Sometimes a rabbit is more than just a rabbit

I had a very vivid dream last night. In color. It was horrific on the one hand, but very enlightening.

I was with Mom and we were in a large kitchen getting ready to cook Snowball for dinner. Snowball was not dead. I had shaved off all her hair and she was pretty pitiful looking. I basted her and put her in a roasting pot and into the oven she went.

After five hours, we took the pan out of the oven, but the rabbit was still not dead. She was wet and cowering in the bottom of the pan, silent but trembling, but still very much alive.

“You’re going to have to finish it off,” Mom declared. “It’s the only way it will ever be cooked.”

I started crying. “I know, but I didn’t want to be the one who had to do it. I feel like such a failure.”

“You have to do it or it will never be over,” she told me.

I grabbed Snowball’s head, gave a savage sideways yank and broke her neck. It was easy. I heard the snap and felt her go limp. I was relieved that it was over.

I awoke in that moment with the very clear message that the rabbit was the remains of my relationship with M and that I would have to be the one to break the neck of his illusions that we have anything left to save. Short, sweet, brutal. There’s no other way.

He sent an e-mail yesterday saying that the rabbits are almost out of food. I wrote back (very business-like) that I would bring food on Thursday. I don’t know if he will be there or not.

I hope I have the words to tell him that I’m done. That our relationship is over for good and he needs to let me go. If our next conversation goes anything like the last no mention will be made about how I feel – it will be about him and I don’t even need to be present while he drones on and on.

One thing sticks in my mind about the last time we talked – he told me that he doesn’t even remember most of the things I say he did to hurt me. I am red with rage over that one. How fucking convenient for him! If he “can’t remember” and I can’t forget, who is the bitch keeping anger alive? I totally come off as the villain in that story, don’t I? I can hear his Pity Party to everyone he knows about how I am so stuck in the past that I can’t forgive him for things that he’s not even sure happened. And on and on.

I can’t afford to care what lies he will spread about me, if he hasn’t already started his Smear Campaign. I have a life to live and it does not involve Narcs and their bullshit!

Asshole.

Oh, no he didn’t!

This afternoon the shop was empty when a man walked in with his 7-year-old daughter.

“Is your bathroom this way?” he asks, pointing.

“Yep,” I replied.

“Watch her while I go in there,” he says.

Instantly I am irritated because nowhere on my forehead does it say, “babysitter.”

“Why? Is she going to start breaking things?” I archly ask.

“You never know with that one…” he says as he rounds the corner.

Uh-huh. This ought to be good. The kid was fine, if a bit talkative.

He spent the next ten minutes in the bathroom while I seethed with resentment that a total stranger would command me to watch his evil spawn. Those days are long over for me, folks, and I will not be volunteering for nanny duty. Especially as a “favor.” Take note now and don’t even ask.

When he came back out (no, I didn’t hear water running, so I’m guessing he didn’t wash his hands) they ordered ice cream. As I was scooping up their order, I could smell the unmistakable smell of Man Poop. Oh, fuck. Wafting around the whole store. Gag.

He paid for the ice cream and tossed the nickel change into my tip jar and off they went. No Thank You, just walked.

Much as I dreaded it, I had to check the bathroom to make sure it wasn’t as dirty as it smelled. OMG is the only response to the stench in there. No, he didn’t turn on the fan. Gack!

Thankfully we have an Industrial Strength exhaust fan in there or the shop would have had to close until it aired out. Yes, it was that bad. At least he managed to hit the hole and I didn’t have to hose anything down. That would have ruined my day.

Why is it that men can’t turn on the fan after using the restroom? The switch is right there next to the light, which they seem to have no trouble operating. It seems like such a simple thing to do.

Also, why is it that people come into my shop to leave their horrible stench? It happens often enough that I wonder if people schedule these putrid trips so that they don’t have to smell themselves at home. I mean, really?

At least turn on the fucking fan!

And tip the woman who has to clean up after your rude ass.

This is scary!

After the post the other day, I’ve been thinking a lot about my reactions to M and what I should be doing about it. I’ve been away from him for long enough that I should be in a better place.

I follow many blogs, including Baggage Reclaim, and today Natalie put up a post that hits me directly between the eyes – Sometimes a discussion doesn’t cut it.

Yep. That’s it in a nutshell. I especially like her list of what “discussion” (instead of flushing) means”

Discussing says:

• I’ve personalized your actions and so I want to discuss this so I can find out what I did wrong.
• Let’s negotiate.
• I wanna fix you.
• I’m used to toxic atmospheres. You pulling this rinky-dink bullshit on me feels like home. We now need to have this discussion so I can go through my drama cycle, get some validation and lather , rinse, repeat.
• I want you to explain this to me and make me feel better about it so that I can go back to deluding myself about you.
• I’m still in this.
• I’m not going to take decisive action.
• I’m teeeeeeeeelllllllllling you…. I’m not going…. You’re the best thing I’ve ever known…. And you, and you, and you, you’re gonna love meeeeeeeee.

OMG. It’s  like she’s reading my mind or something. I’ve printed this list out so I can review it whenever I have to deal with M, just a friendly reminder that I should not be talking to him at all, my hand moving towards the flusher…

Why can’t I just say no?

M called me on the phone this afternoon. Like an idiot, I picked up. Still haven’t told him that I’m moving and had it in mind to slip it into the conversation. Naturally, the whole conversation was about him and I didn’t have a chance.

Just one little tidbit from Saturday: he has been complaining about money for years, how he never has enough and needs me to give him more. So we’re sitting in my car at the bus stop* and he starts and says, “I should make sure I have some money before I get on the bus!” whips out his wallet and fans it open to show a bunch of bills. “I have a wallet full of twenties, so I guess I’m set!” he says with a grin. WTF? Infer what you will. I went from asleep to pissed off in about half a second. Wheeeeeew…letting it go…

Anyway. So he calls this afternoon. His friends in Olympia sold him B’s car. She got a new one and they gave him a good deal.** He made it back alive and had a favor to ask. Would I be the legal owner of the car? You see, he can’t own more than one car or he won’t qualify for the disability claim*** he has been working so hard to get. He wants me to put the registration in my name and add the car to my insurance policy until he can sell his truck. IF he can sell his truck. Lots of open-ended mumbling.

Here’s where I should have just said, “no,” and stuck to my guns, but I did it once before when we were still living together and it was no big deal.

Obviously the situation is a bit different now and I have many reasons for not doing it. For one thing, I would have to put my actual address on the registration and I have not updated that info with the DMV. The registration would have to travel with the car and I don’t want him to have it. And who would pay for the insurance? And what happens when I move out of town? Would the insurance company have a problem if there was an accident and he was “borrowing” my car in another county? All of these things were running through my mind as I was trying to come up with an excuse to justify my “no.”

Gah! These knee-jerk, make-it-work-if-you-can reactions are making me crazy! His reaction to my hesitation was predictable: the reasoning voice telling me that it was totally legal and nothing bad would happen, asking why I had reservations, what is the problem (increasing volume, hard edge to his voice) aren’t we friends? Don’t I trust him? and on and on for about five minutes.

I said over and over that it just didn’t feel right, that there was an alarm bell going off in my head that told me it was a bad idea, and he kept pushing. Finally he backed off and said he had something else to ask.

Srsly? He is expecting money from selling some boat hardware that will be coming from New Zealand. Would I give him my PayPal info and deal with the money and give it to him? You see, he can’t show any income and is worried that if any cash goes into his checking account it will be detected and he won’t get his disability claim.

Sigh. I said that the best thing to do would be to set up his own PayPal account and get a debit card and use that to spend the cash if he didn’t want to make deposits to his checking account.

I mean, really? Not exactly laundering money, is it? But close, right?

Oh, he was not happy about that at all. By the end of the conversation he’s fake crying and I feel like puking from the stress of continued “no”s. He got nothing, so it’s a victory, but damn! What an exercise!

Received this e-mail a couple of hours later:

I’m sorry about the turn our conversation took today. It’s obvious you are working on being reasonable and congenial with me despite our problems. I want you to know I’m very grateful for that effort.

There is no one I trust more than you to attempt any dual ownership agreement on a vehicle. Once I got over the disappointment, it’s obvious why you wouldn’t want to do it – the whole thing is predicated on the possibility that nothing bad will ever happen, which is a long-shot gamble. I went ahead and insured and registered it in my name and will see how things work out. It may happen that I sell the truck and problem solved.

Much love, 

He called again later but I sent it to voicemail. Imagine my surprise when the message was an apology. He said that I was right to deny him and he’s sorry to put me in such a position, that it’s his problem and he was wrong to lay it on me. The first message cut off (there’s a limit on the length of voicemails with my carrier?) so he had to call again to finish his apology.

It’s exhausting.

* Lest you think I actually did him a favor for nothing, I want to set the record straight and say that I did it because it meant that I knew he would be out of the house and I could go get some stuff without having to deal with him and his continued requests for sex. I ain’t stupid

** I know, right? He can’t pay the property taxes or his boat moorage fee, but 6 months later he can buy a used car? And he has no job or legal income? And he had the nerve to lecture me when I came up with the money by working seven days a week? Right. Asshole.

*** I’ll say it again – dude is pretty fucked up physically from a couple of nasty accidents and I really have no problem with him getting disability payments. It’s not much money, so it’s not like he’ll be living large if he gets it. I do not, however, want to be involved in any illegalities related to getting that claim approved.

A Favor

Got a message on my phone from M telling me that Snowball needed some grooming attention and he was on his way to work and wondered if I could find some time to go out and see to her. No problem. I tried to call him later but had to leave a voicemail as he didn’t pick up.

Huh. We have been missing each other’s calls for a week or so, but I am not unhappy about that at all.

This morning I picked up after he left a message that sounded like he had a problem or wanted to tell me something – he was vague. Could it be that he’s found someone else? Oh, please let it be him letting me down easy! Please, please, please!

Nope. He needs a ride to the bus stop so he can catch the shuttle to the Valley and then on to Olympia where he will be picking up a new (used) car. He asked me if I would be willing to give him a ride. Oh, it’s at o’dark-thirty. Yeah, okay, I can do that if it will get him off my back for another week.

I told him not to expect any witty conversation or scintillating banter at that hour and that’s when he hit me with his idea of a plan. He thinks that I should come over tonight and spend the night with him. Then we could get up early and take him to the bus stop.

Ah, hell no! He asked me why. I told him that I am not a booty call and I just don’t want to sleep with him. Or have sex with him. That led to a conversation about what sex means to a man and what it means to a woman.

He (said that he) sees that sex is an expression of love and a way to heal problems in a relationship.

I told him that is bullshit. I said, “you have obviously forgotten all the times you berated me all day and then wanted sex that night because you ‘felt great’ after having ‘cleared the air’ about your grievances (which were all bullshit, by the way.) You spent the entire day making me feel two inches tall and then wanted sex as a reward. Let me tell you how it is for a woman – sex is the reward for fixing the problems in a relationship, and if you feel romantic after tearing me down all day, that’s sick and I don’t have to live with that attitude any more.”

Long, silent pause. “I don’t want to think that I forced you to have sex with me after treating you badly…”

“Uh, yes, you did. Repeatedly. Often.”

He pretended to be ashamed and confused and asked me why I went along with his demands.

“Because you berated me for not wanting sex. Because you told me there was something wrong with me if I didn’t feel as good as you after a day of tearing me down. Because you raged and accused me of having affairs. Because you are a dick and I felt I had no choice.” And on and on. Pretty sure he regretted asking that one

Quick change of subject back to his favorite: himself. Blah, blah, blah.

Whatever. Gotta go to work. He said that he learns something new every time he talks to me now.

I said, “yeah, I’m a great teacher if you bother to listen.”

Sigh. It’s amusing to hear him squirm as he tries to figure out what will bring me back. Every time I talk to him I feel stronger, knowing that leaving him was the best decision I could have made, and I rejoice that I’m finally free. His posturing and lies are nothing to me now and he gets more pathetic with every attempt to portray himself as a Good Man. I enjoy shooting him down, I admit and if that makes you respect me any less, well, I can take it

Sorted

It’s been a tense week over here as I try to work out my living situation. The Boss wants me over in the Valley ASAP but that can’t happen until I find a place to park Towanda and May is the worst time of year to find a full-time space in a nice park.

Awana and I went over on Monday for a meeting and to check out a park that’s close enough that Sabu and I can walk to work. Yes, The Boss agreed to let me bring Crazy Dog to the office. He is that desperate to get someone on board who knows their ass from a (surveyed) hole in the ground

The park was perfect! The owner is a sweet, little 87-year-old with whispy white hair and all of her faculties intact. Her (second) husband is 90 and still doing most of the repairs around the park. This park is mostly populated with full-timers who have been there awhile. It sits under the trees along the irrigation canal and has a pond and resident flock of ducks.

It’s also full up. Damn! I left my name and number, shamelessly dropped The Boss’ name and Awana and I did some shopping before heading back to the Coast.

Tuesday and Wednesday were filled with drafting and dyeing wool at another friend’s house, while I fretted about finding a place for Towanda and I.

And then the good news came via a phone call from Alice on Wednesday night while I was sitting and knitting with the fiber ladies. There is a space opening up on May 24 and it is mine for the asking! I fired a check off in the mail and will stop by there on Monday to make sure it arrived and get a closer look at the site.

Whew! What a load off my mind! Now I need to get some projects finished, some trash thrown out, Towanda’s tires inspected (the sidewalls are cracking) and everything packed up to travel. All while working at the shop 4 days a week and drafting most of the others.

Wheeeeeee!

A little visit to Crazy Town

I went over to M’s house yesterday to shear the rabbits and collect my canning equipment. I checked the kitchen table for any notes and imagine my surprise to find not one, but three slips of paper on the table. Each listed a different person who would be stopping by the house to check on things.

Huh. Every time he’s communicated with me he’s been desperate for me to come out and stay the night and spend time with the kitty, but it seems that now he has three neighborhood women doing the job. Helpless, indeed!

The mission was accomplished without incident and I motored off to the next assignment. It was a very busy day and I’m tired.

Tonight marks the last night at D&d’s house. Vacuumed and steam mopped the floors and am doing laundry at the moment – leaving no trace, dontcha know.

There will be a parade in town (Loyalty Days, which must mean something, but darned if I know what) tomorrow and I need to get across town before it starts or risk being stuck here with no way to get to the shop to open up for the hoards (I hope!) of people eager for a sweet treat. The main events are all happening south of town, so the shop will probably be dead all day, but that’s just fine as I have a couple hundred books loaded into my Kindle and will find a way to while away the hours

It’s been a fun couple of weeks camping at D&d’s spa, but I’m happy to be going back to Towanda and my Real Life. I think Sabu is tired of the Pug-nosed Posse, too, and would like a little quiet for a change.

Goodbye ice maker! Goodbye unlimited hot water! Goodbye spa! It was nice to visit, but we don’t belong here…