don’t have buds. It annoys me to death when people say something and don’t follow through, especially when they don’t even call and let you know...

Speaking of which... I have not seen Tina since the day after her baby was born. I called her once, and we spoke for a bit. I considered visiting her that day but I had already visited Crusifer and I was tired. I called her once since then but she didn’t pick up. I should make a point to see her this week. If not tomorrow then Thursday. (I’ve made plans for Tuesday, and on Wednesday Crusifer might have off work.)

I suppose I ought to get to work on the Quest cards today. Now, while I’m waiting for files to copy is as good a time as any... 55 seconds remaining... And then I’ll make another copy, and then another, (into different folders to save me the effort of sorting later) and then I’ll be done with this chip and it will be on to the next. Mundane life... It’s only wonderful when you’re deeply and passionately and happily in love...

Aunt Mary is in love. I guess I’m happy for her.

New Pros & Cons List

Tuesday, May 13th 2008 at 12:56pm

I hung up on him and turned my phone off, and have yet to turn it back on. I hardly feel the barest guilt about this. I feel like my feelings are a far-off abstract concept to him. A construct to annoy him, but never to concern him.

I’m the one with these bodily problems, and he thinks he has the right to be angry about them instead of comforting me? I’m done with arguing with him. I made my mind up to that Sunday, when we almost broke up. If I’m to ride this relationship out any longer at all, I am most certainly not going to bother arguing with him anymore. He’s not going to change his views, and I’m not going to change mine. And frankly, if his views include me not benefitting him, and my feelings being irrelevant, than to hell with him.

I’m so bloody sick of however the hell my body works that I could rip my own entrails out. Surely, considering all the pain I have yet to endure from this spiteful bundle of flesh I inhabit I’ll be saving myself a hell of a lot of misery and pain to do so.

I don’t have a fucking STD, and I don’t have a fucking yeast infection, and I’m not on any medications including birth control, and my diet is well balanced, and there most certainly has not been too much sex, and I’ve not been wearing black underwear or jeans that are too tight, and so on and so on, so why in blazing hell does it hurt?

I’m so sick of this spite! First the raging hormones that could never be satisfied, years of endless desire with no orgasms to be had, then the burning yeast infections that would cause me to do the potty-dance instead of peeing for fourteen hours at a time for the fear of pain that I knew would come when I finally gave in a peed, and then the never-ending sensation of having to pee while having sex, but then never actually having to pee, and then the itching infections with no burning but just a constant painful discomfort irritated by even the slightest touch, and then the decline in my sex appetite entirely, and then my clit becoming so sensitive even I can’t touch the goddamned thing, and then more infections, and then this new sensation I get when trying to have sex on my period which makes sex on my period downright impossible, then my spot (inside) going as dysfunctional as my clit, then my fantasies stop working, then my vibrator starts failing to make me cum, then the dryness, then more infection, then more sensitivity, then going weeks without sex waiting for it to heal, then the strange happenstance where it wouldn’t stretch, it would only seem to tear, so more weeks of waiting, more itching... And every time I visit the doctors “nothing is wrong” or “everything is perfectly normal” and even “you have plenty of natural flora” and so forth.

I am cursed. So I quit the birth control. And my breasts deflated a whole cup size, and I realize that the reason my breasts have hurt for years is because of the blasted patch. It used to be that every time I took my bra off it hurt terribly for them to hang by their own weight, so I slept with them on. Now I feel what breasts are supposed to feel like hanging – which is to feel like nothing out of the ordinary whatsoever.

You can not put words to how I loath doctors. They never fucking help me.

And now, after a week without sex, after taking acidophilus (him and I both) because I suspected the onset of infection because of a minor itch, and after cleaning, and airing out, and doing nothing out of the ordinary what-so-ever, and even eating much more salad than usual, I wake up horny (a once in two month sort of happenstance) and I call to Crusifer, and of all blasted things, he enters me and feels exactly like the same blasted sensation I get during my period.

I want to rip my fucking hair out.

And then to top off my maddening fury, Crusifer has the blasted nerve to complain about how the world hates him. Nothing is wrong with his cock. In fact, his cock works overtime with all of it’s constant erections. He’s always functional! And he wants to complain about how the world hates him?

I hung up on him on the phone for good reason. You know what the bastard suggested? He said to me that “this is why we need to bring chicks home.” I gritted my teeth together, but said nothing. I went so silent that he asked me several times if I was still there, and after affirming I was there multiple times, he kept on with the topic. About Rocsanne and how he wants to fuck her again before she goes, and how it’s too bad he can’t fuck girls at work. Is he serious?

Is it really possible that he can’t get through his head that I don’t like that sort of stuff anymore or is he just an asshole? He complains about my vibrator and how it proves him inadequate! For jesus christ’s sake, I’m the one with a broken organ, who is in pain periodically from mystery infections, with a haphazard sex drive that I have no control over, and he’s talking about how he needs to fuck other girls because I can’t satisfy him, and if I have one fucking awful orgasm off that vibrating toy than I’m making a statement about how he is inadequate! It’s so fucking ludicrous that I could bang my head right through the wall.

So that’s when I hung up on him, at the moment he said it was too bad he couldn’t fuck at work anymore. Did he really mean that if he could that he was going to? Talk about pushing the envelope! Perhaps he is pushing my buttons because he wants me to break up with him! How can anybody be so blind? I’m so sick of letting him hurt me. I don’t care what he says anymore. Or at least, I’m a lot closer to not caring than I ever was.

What a freaking misty dream is the beginning of my relationship with him. Where the hell did it go? When did the happy love-sick feeling leave me? It was so intoxicating, you’d think I could pinpoint the moment it left. I can’t believe how empty I am. I can’t believe how far things have deteriorated without me even noticing! I’m not even half as hysterical as I should be, because I’ve already been stunned by the realization of our crumbling relationship too many times to be that stunned again.

You know what’s crazy? I told him that by saying he should keep his friends around in case I should break up with him that he was creating a self-fulfilling prophesy. And his friends are still around. Sure, I don’t see them, but that’s because I’d probably raise all hell if I did. There is no way I’m going to tolerate the presence of his friends in my life, and that is that.

I’m already getting to the point where I don’t give much of a damn if he goes out or not! When did this happen? When did everything slip through my fingers like so much sand in the Sahara desert? I must be a blazing idiot.

But what about all our plans? What about the office, and what about our new kitchen, and the dishwasher he is going to buy for us, and what about lugging my old dresser out here and repainting it? How can I toss away the few things I’m looking forward to so quickly? What about when my bike (finally fucking) gets here and I can ride with him to work? Am I still crazy about doing that, like I was?

I found this program online, this “guaranteed to save your marriage” thing. It’s $70 for five hours of tapes and such. I was about to order it on the spot last night, but I only had $50 in my bank account.

Is it worth it? I mean, surely saving this relationship is worth much more than $70 to me. And yeah, it has a money-back guarantee and stuff. I just hate the riff-raff. The site claims there is a fourteen week program, as says that if you follow it, everything will work out. It makes tons of good points and lists off all the problems it’s supposed to solve. One that stuck out was “what to do if your partner isn’t listening,” and another thing that stuck out to me was that it said that 75% of all couples that go to consoling come out worse off than they started. Why? Because confronting your problems hurts.

He said that it’s best to avoid these problems and to instead focus on connecting to your partner instead. And that’s the thing that really kicking me in the gut. I feel disconnected from Crusifer since Sunday. I feel so disconnected that I honestly don’t feel guilty for having turned my phone off. I’m so disconnected that his touch doesn’t bring me out of myself and into him. I’m obliging out of habit, and I feel like my love for him must be dying. I’m positive that were it over tomorrow I’d still shatter into pieces, but I certainly don’t feel like I did just a few months ago.

I realize, looking back on my chart, that we’ve been arguing for over a month. But looking back throughout our whole relationship, despite all the times I’ve forgiven him, and despite all his promises, I notice that I don’t feel like I was ever paid back for the countless effort and time I put into him. Unless you count in dollars. Is an expensive alienware laptop enough to pay for months of my affection, cooking, cleaning, companionship, gifts and more? Hardly.

I still remember before we were going out, when he arrived I’d have food waiting for him, I’d rub his back, I’d light candles, I’d give him gifts. He drew me two pictures in the first six months of our relationship, but not a one in this past year. I’ve drawn him three, two in this past year. But oh how petty the details are! And yet how they stack!

He thinks that his collection of deeds is unimportant beside his working day after day. His time with me is like ashes next to his paycheck in his mind. He sees not the fact that the one poem-letter he wrote me means so much more than every scrap of underwear he’s ever bought me. I don’t think he’ll ever see that.

And everything he has ever done for me or said to me is rendered meaningless the moment he calls me a retard. The moment he calls me a typical woman. When he says I’m full of shit, or that I’m trying to play him. When he says he’s sick of giving, giving, giving to me and getting nothing back, then he renders everything he’s ever given to me utterly meaningless.

I have not dumped him because I’m still in love with him. I am still kind to him because I don’t think he knows how deeply he has wronged me. I’m waiting because I don’t know how else to live. I’m still giving him this last chance because like my mom I’m stubbornly hopeful in the goodness and power of people to change and grow. But somehow I don’t believe he is going to grow. The only way this could work is if I decided I was okay with all of this bull shit, and I am most certainly not okay with it.

I’ll not make a list of his misdeeds against me. I’ll not try to force him to change. I’ll not tell him what he can and can’t do. I’ll not speak of marriage and children. My last resort: not trying at all. No arguing, no confronting problems, no begging him not to do certain things, and begging him to do other things. He’ll do as he does, and I’ll watch, and I’ll gather information, and I will learn. This still has a chance to turn itself around, but I’m not going to hold my breath and hope and plead and pray for that to come. Perhaps I’ll buy the program just for the heck of it. It can’t hurt anything other than use up seventy dollars, which is plenty enough to pay for the entertainment it shall most likely serve as if nothing else.

Tuesday, May 13th 2008 at 3:01pm

The work that needs doing in this house is endless. I just spent the last half hour untangling the laundry within the washer. Crusifer’s skater pants had looped one of their straps around the center pole within the washer, consequently preventing appropriate movement of the pants within the washer. Hence, the other laundry became rebellious as well, seeing their path round and round quite blocked, and threaded their way through the straps, around the chains, around each other, and so forth. I pulled both my black pair of pants and Crusifer’s other pair of black pants out from within the tangled straps, as well as four pairs of my pink underwear and three shirts. What a mess!

I come downstairs to discover the odd noises I had heard were indeed my mother crying. Though sometimes I think she is crying when really she is just on the phone laughing. She is dismal about her computer, which she’s been trying to get rebooted since sometime yesterday. Her USB ports, sound and re-writable disc drive don’t work properly anymore and she suspects that if she reboots the computer that they were resume working. Well, after going to great lengths to back up some of her files through e-mail, attempting to burn to disc and so forth she finally decided to go ahead with it, only to find that her computer won’t boot from disc. She has tried Crusifer’s boot disc, her own boot disc, and even Aunt Mary’s boot disc to no avail.

Wednesday, May 14th 2008 at 6:09pm

It’s hard to remember how meaningless progress is. I always think things are getting better, but that’s just the surface. Underneath, things are always getting worse. I feel sick to my stomach. I keep letting my hopes rise up. How can I even live with him without hoping for things to improve? But he’s come all the way down to comparing me to the guys at the shop.

Wednesday, May 14th 2008 at 7:00pm

He says he doesn’t care. He’s saying I’m a “bitch ass nigga” and that I didn’t used to be. I’m not even sure what the fuck he means by that. I’m not even sure I want to exist. I’m so sick of relationships, of love, of heartbreak, of separation and connection.

Wednesday, May 14th 2008 at 10:41pm

I went to visit Tina. She had her baby yesterday. I feel even more desolate coming home now, with Crusifer not yet back, and not having called me in all of these hours. I think one of the main obstacles Crusifer and I are facing right now is that we both care too much. We’re both trying to make things “perfect” instead of working our way around each other’s issues. At least, I wasn’t working my way around them before, now I am, and instead of appreciation I get more flack.

He said he wasn’t ready to marry me, and I took away the ring.

He said he couldn’t wait to have his own room so he could listen to his music away from me, so I left the room to let him listen to music.

He said he wasn’t ready to give up drinking, so I threw up my hands and said do what you want.

He said he couldn’t give up his friends so I didn’t fuss about him going out.

And I think he resents me for all of it. He certainly turns it all into an argument. I can’t understand why when I say something politely, like “I’m nervous” (because something he did while driving made me feel nervous) would make him explode on me. What happened to the rational Crusifer I thought I had snagged? I used to think of him as such a prize, and more and more I feel like he’s a burden. I don’t even look forward to him getting home anymore because I’m just expecting something to happen to cause an argument.

Seeing Tina and her baby makes me even more miserable. I want a baby and a family. The father of her baby... Tom, I’m not sure what his deal is, but he’s nice enough I guess. He’s more of a annoyance (from my perspective) than anything. He seems to love the baby though. They aren’t married of course. Tina says that if it were not for the baby they probably wouldn’t even still be talking...

I used to feel like Crusifer and I were so much better than other couples. We were different, and we were united. I think the fact that I don’t want him sleeping with other girls has changed things a lot. I think that contributes to his dwindling opinion of me. Why has he started treating me this way? Surely my intolerance of some sorts of music can’t be serious enough for him to go on about it for hours, and then go off with his friends over it. Maybe he just wants an excuse to argue with me, and excuse to get mad and leave and be with his friends.

I wish...

I don’t even know what to hope for? Do I hope things work out? That sounds good, but is it possible? And what does “working out” even consist of? Do I wish to break up with him, move on cleanly, find a better man...?

I think he doesn’t respect me because I don’t have a job. It’s disgusting really. Even he has no respect for woman’s work. I hate society. I hate modern rules. I want a husband, and I want a baby, and I want to do woman’s work! What the fuck is so hard about that? One hundred years ago I might not have had any way to avoid that, but these days it’s impossible to get at all!

He thinks he is so much better than me these days. All because he doesn’t care what music is playing. My intolerance to cigarette smoke, the fact that I can’t stand the smell of pee while I’m brushing my teeth, my not wanting to kiss him while he’s drinking, my not wanting to listen to rap music – those things make me inferior in his eyes. And it’s downright unfair. The fact that he wants to drink, go out, and listen to music with such immoral lyrics makes me feel like he is the one who needs to step it up. But you know what? I’ve tried working around that. He hasn’t even acknowledged that fact... I’m not sure he has even noticed. I’m sick of trying to compromise... Trying to figure out what to do. I’m sick of all of this shit. I locked my damned journal for him, and he doesn’t count that as a sacrifice?

2008-05-13 01:50:35 Hallie says:

Ok, that list of pros was better than I thought it would be. It contained some very sweet and insightful things. But a lot of the things on it, well... they're really not pros. Or at least, they shouldn't be. They're givens. I mean, your relationship experiences (especially Tre, your most recent before Crusifer) have not been, shall we say, entirely positive. I get that. So I understand that my perspective on this is different than yours. I also know that you live in Buffalo, and that I don't, and that you're sometimes inclined to respond to me by describing the conditions in which you live. But I've been to Buffalo. My parents lived there for quite a long time- I was almost born there- and they still have strong connections there and so, by extension, do I. I have returned frequently throughout my life to the neighborhood my parents lived in, and believe me, they were not rich when they were young, self supporting grad students. So, basically, I'm saying that I know your life may not be all shiny-pretty-happy like in Hollywood movies, but men STILL do not get credit for not being drug dealers. It's not like "ok, he's rude, so -1 point, but he's not a dealer, so +5!". No. Just... no. There are certain basic conditions that a person should meet before you consider even having anything to do with them. For example, not being a zombie. Not being a serial killer. Not a thief, not a liar, not a cheat, not an abuser. Crusifer should not get any more points for these things than he gets for not killing puppies. Do you see what I'm saying? Respecting your privacy, having a certain level of intelligence, not being a jerk when you ask for a little favor, willingness to work... these things are not special. And this is why I included that part earlier, about how I am not entirely unfamiliar with where you live, because I'm afraid you're going to respond with something like "well, easy for you to say, but here it's so hard to meet a guy who's not a dealer/alcoholic/wife beater!" or "so says you, but I haven't met that many guys who have an IQ of even 87!". I also know that you might respond by saying that your experience has taught you that I am wrong, that these traits are rare. To that, I say two things. First, I am older. Ha! But seriously, my experience is longer. I have known and dated more men. So I am saying all this from a larger pool of data than you have. Secondly, you have had, in the past, at least, some bad dating patterns. You have chosen bad men. By which I mean boys. Think back to the boys that came before Jeremy. How did you feel about yourself? What kind of people were you choosing? And, when you chose Tre, what kind of place were you at, in your life? I'm just saying that, in my humble (and protracted, sorry about that) opinion, your experience is based on the kind of boys you chose before. They are not the same caliber as the men you will be choosing, in the future, as a more mature, intelligent, stable, self aware adult.

That said, I do see where you're coming from with a lot of the other list items. And I get that it was hard for you to make the cons list, and I see that from the fact you defend him even on the cons list you are much too entangled to end this right now. But I stand by what I said after your last entry. I am aware of the "A Relationship Should Last Until the Pain Outweighs the Benefits" school of thought, but I do not belong to it. I am of the "Life is Short, but Life is Awesome, and There is No Point Sharing it With Someone Any Less Awesome Than I Am" school of thought. It worked out very well for me. I still think that you are unhappy too often for you to keep this going for the rest of your life. I think it's wearing away at you, and that without major changes (ones I don't see coming) you will get too exhausted to continue it. But it's entirely possible that you cannot get out now, because you love him too much. Maybe you'd break your own heart too badly. Maybe you need to wait until it's crashed to be able to leave without looking back. If so, I will not say "I told you so" if you end this relationship with Crusifer, because I won't be happy. I expect that if this relationship ends, even (maybe especially) if you end it, you will be very unhappy. (I also predict that you will eventually be happier, or I wouldn't have advised it, but still). I think you'd be very unhappy at the time, and I am not a complete jackass, and I do not take any gratification in your pain, so I wouldn't gloat.

Oh, and also, it's too bad there isn't some kind of Longest Blog Comment Ever award, because I would be in the running.

2008-05-13 08:16:36 Nathan says:

Hallie speaks much sense, and you would be wise to heed her words. With the additional note that if you're including things in the 'pros' list that should be a given, that could be an indication that you're stretching to pad the list to make him look better than he is. Or Hallie could be right and you're just comparing him to the extreme shitty end of the bell curve because you've never even dated anybody in the middle. (I don't count. I'm so awesome as to defy comparison.)

malimar.livejournal.com

Wednesday, May 14th 2008 at 11:03pm

You’re completely right Hallie, and while I might not have responded that way, it’s certainly something I would say or think given certain aspect of what you’re saying. However, the way you worded it didn’t really have me thinking along those lines at all. Crusifer actually tries to use my past bad choosings against me. He says “if you could deal with Tre for two years then how can you not deal with a horror movie” and other things of that sort a lot.

But you’re right, the pros and cons list gave him way too much credit, and it also didn’t include a lot of cons I’ve thought of over the past few days. And I’ve been thinking more and more into your school of thought as of late in general. Especially when I know people willing to do as much as Crusifer is doing for me and more, only issue is, neither of the first two that come to mind are particularly attractive, and neither of them are particularly well off in life. Yet, if I can think of two guys I know who’d take me, and who’d be willing to do everything Crusifer is doing (without calling me names) then there are probably lots of other men out there who would.

I never wanted to have to be on the hunt again. The dream of finally finding the right guy was so bright and beautiful, and the bubble isn’t quite popped, but it’s certainly leaking out it’s air.

So in the interest of getting my head straight, and in the interest of a clearer view of Crusifer, here is my revision of the pros & cons list. (As a side note, a lot of things I’m finding on this pros list are not consistent enough to really count, so I’m removing those.)

New Pros List

He’s very slender and bony-built in all the ways that I like. Short enough for kisses without standing on my tip-toes, and small enough around for me to fall asleep with him in my arms.

He is a fantastic artist with an ever-expanding talent. Spending time with him drawing teaches me a multitude of new things, while also inspiring me and entertaining me. He is interested in all forms of art, and willing to work on conjoined projects between the two of us.

His taste in television is almost identical to mine. We both love anime, and we both love watching about the same amount of TV in ratio to the rest of our time.

He’s into computers and understand their value, their importance, and how to use them, reboot and reformat them, how to take care of them, and how to spend endless hours on them either learning, creating or gaming, and like TV he prefers about as much time at his as I do on mine.

He is very affectionate in comparison to most men, and loves to touch and be touched, and while his point of affection-withdrawal is much longer than mine, it does exist..

He is intelligent enough to grasp the concepts I love to discuss, and sometimes he has his own input. When he does have his own input it’s almost always a very good point and something to keep me thinking and talking.

He is focused on self-improvement and learning.

He has a good work ethic and will put in sixty hard hours a week without complaint and still save energy to come home to me and show me love and attention.

This morning he put a scrap of paper in my keyboard that read “I love you baby” just to make me smile, proving that he does have a dollop of romance in his blood somewhere.

He likes gothic women, white women, women that look like me, which he describes as “that girl next door look,” and loves my smell, and is not afraid of period blood, sweat or bodily smells.

His fashion is well suited to my tastes, right down his snake-bite peircings and PC-case.

He enjoys my make-up and sexy underwear in a way that many modern men these days just don’t. He gives me an excuse to dress up and feel extra sexy, and yet still feel beautiful when naked and clean.

He is passionate in bed, and brings me to enjoy sex more often and more thoroughly than anyone ever has before. He’s also willing to eat me out, any time of the month, any time of the day.

He gets me up in the morning (about four days out of the week) with tea and kisses which makes me immensely happy.

Once or twice a week he puts me to sleep by stroking me or rubbing me.

He keeps me company in the kitchen while I cook for him or for us both or even sometimes when I’m cooking just for me.

He doesn’t particularly mind going to grocery store with me and following me through the isles, talking to me and sharing affection with me and he is fun to shop with.

He is interested in his dreams, my dreams, writing his dreams down and learning their meanings and the meanings of many assorted other-worldly things.

He is open with me about his fantasies and I find them interesting and exciting.

New Cons List

He likes to drink alcohol at around the rate of two or three beers at a time, once or twice a week. When he drinks he becomes irrational, smelly, horny in an unattractive way, easily frustrated and annoyed, and if he actually becomes drunk (three or more beers) then he will loose memory of what he is doing and become very hostile.

He tends to look down on women, mostly because of his negative experiences with women especially with his mom. He used to call me a typical woman a lot, and still does from time to time.

He has trouble trusting me because of his ex-girlfriend, and probably in part because of his mom as well. He doesn’t believe I could truly be an honest person, or that anybody can be really. He constantly accuses me of lying, or rather “being full of shit” as he puts it.

He’s not very talkative for the most part, and unwilling to communicate issues he feels are important on many occasions.

He feels that it’s “corny” to be romantic, and fears that romantic gestures might turn him into my “slave” or something along those lines.

He is afraid to cry, and afraid to be anything less than the perfect, strong, emotionless man that he thinks a man ought to be.
(And you can see why I find it so hard to leave, when a whole page of pros rolled right off my finger-tips, and after less than half as many cons I’m sitting here staring at the screen trying to come up with something more.)

Sometimes the way he speaks is in such a way that I would not want my children to speak that way, and I question if he will speak differently around our children.

He doesn’t feel particularly comfortable around my parents or my family in general.

He can be very neglectful when wrapped up in his own wants and needs.

He has a chronic habit of making promises he can’t keep.

His sex drive is wilder than I can really keep up with and he considers my recurring yeast infections and other soreness more his problem than mine, giving me little to no sympathy and behaving as though my physical pain is harder on him than on me.

Because he isn’t very communicative at times, he sometimes changes his mind, and then states his opinion as opposite to what he’s said before making him sound very hypocritical. Either that, or he just is very hypocritical even in his mind. He’ll tell me he wants something from me, then give no appreciation when I do it, or claim that wasn’t really what he wanted, or that I never really did it, or that it’s not that important. Or he may claim that a habit of mine doesn’t bother him, but then explode at me later over it.

Some of his driving habits make me nervous, some of which is just because I’m paranoid, and some of which is because he has a couple habits which I don’t think are technically legal and for decent reason. And on top of this, I’ll try to politely say that he is making me nervous, but instead of politely replies he gets defensive and hostile.

He often doesn’t like to form a solid opinion on something just because “nobody really knows” which adds to his lack of memory. His lack of emotional investment in a concept makes it hard for him to remember the details of it.

He’d like to believe that he has no ego, that he has no use for pride, and that no one is better than anybody, and that he is exempt from ever placing judgement on people and that he has “tougher skin” or rather, a higher tolerance of everything and anything in the world, even though he knows all of that is not true.

He is quick to throw all the blame on me just to get it off himself.

He is inconsiderate of my feelings when he speaks, which is clearly demonstrated when he talks about fucking other women, when he compares me to his coworkers, and when he calls me names, and other such things. In short, the things he says are hurtful.

He places a larger emphasis on sex in a relationship than I can really handle. Not just his sex drive but his emotional placement of sex in his life is not that the norm. He uses sex as proof of love, his source of affection, and without it for just a day or two he claims that he never gets sex from me. He claims that he would still date me if we could never have sex again ever, but I seriously think that this is a bold faced lie because he’s also said a number of times “if you ani’t fuckin, than you can leave, bye” in reference to women in relationships in general.

He treats my lesser physical strength as a burden. He often says I’m “full of shit” when I tell him I am physically incapable of doing something. He tells me that other women could do it, so why can’t I do it?

That is probably a more accurate pros & cons list. Thanks for the insight. I hate feeling alone in this, so anybody’s and everybody’s thoughts are welcome.

5/12/2008 Angel writes me:

Hey I been meaning to send this to you for awhile now. I'm not sure if you read/heard of it already but I found it rather interesting. I'd have to admit that he indicated some pretty good points but then again some were not entirely true... or I mean for this reservation.

A message from Jay Leno:

Jay Leno wrote this; it's the Jay Leno we don't often see...

"The other day I was reading Newsweek magazine and came across some poll Data I found rather hard to believe. It must be true, given the source, right?

The Newsweek poll alleges that 67 percent of Americans are unhappy with the direction the country is headed, and 69 percent of the country is unhappy with the performance of the President. In essence, 2/3's of the citizenry just ain't happy and want a change.

So being the knuckle dragger I am, I started thinking, ''What are we so unhappy about?
Is it that we have electricity and running water 24 hours a day, 7 days a week?

Is our unhappiness the result of having air conditioning in the summer and heating in the winter?

Could it be that 95.4 percent of these unhappy folks have a job?

Maybe it is the ability to walk into a grocery store at any time, and see more food in moments than Darfur has seen in the last year?

Maybe it is the ability to drive from the Pacific Ocean to the Atlantic Ocean without having to present identification papers as we move through each state?

Or possibly the hundreds of clean and safe motels we would find along the way that can provide temporary shelter?

I guess having thousands of restaurants with varying cuisine from around the world is just not good enough.

Or could it be that when we wreck our car, emergency workers show up and provide services to help all, and even send a helicopter to take you to the hospital.

Perhaps you are one of the 70 percent of Americans who own a home. You may be upset with knowing that in the unfortunate case of a fire, a group of trained firefighters will appear in moments and use top notch equipment to extinguish the flames thus saving you, your family and your belongings.

Or if, while at home watching one of your many flat screen TVs, a burglar or prowler intrudes, an officer equipped with a gun and a bullet-proof vest will come to defend you and your family against attack or loss.

This all in the backdrop of a neighborhood free of bombs or militias raping and pillaging the residents. Neighborhoods where 90 percent of teenagers own cell phones and computers.

How about the complete religious, social and political freedoms we enjoy that are the envy of everyone in the world?

Maybe that is what has 67 percent of you folks unhappy.

Fact is, we are the largest group of ungrateful, spoiled brats the world has ever seen. No wonder the world loves the U.S., yet has a great disdain for its citizens. They see us for what we are. The most blessed people in the world who do nothing but complain about what we don't have, and what we hate about the country instead of thanking the good Lord we live here.

I know, I know. What about the President who took us into war and has no plan to get us out? The President who has a measly 31 percent approval rating? Is this the same President who guided the nation in the dark days after 9/11? The President that cut taxes to bring an economy out of recession? Could this be the same guy who has been called every name in the book for succeeding in keeping all the spoiled ungrateful brats safe from terrorist attacks?

The Commander-In Chief of an all-volunteer army that is out there defending you and me? Did you hear how bad the President is on the news or talk show? Did this news affect you so much, make you so unhappy you couldn't take a look around for yourself and see all the good things and be glad?

Think about it... are you upset at the President because he actually caused you personal pain OR is it because the "Media" told you he was failing to kiss your sorry ungrateful behind every day.

Make no mistake about it. The troops in Iraq and Afghanistan have volunteered to serve, and in many cases may have died for your freedom. There is currently no draft in this country. They didn't have to go.

They are able to refuse to go and end up with either a ''general'' discharge, an ''other than honorable'' discharge or, worst case scenario, a ''dishonorable'' discharge after a few days in the brig.

So why then the flat-out discontentment in the minds of 69 percent of Americans? Say what you want, but I blame it on the media. If it bleeds, it leads; and they specialize in bad news. Everybody will watch a car crash with blood and guts. How many will watch kids selling lemonade at the corner? The media knows this and media outlets are for-profit corporations. They offer what sells, and when criticized, try to defend their actions by "justifying" them in one way or another. Just ask why they tried to allow a murderer like O.J. Simpson to write a book about "how he didn't kill his wife, but if he did he would have done it this way "... Insane!

Stop buying the negativism you are fed everyday by the media. Shut off the TV, burn Newsweek, and use the New York Times for the bottom of your bird cage. Then start being grateful for all we have as a country. There is exponentially more good than bad.

We are among the most blessed people on Earth, and should thank God several times a day or at least be thankful and appreciative.

"With hurricanes, tornados, fires out of control, mud slides, flooding, severe thunderstorms tearing up the country from one end to another, and with the threat of bird flu and terrorist attacks, is this a good time to be changing the Pledge of Allegiance?"

>> Jay Leno 2007

Angel,

This is such a hunk a crap that I couldn't finish reading it. Yes, Americans are spoiled brats, but that's the only good point that was made.

Sure, we're not starving, but our food is loaded with cheap crap that the government endorses that makes us sick, bloated, inflamed, mentally unstable and fat.

Our prisons lock away innocent people, drug deals, children who didn't know better than to murder another child into prisons where everyone is raped, beaten, and learns how to become a colder criminal than they ever were before they were taken to jail.

Our child protection services take away children from loving parents for the most arbitrary reasons and often throw the kids into much worse situations.

The ghettos are neglected, violence is rampant, schools in the ghettos don’t help and often are just another way to form gangs (just like prisons are) and these gangs are often better for these kids than their families and teachers ever were to them, and so they learn about drug dealing (which is the only real motivation for them to learn math) and they get addicted to drugs, and because these kids have no skills or crafts of their own they have no respect for belongings so they break things, they tag things, they steal things, and eventually wind up in prison where their weed addiction (or weed sales) upgrade to coke and heroin, and where they either join a gang or be an anal sex slave.

Religious freedom is all well and good, but there sure as hell is plenty of religious discrimination to go around. They sure could use some religious acceptance courses in our free public education. Speaking of free public education and food – school food is probably darn near as bad (or possibly worse?) than jail food. The servings are small, none of the kids actually eat the vegetables, the ketchup and other condiments are loaded with sugar, and the flavorless food needs those condiments to be palatable, and the sandwiches come with white bread, and they have the option of taking chocolate milk and ingesting more sugar into their bodies, and who ever speaks up about that?

And for all of our technology, where are the free typing courses in our free education? Nowhere to be found in my experience between ten different public schools. Where is computer literacy courses? What good is it to give a computer to one of these soon-to-be gang-bangers? They’ll either give it a virus downloading porn, or ruin the thing for the fun of it.

And Bush? The war is inexcusable, but what about the science and education cut backs? What about the fact that 3% of our high school graduates go into science, mathematics and engineering in college opposed to China’s 56% rate? Why does everything think our imports are so high?

And I seriously doubt the war in Iraq has anything to do with terrorism. Bush is the terrorist, and he’s breaking the constitution at every turn. The war is a greedy expedition, and I’m not entirely convinced that 9/11 was even done by terrorists. I’m just as likely to believe the government set it up. The pentagon most certainly was never hit by a plane, and that’s a well known fact to anybody whose done a tiny bit a research.

The fact of the matter is, America is a bunch of spoiled brats, but we’re no where near as bad as our government or our president as a whole. I’m 100% sure that people are more logical in Europe and Japan. After all, if they were as poorly managed as America I’m sure the world would have imploded by now.

Thursday, May 15th 2008 at 1:33am

Crusifer has probably been asleep for about an hour now, which is extremely early for us. No surprise, he’s probably had more than one beer today. I didn’t even question him. I don’t even try to stop him from going out, I didn’t even call him once, and he didn’t call me either. He didn’t greet me when he got home, nor did he join me by the computers. When I joined him on the bed, about ten minutes after he got home at about 12:10am he was drawing. We spoke about ten words to each other. “I need to move this blanket” and “Hi” and “Okay,” and perhaps a couple other non-conversational statements. I was so immersed in my book I didn’t notice when he fell asleep. I noticed at about 12:30am I think, and I kept reading. I read for around forty-five minutes more, until around twenty minutes ago when his snoring began to drive me nuts. I put the book down and watched him sleep for a while. He’s beautiful to me, you know?

I can drive a cold hard resolve into text, and into words, and into my posture. I can slap on a blank face for a while, and sometimes I can even paste it on during our arguments. I pretend that I’m all logic, and no emotion for moments out of my life, digging a deeper and deeper pit to hide my hysteria in. I’m optimistic to cover my depression. I’m easy going and easy to make laugh to cover the stains of all of my tears.

...He always bangs the wall when I’m away from the bed... And I’ve never asked him about it. Even in his sleep he does it, usually once. Last time when I was gone and he was asleep he banged the wall, but in the morning he didn’t realize I had ever been gone. Is it subconscious then? My heart pours out to him like sweet grape juice... I am cauterized (I think this is the right word, though I’ve never used it) inside by all of this angst and uncertainty.

Am I already crushed? How much more will this hurt as time goes on? It seeps out in little bouts. I don’t let them carry on like I used to. I used to cry for hours after he left. Now I cry for ten minutes, sometimes five. I don’t know why the tears start the moment he’s down the stairs, but they always do. It’s as though he’s taking my happiness and composure out of the room along with his body and his harsh words.

Mother tells me that Crusifer heard Aunt Mary speak of a spell she cast that got her the new house, and Crusifer (according to mom) asking Mary if she could cast a love spell to make me love him again. Oh how revealing! He probably honestly believes that I’m the one who is being harsh and mean. But if he does believe that, how does that help? Denial is so key, so key to breakups.

I don’t want to believe this is really over. I feel like today really finalized it. I wished today that it had been a work day and that he hadn’t managed to get Wednesdays off. How terrible of me to think that... But what a bitter disappointment today has been. We didn’t eat together once, we didn’t draw together (not really, though you could try and say that technically we did) and we did not talk, we only argued and argued, and we not laugh and kiss and be merry as we used to for even an hour, perhaps not even a half hour.

My eyes are not dry. Reality is sinking in. I feel the weight on my chest of heart break, though not the sharp sting of shock. I feel the burn of loss, the empty dragging feeling of depression. I have that nagging feeling every morning to just sleep, sleep, sleep the days and nights and all the rest in between away, away, away until nothing is left but dreams inside a rotting corpse.

I have to constantly tell myself that I do not want to die so that I won’t be tempted to wish it on myself, so that I won’t be tempted to cut myself or fling myself through a window or in front of a car. Though I may not really have the guts for these things, thinking about them certainly will not help my mental health.

I think my hope is burning out. How long can I wait? How much longer can I feel this strain and allow it? I should suggest to him (before next Wednesday) that he not take the day off, because after all, things are rough at the shop right now, and they might need him. It’s treasonous to everything I’ve ever said or felt to be writing this garbage! Oh how I hate my own bitter thoughts! I curse my damned fingers than type and type and type and never stop truthfully revealing my innermost demons and broken soul.

Blasted tears! Blasted feelings! Blasted emotions and love! Isadora is so right. (Erica Jong who wrote Isadora is even righter.) “Only the deepest of romantics can ever become so cynical about love.” How much more deeply can this sting? How much worse would I feel alone? How many times would I regret my actions, and call him and ask for him back? But he wouldn’t come back, and I’d hate myself, and I’d hate him, and I’d hate life... Or would I?

Or do I already feel that way?

Blasphemous! For me to be writing and thinking these thoughts. He’s making it so hard to hang on. I wanted to wait this out, but after today I feel that every day with him from here on out will likely take it’s toll on me. Over music, is it? It’s hard to believe. I thought he was so obliging, so cooperative, so understanding, so protecting, so rational... All of it proved untrue, and even heartless on top of it... All of this revealed three times to me in such a short period of time that my head is swimming.

Even if he is simply out of it, even if he changes back to the man I love, the man I wanted to marry, the man I engaged to, who is to say that this will not come out again? I don’t want to live feeling this way for any period of time. But to let go? I must at least order these tapes from this Dr. Mort guy or whatever he is called so I can at least listen to his five hours of explaining his fourteen-week plan to do a 180 on your relationship. After all, I still want to fix things.

If this Mort guy can tell me things that will allow me to fix our relationship, then I’ll be damned. I feel like I’m standing on the edge of a cliff, praying that Crusifer will not push me off, or that if I fall off, he’ll catch me, and not being too sure that he’s on my side... He’s in this for himself, so he said to me today, and he doesn’t see what he is getting out of this. I sure as hell didn’t get anything out of today.

Five hours he was gone. I went to see Tina for three of those hours. She delivered the baby yesterday. Seeing and holding the little one made me feel so cheated in life. She has a baby, and her mother (the baby’s grandmother) doesn’t want her staying at home because she doesn’t want to deal with the baby, and Tina’s younger sister keeps threatening to kill the baby in one way or another, so Tina doesn’t want to be there either. Tina never wanted a baby, and I don’t think Tom is too happy about it either. And there they are, that strange couple, and Tina’s mother and father (and even the devil of a little sister) all in the hospital with her. Her water broke at 4:00am and she didn’t deliver the baby until 7:00pm, and it was a 10-pound baby of all things. She of course got stitches and she says she’s in a lot of pain though she seems to be handling herself as always. I actually expected her to be more worn out from the experience than she was.

I’ve wanted a baby for two years now. I feel sick sometimes when I think about the fact that I don’t have one and that it will be many more years before I “should” have one. And if Crusifer and I won’t be together then for fucking goodness sakes it will be at least five years before I get to have a baby. I feel so blasted cheated!

I’ve never shed so many nearly-silent tears. You know what I’m afraid of? That I’ll finally get everything right, one way or another, and then I’ll start trying to get pregnant only to find out that I can’t. I think I might just kill myself if that were the case. No. God damned everything that is so unholy and unjust I must stop with this suicide talk. It’s useless, unhelpful, negative and won’t solve a blasted thing in the universe!

But why does it come so naturally off the tongue, “I want to die.”

I feel so utterly miserable that no other sentiment can appropriately state my disgust with myself and my situation. I don’t think I even know someone who is happy or even slightly content with their life. Is that just it? Unhappiness forever? Work, work, work and more work with no reward? Is there light at the end of the tunnel? Perhaps happiness is a myth I dreamed up from some fairytale book I read.

Okay, I’m getting irrational here. I’m letting the tears take over and that’s no good.

Let’s get back to being productive. Dry my face and breathe.

I have not a single productive thought in my brain. Once I’ve shut off the water works the best I can, I’m back to being an empty shell.

You know I felt hope when he asked to work on the board game with me again... Not that we touched it today or last night. No progress was made what-so-ever. Was he serious about wanting to work on something with me, or did he just say that to try and win back some points with me? His feelings and thoughts are more and more abstract to me. His actions make less and less sense. I don’t understand how he could be the same person that I thought I knew. I feel betrayed and abandoned and cheated and empty. I hate the empty feeling, like something is missing in your center.

Why does misery make me write without end? Something about this burning hole inside me makes my fingers enchanted. I must write. I must express. I must get all of this out of me before I burst. I cry in text instead of tears. I scream in prose for lack of voice. I argue in writing for lack of spoken words. I’ll unload my burden here.

People say “I’m here if you ever need to talk” and I tell them come to my blog, but they never do. Who knows why. Perhaps it’s too much work? Perhaps they think it would be impersonal? But why the hell should I type this up again after it’s incomplete and fragmented in my mind?

He is banging the wall again. Perhaps he misses me?

I have written enough to my fill, but I am not tired. Tired is for the happy, well-spent people. It’s for those who have worked hard and can feel pride. It’s for anyone other than me.

Thursday, May 15th 2008 at 12:48pm

I wonder how much he read. I always leave this document up, probably hoping (at least subconsciously) that he would decide to sit down here and read it. I know he at least read what I wrote in the middle of the night last night.

He wants this to work too. I can tell. He was going to leave without a word this morning, but I had been awake for half an hour, listening to the gentle scratch of his pencil, the fluttering of paper, his soft prances around the room. When he was dressed and near the bed I called to him and he came to me. I drew him close to me for a kiss. He kissed me urgently, as if he missed me dearly, and I could feel emotion pouring out of him.

I’m getting that tingling of hope again, and I want to squash it so that I don’t get hurt even more, but it grows inside me like a weed. He wasn’t writing in his journal or in his dream journal like I had thought he was, he was writing me a letter.

The letter can be summed up easily in a few statements; “I can tell this isn’t going to work much longer... Why am I not happy when I really should be? ...I’ve been in denial too long. ...I went down a road of self destruction. I started drinking. ...A customer I tattooed told me his story on drinking. ...He said “your in the beginning stage and if I were you I’d quit.” ...If you can’t just have one beer then you need to get help or stop. So I tried to have just one beer yesterday to prove myself. ...Some how I managed to get into an argument with you and go drink more. ...I do have a drinking problem. And if you leave me it won’t get fixed. Instead I’ll drink more. ...No one cares about me, I know they don’t. ...They encourage drinking and drug usage. ...I’m sorry for hurting you for the past year and a half. I beg you not to leave me. ...And help me. I can be a good husband for you. I’m not heartless. I just am when I want to drink. ...The poison is stopping me from proving that to you.”

Okay, so that was a ton of statements, in fact, that is pretty much the entire letter. I’ve been waiting for him to come to such realizations for so many months that I had stopped even looking at his drinking issues. I turned my back on him in a way. I feel like he just tapped my shoulder and I turned around and saw him again for who he really is.

He’s insecure, he’s covering his fear with armor made of poison spikes, and he has a drinking issue that worsens his behavior. I am afraid to put my heart into giving him another chance, but I have to sorely admit that my heart is still in his clutches and when he calls out to it, it answers without my permission. No sooner have I begun to detach myself than I find myself re-attaching again, again, and again.

I’m a woman of “just one more chance” who never knows how to stop, much less when.

Together Forever?

Tuesday, April 29th 2008 at 2:37am

Boredom comes from not being obsessed with something. I wish I was obsessed with something. I want to be obsessed with something creative, productive, engaging, and skill enhancing. I guess that’s a bit much to ask though, isn’t it? I’ve gone back to working on my computer-game-design, but it’s not very engaging. There is nothing exciting about it. It’s just a bunch of text and concept art. Tables, and descriptions and stats aren’t very easy to be obsessed with.

Crusifer isn’t here often enough for me to really obsess over him, and even if he was, he never wants anything. I could shower him with affection, attention, and doing what he wants to do, but it hardly makes a difference to him at all. I mean, he’ll notice, but he’ll say “it’s nice and all, but not really necessary.”

I have anime music blasting through my headphones right now, so that I don’t have to hear the music emitting from Crusifer’s headphones. He’s drawing, looking adorable as he does so. He’s drawing a chick out of a magazine for “anatomy practice.” This is something he does periodically, usually filling an entire page with random sketches. I don’t have the type of drive to do something like that. I’m all about a finished product, when the finished product is disappointing or long in coming I tend to have a habit of quitting.

I suppose that’s one reason why art appeals to me. Why ever quit a picture? It won’t take that long to finish it. And, it’s more appealing to look at every moment that you work on it (to a degree).

I’d like to complete this computer game design and submit it to a company... After some research on how that’s done. How do you submit something without them just stealing the ideas they want and then rejecting your proposal? I know there are ways, but of course I don’t really know much about it. Copyrighting your work and such. It would be nice if they would steal the entire thing and do it just the way I outlined it, but more likely they’d steal several key ideas and dump the rest, and then I couldn’t even prove they ever “stole” anything.

Anyway, say I could submit it without it being stolen, then there is fact that they probably won’t even give it a second glance because I have no degree or work experience in the field. Yet, there is a chance someone might look at and take in the uniqueness of the ideas presented, and see that there is a good sized market for such a game. But that chance will hang in impossibility without a complete design to look at.

I won’t consider the design complete until all aspects of the game are covered, all races, all items, all spells, all functions, all abilities, all disciplines, all realms and terrains, and maps and so on. I’d like all the concept art to be all complete too, but that’s a lot of concept art. The interface design is not a problem for me, but the concept art is really more than I could hope to accomplish. Crusifer and I together could probably do all of it, but relying on Crusifer for something like that (I’ve learned) is folly.
There is no point in asking myself if it is worth it or not to complete the design, because it most certainly is even though the chance of it ever being used for the template for a real game is slim. If but nothing but for my pride.

There is also the chance of putting together a team to design it with me with an agreed about of percentages of payoff (if and) when there is one. My major issue with that is how low quality the game would be if I managed to do that. Saga clearly took a very long time in the making and it’s coding is clearly crap because the load times are terrible for a game with low graphics and small playing fields. This leads me to believe that they have the inexperienced coders as well as average-joe modelers. And while Saga’s game concept is very good, the whole game (as it is now) doesn’t have draw after a certain point in the game for the economical strategist. I want this game to be made much more professionally.

Wednesday, April 30th 2008 at 12:06pm

I’m getting that sick to my stomach feeling again. I get it every time I start to believe that Crusifer and I might not be... Good for each other?

He said to me last week (and has written on several occasions) that he wants to quit drinking. This morning he said that he doesn’t want to quit. I think it’s over, that’s what I think. Not today, not tomorrow, but soon enough. As fast as life flies by it’ll be over and in the past before I can really comprehend why.

What happened to all of his talk of forever? What happened to all of mine? He’s not willing to budge an inch for me. Well, I guess a few inches. I don’t have enough time with him to prove my points to him. I don’t have enough time with him to really understand him, to really understand where our relationship stands.

He hardly ever admits to changing his mind, or tells me that he has changed his mind. It’s always “well I think...” or “I feel...” about whatever it is, and it’s almost always different than the last time. I don’t think I know him as well as I thought I did. I don’t think he wants this as bad as I thought he did.

In the middle of February, when I was the most happy with this relationship if he had threatened to break up with me I would have bent over backwards to change his mind. I would have given up anything, picked up anything, given him more freedoms, done anything but feel the heartbreak surely to come. I see so much of myself in him that I expected him to be the same way. I thought if I expressed that I felt it wasn’t working... If I told him I was having second thoughts... If I made it clear that his actions were upsetting me, depressing me and pushing me away... I thought if I told him those things that he would suddenly be a panic to keep me, the way I would be and have been over him.

I was sorely wrong.

He barely seems to care. I want to say that this is because he hardly shows any emotions, but perhaps it’s because he doesn’t feel things. He says things like “I’m human too you know” but how can I remember that when he hardly shows it?

I don’t believe that I’m not crying right now. That shows how close to the end it really is. I’m already starting to accept my heart cracking down the center. I’m already beginning to accept that I need to find a life outside of him. I’m already accepting the fact that I have to be independent... Some part of me (that I don’t know to well) is preparing for it, some part of me that is wiser than the part of me that has control.

How can I leave him? He’s a good man. He is. He’s a beautiful artist. He’s beautiful in general. He makes good money with his talent. He has worth while goals. He has stamina. I want to say he’s passionate, as I’ve said before, but I’m not sure that word applies so much anymore. I see it more and more as lust and not passion. Passion implies emotions, and deep emotions at that. Oddly I see him more and more as a less emotional being, and more robotic and cruel.

Why do I see that? It’s not even a logical assertion! He’s not violent (like Tre was), he’s not messy (like Tre was), he’s not a drug dealer (like Tre was), and he is logical (like Tre wasn’t)... Or is he logical? I’m having trouble with that one these days too. So have I just scratched off passionate and logical with one blow? That certainly is a lot. If I scratch those off it’s a lot harder to make a good case for him. Have I deluded myself into thinking he’s more than he is?

He did buy me a laptop. He does give me incredible orgasms. Why don’t those things matter in the face of how he speaks to me? I’m so word-oriented. I keep believing his words. Perhaps out of spite for him not believing mine?

I want to sink into being suicidal. I want to declare that my life is over!

I also want to be more mature than that.

So is maturity... Break up? It’s tempting in the way that I wouldn’t have to keep trying to work it out. It’s tempting in that there would never been another screaming fit. Christ! When did breaking up with him become tempting? My love, my future, my plans and attachments are slipping right through my fingers! I’m standing in sand. I’m in quicksand. And I’m sinking, sinking, sinking... Sinking out of love with him?

I feel the beginnings of tears. I don’t want to cry, oddly. I usually can’t wait to cry when I feel like this. Just get it out you know? But I know once I start to cry the little negative voices will chirp up. The ones that say things like, “this is all your fault,” and “it’s because you’re ugly,” and “if you weren’t such a retard, like he said,” and “if you weren’t such a needy baby,” and “you just don’t love him enough,” and “if only you’d just let him drink,” and “maybe you can settle for less,” and “maybe if you change and adapt enough you won’t feel this way,” and “maybe if you were more considerate,” and “maybe if you lost weight,” and “maybe if you gained weight,” and “maybe if you had sex with him more often,” and so on, and so on, and so on!

I’m trying to be rational here. If I keep being rational I can hold those thoughts at bay. Why is this really happening? It’s because I have needs that he can’t satisfy. I want a companion, for several hours a day, (preferably more, but three or four is a good minimum) that will give me affection, talk to me, kiss me, possibly sleep with me (at least once a week, preferably two to five times) and tell me how wonderful I am, (while I tell them how wonderful they are) who will work with me on a project (the actual content of the project not being half as important as the fact that we’re doing it together) and then another project and then another over time and years, who will comfort me if I cry, who will care for me (instead of saying I’m a pussy, or that I’m weak, or that I’m being a typical woman), and who will make me feel special. And at least one day out of the week, (really the minimum is more like two days a week, I guess I made an exception for Crusifer) spends time with me all day long, where we might go out together, where we get dressed together, brush our teeth together, hold hands along a nice walk, wash each other’s faces, take a bath together, clean each other’s toe nails, scratch each other’s heads, watch a good movie, draw together, read together, write together, play video games together...

That’s what I want, most simply put.

He has needs that I can’t satisfy as well. He wants to listen to loud rap music. (It has to be loud, it has to be rap.) In the future he hopes to have his own room far away enough from mine where he can blare his music loud as he wants. (He’ll never understand that I can’t stand it no matter what I say. He won’t believe it. I’m just being a pussy after all. (This is a moment where you’d think I roll my eyes, but rather I’m too upset to stop staring blankly at the screen.))

He also needs his friends. This one is hard to argue with really. Everyone has friends. Everyone but me. And at this point in my life it’s actually my choice. Perhaps I’m so used to not having friends that I’ve become comfortable with it?

It’s occurred to me that his quest to not being enslaved (as he puts it) is leading him to try and enslave me. He told me this morning that men have more say in the relationship, and that is the way it’s always been, and always will be. I tried not to hear him. I was disgusted, but I tried to pretend that he was kidding. He started laughing afterwards, like it was a joke, but it wasn’t a joke. He’s trying to pin me under his thumb. Once I let him listen to his blaring loud rap music, and let him drink, and let him bring friends over, and let him go out with friends, then he’ll be excited to marry me. And then I won’t be interested anymore.

I never thought these issues would escalate. I remember saying to Crusifer, “I can’t imagine what problems we’ll have,” and he replied, “We won’t have any.”

What a naive reply! And how much denial it really shows in him. Or hopefulness?

Perhaps he’s in denial that this isn’t working. Or perhaps he’s just quietly separating himself from me, the way I know I am somewhere deep inside of me. That’s that pain we feel in our chest. I’ve concluded that feeling is the soul ripping apart. My soul is slowly, one tiny spot at a time tearing away from his, and the change in energy is centering in my stomach, making me sway with uneasiness, making my chest vibrate and ache. If I cry, I’ll try to heal the tear inside of me, I’ll try to calm my restless energies. Perhaps I shouldn’t cry yet. I need to keep tearing, tearing, tearing away from a man who wants to control me. A man who wants to party, drink, smoke, blare his rap music and “chill wit da boys.”

I can’t believe my own thoughts! I’m thinking about the fact that I ought to try dating a white guy. I’m thinking about actually trying to find someone else! God help me! Someone help me!

I will. Not. Cry. Yet.

I think I understand something about him now. Why he doesn’t cry. Crying leads you back to safety. I’ll cry my way back into Crusifer’s arms and peacefully forget how I felt, and why I felt that way. Tears lead me back into my emotions, back away from logic, they allow me to let go what I’m holding back right now so that I can analyze.

Right now I need to choose. To pull away from Crusifer, or to try and mend it. Again, again, again. I’ve tried this before. I’ve tried mending it several times. We tried the compromises. Sadly it’s not even what he does at the moment. It’s the things he’s said.

I don’t want to keep being called a retard (even from the same man that calls me a genius – neither of which I am I suppose) and I don’t want to be treated the way I was this morning. The way he cut me off, the way he wouldn’t listen, the way he called me full of shit again.

He’ll never keep his promises, will he? It’s been a year and a half and he’s still drinking, and I’m still a liar, and he still won’t believe that the sound of music is really disturbing enough to matter, and I feel more and more and more alone. I feel so lonely I could burst.

I will. Not. Cry yet. Not yet, not yet, not yet.

He’s been better than Isadora’s Josh. He’s not a big baby. He started off like Isadora’s Bean. (I’m talking about Isadora Wing, from the three-book series by Erica Jong.) He started off making love to me in the most amazing ways. We were sex maniacs together, and after the sex we talked and talked and talked until the mornings. He was understanding. Our pasts related to each other. I understood him in ways he had not been understood before, and he did the same for me. We were so affectionate. Oh how I miss how he used to touch me!

I will not cry yet! Not yet! Not yet!

I miss being happy with him. I miss being sure. I was so fucking sure! I was sure! I wanted nobody but him! I wanted to marry him! I wanted his kids! I did this all over again! All fucking over again! (Not yet!)

Why is this all in past tense? I have not given up, have I? Christ, I’m not even sure about that! Please forgive me for my sins, for I am thinking this isn’t going to work, and I’m thinking that I should cut it off sooner rather than later, and my heart is pounding, and my face is contorted from holding back tears, and my lips are fidgeting, and I’m paralyzed from the neck down aside from my fingers, clacking, taping, jittering, pressing, moving, like spider’s legs across the keyboard, finding the next letter, seeking, searching, searching, searching the way I am for love, for affection, for companionship, for someone to feel the way I feel.

I want him to feel how I feel.

I just want him to fucking feel the way I fucking feel.

I’m degrading, I’m falling apart, my logic is failing me, my heart is burning. I want to curl up in his arms and I want to cry. I want him to tell me I’m beautiful. I want him to tell me he’s sorry. I want to believe that this will work... Will work... Will work... Will work...

Wednesday, April 30th 2008 at 5:42pm

Predictably, I left my entry this morning to sprawl on my bed and cry. I think I wept loudly for about five minutes, quietly for another five, stared at nothingness for around ten minutes and then I decided to focus my entry into the drawing I’m working on. It’s an anime rendition of Crusifer and I together. What I like about the picture most is that it actually looks like Crusifer, and it kinda really looks like me too. Except that we both have big anime eyes, and our heads are rather large for the bodies, and the bodies are longer and thinner, and the necks very thin, especially mine. I love how the picture is coming out.

Crusifer inspires my art time and time and time again. I don’t want to give up, but I also don’t want to “waste” my time with him. Not that I really believe it’s a waste, because after all we’re learning from each other (from the negative and the positive experiences). I still have hope for our relationship, but this morning was another punch to the tit. Telling me that I was full of shit again really socked it to me. And then bringing up the music thing again... Telling me the man should have the say in the relationship... Telling me that I shouldn’t go take a college class because one class is useless and a waste of money. Telling me that I’m spending all his money and preventing him from saving. Telling me he’s not very sure about marrying me, at all. And the real whopper, he doesn’t want to quit drinking, and doesn’t plan on it. He said that he wrote that he wanted to quit because I got the idea in his head, implying that I clouded his judgement. (As if beer doesn’t cloud one’s judgement...)

I’ve considered all the possibilities that I can, and I’ve come to a conclusion. I will take the summer college course (sculpting – mostly because that is the only art course there was that was at a somewhat reasonable hour and that sounded interesting enough and was at an entry level) and I will soon have my bike in the mail. When my bike arrives I will bike to and from work with Crusifer, which may improve our relationship, or it may not. Either way, I’ll get exercise and see the outdoors and will be exploring another possible area of our relationship. That would add another hour onto the amount of time we spend together each and every day that I bike with him to and from work. In addition, taking the course will give me something else to learn about, something else to focus on, and somewhere new to meet new people interested in similar things.

Another measure I’m taking is that I’m halting all the wedding and children talk. The man I saw this morning was absolutely not the man I’m going to marry. This morning did serious damage to my opinion of him, and this time I think the damage is more permanent than before. Previously I’ve been able to forgive him, to let him redeem himself with promises and kisses. I won’t take promises and kisses as redemption for the things he said to me this morning. I will not marry a man who drinks, no matter how little, or how often. It’s a disgusting habit and if he can’t kick it for me then I’m obviously not worth it to him, thus making him not worth it to me.

I’m in no hurry to get out of this relationship, and at the moment I don’t even feel like I’m in a hurry to have kids and get married. I’m in no hurry to do anything in my love life at all. At the moment it’s functional, though somewhat upsetting at times. If I drop the marriage talk, the drinking talk, the kids talk, and an assortment of my other complaints about video games and people and such, then perhaps the arguing will stop, and perhaps things can mend from there. Perhaps biking with him will rekindle something between us that I feel is dying. Does he feel this way about to me too? I really believe that he does, based on the things he’s said and done. He just doesn’t seem committed, or sure that he wants this for himself, and that alone is enough to make me wonder if I’m with the wrong man.

I’m not putting him on some sort of trial, and I’m not going to test him. I don’t believe that he’s going to change. I’m going to push myself to socialize and find new avenues for myself this summer.

I’m going to try to adapt. If I can’t adapt, then I guess that’s that.

You know what really makes me sick though? I don’t feel like he’s really truly tried to do this my way, even under threat of breaking up. Perhaps February was a fluke and he was really just rushing home because it was cold. The back-rubs have stopped. The giddy cuddling is down below the minimum required for sanity in my life. The conversations become more and more argumentative and less and less productive (or even funny or thoughtful.) He doesn’t compliment me half as much as he used to. I get a “you look cute today” in a standard tone, with his standard admiration look... Sometimes he’s not even looking at me when he says it.

Oh, and I forgot the other sock to my guts he gave me last night. He brought up us having a girlfriend... After all this time of having dropped the subject, after ruling it out, after mutually deciding that it would ruin our relationship he brought it up again. I don’t really think it’s that bad that he brought it up, really. I mean, so it’s a nice fantasy and all, but it’s just so impossible to bring to reality, and if it did become reality I know we’d breakup over it. How do I know? I can imagine it clearly now... I know my jealousy better now...

I can see this pretty white girl, blond most likely, sitting on his lap while he’s at his computer. (I’m imagining this in print here, for the benefit of future recollection of my point.) He let’s her distract him from his computer (the way he would get mad at me for doing) and they kiss and kiss and kiss (the way we did when we were a new couple) and they sleep together often (making me feel out of place, jealous and angry and neglected) and she leaves most of the day, comes home when he does, and then they’re all over each other again, talking, laughing... It wouldn’t work unless I loved her too, unless she loved me too. Chances of that? Zilch.

Just thinking about it makes my blood boil. I want him to behave that way towards me again, not watch him behave the way towards a new woman!

I want his love and affection and attention so bad that I’m a wreak. I’m so blasted lonely in here that I could just set myself on fire. (That would take more guts than I really have.)

I’ve been working every single day towards getting that office done in the back. And it’s coming along quite well, as I’ve said before. It’s a good project to keep me distracted. All the boxes of books are out of there. All of the boxes of papers I have sorted through (tossing 90% of it – magazines and pamphlets and other text not written by either of my parents). I kept the stuff that had their signatures or handwriting and carefully filed it into a bin. The materials for my binders about my parents that I will create in the future.

All the tools I found I put in one box. I painted over the plain soot-covered shelves that the boxes had been on. The shelves are built into what is usually the knee-wall. They’re on both sides of the soon-to-be office. On the one side I’ve finished painting them black and there is the CD player, cleaning supplies, the bin full of old papers, trash bags, an assortment of now-empty binders, a box of reader’s digest magazines (from the late 80s and early 90s) and the box of tools.

The office project brings me closer to making Crusifer more comfortable and happy with our arrangement. He’ll probably be able to play music on the whole opposite end of the attic while I’m on the bed if there is a fan going in between, which there will be in the summer time. That would allow him music time on Sundays. I’m not too happy about not being with him during any part of our time together in the house, but then again, I’m obviously not happy about a lot of things, so compromises of any kind are helpful at the moment.

I’m not going to tell him about how I feel about this morning. I can’t really see the point. He knows what I want from him. He’ll notice that the chain I gave him (where he puts his engagement ring) is missing along with the bracelet, and promise ring are missing. He’ll notice that I won’t talk of marriage or kids anymore. It’s clear enough, just like it’s clear that I’m not his ideal wife either.