February 12, 2012
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Nope….
When I pull into the driveway, I’m still talking to my colleague. She’s looking for another job, sick of the politics and the bullshit and the pecking order. The old guard has worn her down. They haven’t decided if they’ll grant me admission to their club. I’m not worried. I’ll stay as long as I can. It doesn’t matter to me if I’m part of the club or not. Honestly, I know that admission takes 6 months to a year. My colleague won’t wait.
I snatch groceries from his truck bed and navigate the piles of garbage in the garage. He soon becomes irritated that I’m on the phone. I cut it short, hang up. Too late.
The digs start…
He’s not interested in eating dinner. He had a late lunch. Okay. I reheat chili. I don’t finish it because he’s relentless. I finally grab my bowl and scrape it into the trash. I make a snide comment about it looking like he wasn’t interested in sex tonight either. He sarcastically asks if I’ll put it in writing. I snatch up a pad and write “You don’t have to have sex with me again. It’s okay. Really.” Then I draw a sad face.
He says, “Don’t bother writing a note. I don’t read the emails you send. Why would I read a note?”
I head for the bedroom and crawl into bed. I’ve had two drinks, so I’m not safe to drive, but in a few hours I will be. I feel shitty beyond belief. Is he acting like this because Valentine’s day is coming? Does he think I expect something?
I don’t. The only cards I ever got in the past were from the kids. I had gotten D a card, but I gave it to him early. I didn’t see it laying around. It was a funny card but he never said anything about it. Maybe I shouldn’t have gotten him a card.
Bullshit.
A card is nothing more than a card. If he wants to read more than that into it then he’s a fucking idiot.
I doze off. He comes to bed later. I don’t know if he ate dinner or what, but he pulls me close and kisses me. He kisses me quite a bit. I initiate a little foreplay which is good for him (to put it nicely). Then he pulls away. I’ve been quietly crying the whole time (not even sure that he noticed), but when he rolls his back to me, I feel lower than I have in quite awhile. I stare at his back in the dark for a few moments.
When he begins to lightly snore, I slip out of bed and grab my clothes. I dress quickly in the dark bathroom, tears coursing down my cheeks, staining my blouse. I slip out through the garage and drive home. I send him a text telling him why I left (even though I doubt he’ll read it). Then I pop two benedryl tablets to assure sleep will return. My bed feels so cold, but the tears have stopped. I wake at 6:00, feed the animals and go back to bed. I wake at 8:30 to the kitten attacking the bed monsters which are my feet. She tries to decapitate the bed monsters but in reality she’s biting my toes. She launches herself onto the dog. It’s time to get up anyway. Even if I feel so inexplicably low I can’t spend the day in bed.
I’ve received a text from K overnight. He wants to talk. I feign illness. I really feel bad today.
It’s more than just D. My aunt called last night, people have been in her house again. They turned her photos upside down. She doesn’t say as much as she usually does. It’s the beginning of decline. I’m as powerless against this as I was against my mother’s illness. She has no children. She possesses a graduate degree in education, brilliant. Her two brothers weren’t gifted academically, but she took great pride in her education. One nephew and one niece possess college degrees….I think of how my cousin and I are the same. He’s more of an adventurer than I, we’re equally level-headed and strong. We both live very far away from our aunt. I wonder if he even knows. Something else to worry about. I’m not even certain that there’s anyone who will be able to help her. I dread the thought of hopping on a plane to take a long weekend to help clear piles of rubbish from her house. She’s a hoarder, and I’m sure she’s got the house packed to the rafters again. Last time my dad, uncle, and people from her church went in and cleared rubbish from the house there was enough to fill 3 dumpsters.
The work week was hectic and emotional.
I didn’t need D to make it better or even listen. He wanted to pick and gouge. If he didn’t want me there, then he should have told me not to come.
I’m not going over tonight, even if he asks. I’ll tell him I’m sick. He’ll have overtime. I’ll be working. Next weekend I’ll have my kids and maybe I can move.
If I’m not living 5 minutes away from D, maybe it will be easier to say “no”.
I don’t even want to talk to K right now.
