Fears V
Hubs and I have been engaged in a domestic tit for tat skirmish since? ? ? Friday? There wasnae a starting gun to mark the beginning of this particular skirmish. There hasnae been a shortage of volatile substances pouring into our veins since the start of this storm season in June, 2019. A project launching which crashed and burned. . . The on-going drama of the STBX drama which placed our grandchildren in Protective Custody. . . The death of a son and the inheritance of his 3 orphans. . . And those are only the Big Ticket highlights. Every unresolved thread from both branches of our family tree seems to have a snakey tendril to add to the chaos. Ouch upon ouch upon father fucking ouch. Allowing Hubby to sort his own, my strictly personal psyche feels like a writhing field of infected canker sores. A well-meaning kiss is destined to spread your germy body fluids across 3 or 30 painfully throbbing wounds. Can I schedule a 5 minute agony break now? I donae have free nor easy access to his psychic library, but my logic tells me we are equals in the agony. Nay clones, but most certainly equals.
I froze yesterday's tit-for-tattery at his venomous volley that I should just go back to the River Region and let him and the kids tough it out. After I got my coat and travel documents, I returned to his reign over the kid party and stated as calmly as possible, "I doubt I will make it as far as the River Region, but I am taking your suggestion that I should just leave." I made ^it^ so and landed at an historical chicken ranch turned flea market which has been on my round-to-it list for quite a few years. I found a repurposed dish cabinet to serve as an entertainment center in Big Sis's room. She and I are still trying to figure out if we love it or hate it. It is far too radical to have much middle ground. For certain, it is safer than the makeshift kluge which was there before. Baby Sis can have her way with it with zero danger of it falling on her. The cabinet has knobs which allow for baby proofing. I donae believe Hubs knows of the purchase yet.
I slept on the couch last night and Hubs wasnae far behind me on today's wake-up. Proof currently unavailable, but I believe he was out to ***show me*** what it feels like to have conversation thrown at you before your first cup of coffee. Wake up and smell the 24/7 Not Working Joys, my love. Your grown-man grumble still ain't got nothing on an infant with a bellyache. Thank you for the candy and flowers.
At this juncture in this bittersweet drama, Hubs and Baby Sis share an utterly enchanting bond. Proof unavailable but I do believe Baby Sis felt her beloved Gampy's emotional turmoil and had been conversing with me since long before my first cup of coffee. After Gampy woke far enough to ***show me*** there wasnae a snowball's chance in Hell that she was going back to sleep. Information currently unavailable to whether Hubby was aware of the conversation between Baby Sis and I. Gampy didnae enter into the conversation until I lifted Baby Sis from her crib and set her down to find her heart's desire. I left them to converse while I retreated here to my "Quiet Corner" to smoke and meditate. My gut is too agitated to handle the coffee. How ironic is it that I am most often accussed of being over-caffinated on the days my stomach cannae handle coffee?
Breathing. . . I believe I need to wear my rosary today.
Replies
Since my second divorce, even as a bachelor again I sleep most nights on my couch, arfie. It's not a bad place to be. Hopefully, in your case the tit-for-tattery will resolve as it has for you and hubs for many years now. Wearing the rosary will be a good reminder of that.
My sleeping habits remain akin to prey animals in the wild. Gotta keep moving the sleep spots so the predators canae set traps ahead of time. I amnae so compulsive as I was when I had fuckable buns, zero protection advocates and zero therapy tools, but my muscles still get cramped if I attempt to sleep in the same spot every night. There is a good chance Hubs didnae even notice I slept on the couch. It is normal-for-me.
The morning has been going more smoothly. Is there an easy, fun-filled way to handle hard, ugly, ethereal truths like grief and geriatric limitations? I havenae been wasting my time hunting for those easy ways. I donae believe Hubs and I can pull this off on the same protocols we used to ruin the lives of our first child victims. Neither of our sons have nominated us for parenting awards. The son who is still breathing still honors me as, "Toxic Mom" and loves his family like a leech loves blood. Gimme more, Toxic Mom. . . FEED ME! ! !
It be an ugly body of psycho snot knots to untangle. For now, the children say we are holding steady. Their tones remain peaceful and contented. Stepping small, praying big and holding the love sacred. The honest truth of the moment is that I really donae care to smell the stink of his husbandly shit, buttttttttttaaaaaaaa. . . Holding the love sacred. I'm pretty sure I loved him a reasonably short while back.