I came home from work last night and M was not there. No note, no indication before I left for work that he would be out for the day. The dog was happy to see me at least.
Shortly after arriving home, my Mom called. She had good news about her retirement and the latest that is going on in her life. I haven’t spoken to her or anyone else in the family for months and I’m afraid I unloaded on her about my relationship troubles. She told me that she never liked M, that he was “creepy” and “imperious,” but he is my choice and she doesn’t feel that it’s her place to judge our relationship.
She also said something very profound, “You’re just like me – we can be led so long as we think it’s a good idea, but no farther.” And I guess that’s where I am at the moment – this ship is being steered towards a shore that I don’t want to land on and it’s time for me to provision the lifeboat and get the hell out.
Where was M? He was out sailing on the ocean with a friend. Great. I would have had no idea what happened if he never came back, no idea of where to begin a search. I don’t watch the news, so I would have missed any story about three people being lost at sea and would have been left wondering until a helpful neighbor expressed their condolences.
Swallowing my rage, I asked how the trip went? “Like riding a bench.” That was it. The whole description of his day. He did say (a couple of hours later) that C had made him a sandwich and how he hated that C yelled at his wife who is in the early stages of Alzheimer’s and can’t remember multiple instructions. He expressed his disdain that C was frustrated over what is a little thing that his wife can’t help and how sad it was, blah, blah, blah. I was gobsmacked. Couldn’t even draw the parallel for him between C and his wife and he and I. The denial is amazing to watch.
Lately I find myself analyzing his every word, looking for inconsistencies that I then hammer on. For instance, I said that I would be making a pizza for dinner tonight. He said that was very ambitious for a work night. I said that he was welcome to make it himself – the ingredients are in the fridge. He said that he’d never made pizza. Well, huh. So all those times he stood over me and offered “advice” and told me the “proper” way to make a pizza, all those recipes and tips and just plain crazy-making shit, he was just talking out his ass? He has never actually made a pizza from scratch?
I couldn’t help myself. I am ashamed to say that I stooped to his level and insisted that he admit he had never actually made a pizza from scratch. I made him admit that the advice he was constantly offering about this particular dish was based on nothing at all and that I had figured out on my own how to make a damned good pizza. It was amusing to watch him back pedal. He finally asserted that he had made “a few” pizzas but that the crust was never very good.
“Huh. Well, I have to go to work now. Bye,” and I was gone.
What a putz. I am not proud that I jumped on him that way, but he deserved it. I’ll probably pay for it later, but right now I just don’t care. Dishing out a little measure of his own shit right into his mouth is more satisfying than I thought it would be. I’ll get bored with it soon and totally shut him out, but for now it provides the only thrill I’m likely to have until the middle of next month when I finally get a day off work.