Watermelon's still there...

It's about 4am, getting ready for work and that thing is still sitting there; every time she buys something and ignores it I'm reminded of the last 1000 things. It's about having something around that's supposed to make her happy, without her putting any effort into it. It's a waste of money.

Six, seven months ago when she was empty brained from lack of iron we had a fight where she said I didn't finish stuff. It's been said that the shortcomings we hate in others are usually the shortcomings we hate in ourselves; I'd say that in some ways it's right. I do take too much on. She was wrong in the example she used (the pool that still lies in a heap out back), right in the criticism generally and ignorant of her place in holding me back from finishing stuff. Really, I think she's much, much worse; she's used not seeing her son in prison in Florida as an emotional wedge a bunch of times and recently I brought up the fact that she's had plenty of times to fly out and see him but her time and money are much better spent on pink flip phones that take pictures and watermelons.

She's at NA.

For those of you who aren't familiar with the recovery communities, that's Narcotics Anonymous. She's mandated to go three times a week. She used to blow off going on the weekend, when she had to go two times a week but it's been upped to three times and the weekday meeting she went to lost their space so if she doesn't want to write another 12 page essay about why she wants to continue to work in the nursing field, she's gotta go on the weekend.

Now don't get me wrong, I'm not lily white; I've done my share of drugs (and some of your share too, depending on the substance). I used to deal pot when I was a teen; dabbled in coke, x, drank some, have even experimented with some prescription drugs. In the same vein, I've screwed my life up with MY addiction: sex. If you scratch the surface deep enough I'll tell you that in the pursuit of gratifying my body sexually I completely alienated my first wife, leading to the current child support arrangement I suffer through now. I'm not proud when I tell my 20 year old son of the hijinx I performed, the combinations of people I slept with. The best I can do is to explain to him that sex isn't love and that you build your self esteem from the inside out, or from the bottom up, and not by chasing someone or someones you can press your body against to ignore whatever pain you're in.

But I've been around this barn before and I'm here again WITH HER because I didn't have the sense to leave sooner and she made promises she was just gonna break and she never, never intended, through the three counselors (one joint counseling) and gastric bypass operation (an unmitigated disaster) to deal with the ISSUES driving the behavior. When I met her 8 years ago she was addicted to painkillers; she stopped because she had to, to keep her job, not because she wanted to clean up or be a better person or make our relationship work. Last year the iron deficiencies from the surgery left her addle brained; she t-boned a car, screwing up a prior injury at the base of her spine. Instead of exercising, stretching and walking she's just ignored it, stole pain pills from work and got more loopy in the head; five months later she was forced to start this program and now she's exhausted, angry, petulant, hates her lot in life, has been put on at least 3 different new, additional medications to regulate her mood and simply can't accept and deal with the fact that her life looks like it does because she's made it that way.

My son is great by the way; he's looking into the macintosh operating system as a hobby for the summer.

She hasn't spoken to me in a day.

I can't get her to be part of a conversation. She's apologized three or four times but really, it's no consolation; it's like being married to mud.

There's a seven day old watermelon in the fridge.

Yup, last week she bought a watermelon. Now, the watermelon isn't actually 7 days old; I wasn't there when she bought it so it is probably 4 or 5 days old but the idea is the same, it just sits there and it won't get eaten until tomorrow morning when she'll remember it's there when she considers making breakfast (used to make breakfast on sunday every week) and she'll probably ask me if I want watermelon at which point I'll say, "Well I didn't buy it so no, I'm not wanting it. Thanks anyhow." This upsets her, giving her an excuse not to make breakfast, giving her more time to read the newspaper and ignore me.

The amount of food we've thrown away in 8 years because she thought she might want to eat it could have fed a stadium of Katrina victims for a day. The idea of planning our meals is like her way of watching tv: the more there is to choose from the less she has to think about it. Really, both should be a huge buffet that washes over her when she gets home from work. Her daughter, now 23, would sit on the sofa and channel surf watching 2 or 3 or 4 shows at a time, making me want to pass out, vomit and scream all at once. If you added an enourmous lazy susan that circled the living room that they could pick from while watching David Bowie's tv sets from The Man Who Fell To Earth, well, it'd be wife heaven.

1 or 5 hours to myself...

It's hard to say how many hours I'll have alone. I was getting home from work at about 4:45pm on Fridays; then with overtime it was more like 6:45 or 7pm. She works three 12 hour shifts - I was against this choice - and now with her rehab appointments she's finding it hard to fit all her paperwork into a Friday leaving at 6 or 6:30 or even 7. One night recently I made dinner, with her son here, him having just arrived from out of town, she calls at 6, I call her at 6:30, 7:15, 8, she calls at 9. Each time she says she'll be another 1/2 hour. Mind you, she's already said that she might work the next day, Saturday, while I already have to work, so the paperwork for her admits could wait until the next day but no, nooooooo, she's gotta do it then. Really, it's not the idea that she's not here; if I know I'll have some time to myself I'll enjoy it: tonight I'm listening to The Beatles 30th Anniversary version of The White Album, alot of fun for a lost 60's child like me. I also vacuum the house using a handheld to blow the cat hair out of the corners, then pick it up with the push vac, something she'll never do.

No, it's the idea that she's not gonna let me plan my time, that even if she's not here it's gotta be ALL ABOUT HER. Tonight I've been home since 4:45pm and I talked with her as I drove into town (I live about an hour north of Denver); she hasn't called since. I think it's sad that I'm doing the grownup version of Cruise in Risky Business, digging her not being here.

Welcome To Hell

Dear Reader, it's not about you, it's about me: for weeks now I've wanted to note the many times I've felt betrayed, yet again, by my spouse. Yup, it's bleak, but I'm a working class boy who learns as he goes and struggles with people's pain and stupidity daily. If for no other reason I need a place to unload. You may not agree with my conclusions but I'm not a liberal anymore so either be nice to me or go piss up a rope.

Thanks!