Pulling Out

I think I might be pulling out of the Breach of Contract psychosis, but. . . Hard, living color lessons have taught me nurture my humility when pulling out of a psychotic episode. Missteps and backslides happen with the greatest of ease and the stresses are still taxing my processing capabilities. I can miss critical details as easily as I can trip in a gopher hole. Who put that freaking hole there, in the first place? Can I sue?

Ate like a loose dog at a potluck party during yesterday's rainout rest. Slept well. Thoughts sluggish. Hopefully in a good way which will let me hold steady through the grunt work ahead. Gut knots feeling more bruised than knotty. Stepping small, praying big and listening for the quiet voice.

Back to the father fucking pile. Part of the apex of that pile fell yesterday. Dare I hope to watch the rest of the apex fall today? Just hoping. . . Wouldn't mind a little help from the Wish Fairy, if you're feeling up to it, my elusive friend. Just wishing. . .



wishing so, to make "it" "all that needs" to happen!

Sounds like you are doing really good with just letting it be what it is. Crossing fingers for the Apex drop. Triple jugs

Quick vent:
K's not-a-husband started the day with a bitch slap. He stated his opinion. I stated mine. He asserted his authority. I walked away.

Vivid flashbacks to how I earned that construction nickname, "The Bitch of No Return."

Perhaps one of the greatest saving graces of my life has been that boys and men willnae ever admit they have been beat up by a girl. I surely deserved to be prosecuted on more than occasion but was protected by that iron code. When the EEO programs were touting "Assertiveness Training," I brought in a note from my therapist saying, "This woman needs anger management training. Please do not force her into your Assertiveness Training program.

Gee, how did I attract the son of a battered husband? I remain eternally grateful that anger management training had taught me to recognize and walk away from goading years before I got married. The MIL's specialty was eye gouging. The FIL needed two rounds of eye surgery (that we know of) from it. When hubs and I were finally able to talk about ^it^, he finally heard me that if I let our tit for tat skirmishes escalate to violence, they won't bother with the surgery to get your eyeballs out of your grey matter.

I am trying to remember that the man is performing volunteer labor and that I desperately need the help. Still. . . Tolerating a volunteer manly take over feels like feeding a stray cat. Feed it once and the fleas and mange are yours for life.

Trusting K and praying I don't lose her over it. She says I am doing fine fine with her man, but she has never had a commercial job site full of constructos stepping fearfully out of her path. Her man has mistaken me for his not-a-wife's clone. Feminine isnae in my nature. I only have the body parts.

Breathing. . .