Autopsy of a Bad Affair-Mo's worries

The Spoils of War

One of the advantages to getting really pissed off is that the person you are pissed off at will do just about anything to make you happy with them again. It is our human nature to want people to like us, especially those who we like, or in some cases, love ourselves. Right now I can get just about anything I want in my house and I have to say, I love it. For a long time I have felt completely neglected, which is partly the reason I was really steamed in the first place. Everyone needs a little love, and I am no exception. I know that I myself need to work on my verbal expression of love. I really do not say it enough, but I spend all my time on acting out my love, and really that is what is important. Well PD decided it was time he show some love.

Last night I woke up with the most horrific pain I have ever had in my life. Labor pains have nothing on what I was feeling, and YES I have a child, so I know. I really thought I was dying. You know on television when you see people writhing in pain, and sweat is pouring down their face. That really happens. I was sweating profusely and bent over in agony. I managed to crawl out of the bedroom, and ask for help. I feel terrible because I know I probably scared PD to death. I was pretty scared myself, and at one point I told him to call 911. He gave me some medicine, which made me throw up all over the carpet. After that I felt better immediately. He held me, and cleaned up my vomit, and put me back in the bed. It was all so loving. I didn’t even realize that he had that in him to be so nurturing. I sent him an IM greeting this morning, telling him how much I really appreciated his help and concern.

I am starting Atkins again. Real soon. I tried to start on Saturday, but I hadn’t gone to the market so all my good intentions went down the drain. I’m a little concerned however cause I’m wondering if my little episode last night was due to my “Atkins” eating all day. I certainly don’t want that to ever happen again, but I never had that the first time I went on Atkins. I did have a total lack of energy and this feeling that my body was made out of lead, but no debilitating stomach pains. I also have to get some more sugar-free syrups for my decaf coffee, and a lot of meats…bacon, chick breasts, ground meat, etc. I found a new snack…pepperoni cooked in the microwave for a couple of minutes. It gets crispy like chips. But I just remembered that our microwave died yesterday. I didn’t really want to clean it so now I don’t have to, I can just get a new one. I didn’t even give me a sign that it was about to die…it just went. That is what I need to do today, look for a cheap microwave. I really don’t know what to do without being about to nuke. Its weird really. I lived for a long time in my parent’s house without one, but once you get used to it, you can’t live without it.

I’m gonna go now. I am extremely tired from all the barfing last night, and could really use a nap. I could always use a nap, but especially today.

Disbelief

I really don’t know where to begin. I have put my foot down. Last Thursday I went bezerk. You would have thought me to be a crazy woman. I cursed and I threw things. I made my point. No more. No more porn, girls, unemployment, or bad attitudes. All are banned from my household. Before it was all over we were both crying, yet I still feel a since of reservation about it all. This past weekend I was on a high and feeling really good about it all, but the doubts are back. The doubt that anything has really changed for the better is still here. I’m not sure I believe it can change. I can say that on Thursday night I slept like a baby. I hadn’t slept that good in a very long time. I felt that everything in the world was good again. Milk and honey in abundance. However, words here, or side comments there can bring you right back down to reality. Can you really change yourself, make yourself over into the person you would like to be? Is it that simple? Of course not because if it was I would be less than 100 pounds and rich, only because I wanted to be. It takes much more than wanting to change. You have to need to change. We have all heard of people who smoked or drank their entire life only to find that their addiction is killing them, and if they don’t find a way to quit they will die. Maybe they were in and out of rehabs and such their whole life, but for whatever reason this is what does it. They need to change, and all of a sudden they can.

Being that most relationships aren’t life or death situations, in theory, this scenario seems as though it doesn’t apply. But if your home life were your whole life, then losing it would be equivalent to death, no? Would it keep you on the straight and narrow? I know that everyone is different, and temptations work differently for everyone, but in PDs case things start out as a trickle. Then the trickle becomes a drip; this drip becomes a stream. Finally the stream is gushing out pouring all over my floor. I equate it to being on a diet, but walking by the bakery everyday. Eventually you will have a weak day and end up knee deep in éclairs. So why even present this temptation to yourself knowing full well that you can’t partake in its delights? And moreover, if you do, you will lose your metaphoric life. It hardly seems like a choice to me, but then again I don’t have the same hang-ups either.

I haven’t really explained what happened, and I feel as though I’m leaving out the really juicy stuff, which hardly seems fair. Well, Thursday when I got home I got right on the computer cause I was fiddling with the template for my blog. So I realized that PD was not only still signed in to Yahoo Messenger, but also had check to save his login and password so that he could be logged in at any time. Of course I check his message archive to see just who he had been talking to that day. What else was I supposed to do? I know when he is up to something and I knew it long before I even open his IM. Well my suspicions were proven true of course, which began my hissy fit. Without thinking I called him told him he was caught and how he was caught and told him that was it, I had had enough. I began erasing him from my life. I took his name off the answering machine, and all his things off of my computer. I restricted sites from my computer and the next day I got his keys to everything. It wasn’t until the next day when he said something of which I can’t remember, but it must have really pissed me off cause I picked up his computer monitor (his, not mine...lol) and threw it as far as I could. I was trying to throw it at his head but it didn’t make it that far. I’m still not sure if it works anymore. Anyway, I hurt myself and broke my good sandal, but he got my point. I’m not sure what that point was, but he got it. That’s all that matters. We ended up talking and as stated earlier crying, and it seemed the air was clear for the first time in a long time. I’m trying to stay optimistic about it all. Maybe there is hope for us after all. Maybe the story doesn’t end the way I intended on writing it. Maybe I need to let it write itself.

Sick and Tired

I remember my mother always saying she was sick and tired of this or sick and tired of that. As a kid, I didn’t really understand what that meant, as a matter of fact; I didn’t understand a lot of things my mother said. I find that the older I get the more I “get” my mother. I am starting to understand why she did some of the things she did and said some of the things she said. I find myself walking around my apartment picking up various specks of lint from the carpet, apparently non-visible to anyone but a mother. I find that I am now clairvoyant; reaching for objects before they have even begin to fall to the floor, to stain my non-stain resistant carpet.

My mother also always said that if she ever got away from my father via divorce, death, insanity, whatever…she would never get married again. This really confused me at the time. My parents always seemed happy to me, and I always thought that marriage is what every young girl yearns for from birth. Now that I have a child, my own place, and a good for nothing, no working, internet porn addict sitting on my sofa day after day while I slave away at work, I totally get it. The disheartening thing about it all is that my father for all his faults, went to work everyday, and took care of his family very well, but still my mother equated life with him as more work for her. Is it that all relationships have their downsides or is it that no matter what situation we are in, no matter how good the relationship, we still are not satisfied?

You don’t have to comment, unless you really want to, about how I should get out of this relationship, about how I’m better than that (as if you really know, I could be a scoundrel myself.) I already know all of these things, and that is precisely why I find myself sick and tired. I am tired of working all day, and coming home to a dirty house, which I had cleaned the day before, only to have to clean it again, when I am not the one who had the pleasure of staying home all day making it filthy in the first place. If I had been able to stay home, I probably would have spent all day cleaning the house any damn way. I’m tired of getting on my computer to write or research something only to find that my homepage has been averted to some porn site, and that I now have a million unwanted porn links in my favorites folder. I’m sick of having pictures of naked women on the computer that I bought, and whose broadband internet connection is paid for by me. I am oh so damned tired of having pictures of ex-girlfriends, or new ones on my computer that were downloaded from a email account used to screw around over me. I’m tired of having to hide my purse in my own house for fear that my rent money will be stolen so that he can go buy some weed. Basically I’m just plain-old sick and tired, and fed up too, and I can’t take it anymore.

My plan is to be as big a bitch as I can, and maybe he will leave. The sad thing is…I really am one of the nicest people I know, and it pains me to be this way. But I can’t worry about that right now. Sofia’s home now…gon’ be some changes ‘round here. I have already made it where you can’t download any programs…interestingly enough he wouldn’t know enough about computers to change it. I wish I could make it so you couldn’t install anything, unless it was me, but my computer isn’t networked or anything, so I don’t have a login, and it is on most of the time. I have also blocked some internet pages that I am particularly, hostile toward. Blackplanet being the main one...don't you click there! I think I have mentioned it before, but Blackplanet is basically BET for the web. Half-Naked ass shaking but with an internet meat market. It really serves us in no good way at all, and I hate it. Well PD likes to meet women here and hook up with them for whatever…I don’t think about it or ask. Anyway, it infuriates me that while I’m at work, making money to pay the rent and feed out daughter he is on Blackplanet hooking up with broads….on my dime. Okay…breathe…1, 2, 3...breathe...5, 6…breathe...9, 10. Alright I’m better. I’m going to take my chill pill now before I bust a blood vessel.

No Rest for the Weary

I really hate nights where it feels as though I never actually fall asleep. My brain knows that it would be impossible for me to lie in bed for eight hours straight staring at the ceiling, wide awake. But I swear I don’t think the Sandman remembered where I live last night. I do remember dreaming so I guess I did manage to get in a few Zs. I dreamed that I caught this guy breaking into my apartment. He was from Portland. I know this because I made him give me his ID. He had already taken my microwave, my crock-pot, and my coffee pot. He was on his way back for the VCR, Playstation, and all that other really good stuff when I caught him. I grabbed him by his arm and wouldn’t let go. Now for some reason in my dream this one arm holding worked. He couldn’t get away from me. I ended up calling for my no good boyfriend, and he held him while I called the cops. I can’t really remember what happened after that, I just remember telling him that he was an idiot for not going for the good stuff first.

I would go home early today being that I feel like such crap, but I signed up to give blood today, and I would feel even worse about backing out of it. It does worry me that I may feel like passing out once I’ve given them my sweet nectar. Last night I kept imagining my blood-spilling out over everything. Coming out of my nose and ears…oozing from a fresh cut on both my wrists, and then me slowly lowering into the bathtub until the crimson water covered my head. Then I remembered that I have the worst luck in the world, and I’m that person that blows off their head only to survive and have the whole world come to stare at the hideous monster with no nose or lips or eyes cause she tried to off herself but didn’t even get that right. This last passage is proof that I don’t function well without sleep. I’m pretty damned morbid with ten good hours of sleep under my belt. This is me with only four hours of terrible fits.

I told the Prince of Darkness about this blog for the first time. That’s my boyfriend for all of you who just joined in the program, usually referred to as simply PD. I had had about four glasses of Beaujolais at the time. I didn’t give him the URL or anything. I just told him that I say really terrible things about him, that all happen to be true. I really would like a guys opinion about all of this…as a woman I just don’t understand porn addiction. Mind you some of my favorite movies are porn movies. But it’s just not the only thing I think about. I have vast interests, even if I don’t always act on them all. I should be back to writing about some of the more meaningful ones once I get some sleep. Damn…it’s only 11:31 here. I have until 4 before I can leave. I’m in trouble.

Why do I begin every post with a question?

You know the sweetest word I have ever heard? H-O-L-I-D-A-Y! Yes indeed. I am happy and all that this great nation of ours is another year older, but I am much happier to be able to sleep in on Friday. Yeah! I'm downright estatic. Which really isn't good for my writing. I am much more productive when I am feeling depressed. I wonder why this is? I am beginning to think that I wonder and think a little too often. This is my theory...people that ponder life seriously are much more depressed by it. Most people who are endlessly giddy, also glide around oblivious to life's truth. It stinks. As much as I hate those people, I secretly want to be like them. No worries. Only happiness. No wars, no hunger, no homelessness. Everything looks great through these spiffy new rose colored glasses...wait a minute...is that a scratch?

The Morning After

Ever get drunk and make an ass out of yourself at the company Christmas party? What is it about releasing our emotions that makes us feel hung-over the next day? Maybe I’m just exhausted from the mental calisthenics I did yesterday trying to figure out where my life is going and why it has been where it has been. I emailed my good friend Paul yesterday. I basically rambled on about how I hadn’t accomplished anything and how I couldn’t believe I was almost thirty. See Paul turned thirty this year, so he has a head start on this thing, and some good insight on why I feel the way I do. He says that when we are kids, we have this image in our heads of how we think 30-year-olds live and behave and what they should have accomplished by then. Once we get close to thirty, if for some reason our lives do not match what we always envisioned as children, to put it bluntly, we freak out. Well I have always been mature for my age so my freaking out is beginning a full two years before I turn the big 3-0. In other words, I am not living up to my own image of myself. Somehow that really isn’t any more comforting. However, it is comforting to know that I am not alone in this self-imposed drama. Paul also encouraged my writing and said that it doesn’t really matter what anyone thinks about it because this is about me. About doing something for myself that makes me feel complete, whole. He didn’t say that exactly, but that is what I took from it. Number three, "Growing old is inevitable, growing UP, is optional."

My life has changed so much in the past few years it is really hard to keep up, and I can feel it changing now, right now, but I am not sure in what ways. I wonder why it is always so much harder to see yourself from the inside. How easy it is to look at someone else’s life and analyze or judge or ridicule. The life that is happening around you is invisible in most cases. You might as well be blindfolded with some hairy, guy who smells of Old Spice throwing daggers at your head, encouraged only by the cheers of a crowd whose faces you cannot see. It’s like driving for miles and then realizing once you reach your destination that you can’t remember the drive there. For me this happens all the time, but mostly because I am so lost in my thoughts that I am not really concentrating on the road. I can only imagine that some divine traffic controller is making sure I don’t kill myself or someone else. I need to purchase a tape recorder. I think of so many things while driving that I’m in no position to write down, and then poof…they’re gone. I think a lot about chronicling my day via a notepad or recorder, but the truth is that I am too chicken that someone would find it and have access to all these feelings that I don’t express to people I actually know. Something about that seems just downright disgusting, but I am trying to protect the feelings of the innocent. Really. And I don’t want to spend all my time explaining how I don’t really mean it that way, but sometimes I do, but you shouldn’t take it personal. I wonder how others who write deal with this. I can be very temperamental, and I do not like reading raw thoughts that loved ones have about me. I have upon occasion stumbled across something that I wish I hadn’t seen, but once you have seen it…it is too late. I am the nosiest person on the planet I will admit that, but there are some things that even I am smart enough to know that are only meant for the eyes of the creator. I think that my writing sometimes saves the people around me from severe tongue-lashings and the like. When I feel wronged in some way, even if I am wrong, I can come here and pour out those feelings, and once I’m done…I’m done. No more anger or resentment…well maybe a little, but you get the idea. Some terrible cussings out have been shelved all because I can curse them out on these pages without causing any permanent damage to the relationship. Oprah encourages everyone to keep a journal. Now if only we had Oprah brand locks to keep those thoughts safe.