Today is my eight year wedding anniversary. A Google search informed me that the traditional gift is bronze. I’d like to put my own spin on it by getting rid of 10 bronze objects, but even with our vast collection of crap, I’m not sure I can come up with that much. It would be a slam dunk if I went into the garage but it’s snowing and I’m not going there. But I’m going to try to come up with something.
It has been a tumultuous few days around the household. Recently my resolve to keep certain relationship elements at bay has been tested repeatedly. I don’t like to make people unhappy and I often go to uncalled for lengths just to be sure that I examined all the angles.
If we were talking about a pet, I’d be the person who spent $20,000 on surgery for a 13 year-old ferret I inherited from a roommate.
But I’m not talking about pets, I went down that road once with a beloved dog who died anyway. I learned my lesson, at least when it comes to sick animals. Some things are inevitable. Do you hear that, Blue? Stay healthy because there will be NO HEROICS.
I think Zeb forgot our anniversary but I don’t mind. Tax day isn’t a time to get sentimental about anything but your bank account.
I have been such an emotional wreck since the shit hit the fan. I think he’s just trying to keep any of it from getting on him. This morning I was up at 5am talking to my dad on the phone. I had a horrible dream that really got under my skin for reasons that only my father can fully appreciate. And like the wonderful father he is, he was awake and ready to listen.
What was the dream about? I was imprisioned by a sadistic captor for years, emaciated and terrified. I escaped and was trying to get help for another woman who was also being held captive and about to give birth. As I was ineffectively trying to explain our plight, I saw our captor slip away with a giant laundry bag. Inside it was my youngest child. I chased him down and threw myself onto my son. I couldn’t wrestle him away but I wouldn’t let go. We struggling over my child, both unwilling to give up. I tried to yell but the sound was caught in my throat and I woke up screaming.
Fortunately my son was right next to me, the dog farts had forced him out of his own bed and into mine. I have never been so happy to have him in bed with me.
These are metaphors, of course. I was never the victim of physical or sexual violence, that’s the media working its’ way in. But the metaphors were crystal clear for me and my father, who understood completely and help me process my panic.
My husband is ill-equipped to handle this kind of familial brain-damage, it does not compute. He comes from the most loving and supportive family ever whereas I come from profound disfunction. I have made great strides towards releasing the past and blame and the unattainable wish that things could have been different, but sometimes …
I’m grateful to have escaped that life and have this one. I still can’t believe that anyone would accept all my baggage, familial and otherwise, and stay with me. Eight years of marriage is a long time, every minute has been an adventure.
I love you, Lonny.
As a grand gesture of my love, I’m going to cut some crap for you.
This is exciting! I found the second of my safe deposit box keys! This means I can go to the bank and see what worthless crap I’ve been paying $39 a year to store. I will fall over dead if it isn’t just a pile of defunct paperwork. Coming soon!
These are those cord donut winder things. They seem like a great idea in the catalogue but really are just a pain in the ass. DONATE.
Random keys. I didn’t find any bronze but there are some brass keys in there. That counts, right? TRASH.