“Sunshine” on Friday

Courtyard Hounds and a sweet little song about Narcs and others like them –

With fiddle AND banjo 🙂

“Sunshine”

You tell me that you don’t like people
You can only believe in yourself
You pity all those who lack your higher breeding
So I can see the reason you don’t have anybody left

Could it be the way you wear your fur on the inside,
Prefer not to go outside when the sky’s way too blue?
Tonight you’ll grace us with all your inner presence
While your back-handed compliments suck the air out of the room

Hey, don’t rain on my parade and kill a perfect day, wasting my time
Hey, you always find a way to bring me down when I feel fine
We call you sunshine

I’m just an angel that sits upon your shoulder
Says the world will pass you over while you’re waiting for a crown
But you’re no stranger to the art of how to fake it
You play until you break it, you make it hard to be around

Hey, don’t rain on my parade and kill a perfect day, wasting my time
Hey, you always find a way to bring me down when I feel fine
We call you sunshine
We call you sunshine

Hey…
Hey…

Someday you’ll be up on your mountain
High above the clouds where you can never be found
But you start a fire just to beg for intervention
You like the drama and attention, God forbid we bring you down

Hey, don’t rain on my parade and kill a perfect day, wasting my time
Hey, you always find a way to bring me down when I feel fine
Hey, don’t rain on my parade and kill a perfect day, wasting my time
Hey, you always find a way to bring me down when I feel fine
We call you sunshine
We call you sunshine

 

One last chance?

Yesterday just before Quitting Time, the following appeared in my inbox. The subject is “My Love:”

[his pet name for me],

Last week, I took your saddle to Barb’s. She has a long-time friend who has horses and has been looking for a spare saddle for visitors. They will keep your saddle and use it occasionally, but it is still your saddle. If you ever want it back, all you have to do is tell Barb.

She was impressed with the saddle.

I think of you every minute of every day and hope you are doing well.

Miss you very, very much.

No lower-case signature this time.

So, let’s run this through the Narc Decoder and see what he’s really saying, shall we? A little entertainment on a slow Wednesday.

He was Up North launching his boat somewhere near Olympia, WA. I heard about it from a blurb on another blog – I didn’t go looking for the info 🙂 Seems he can manage just fine on his own – I wonder if he finally got a job?

Barb is the wife of one of the Narc’s oldest friends. The saddle was rusty and mildewed because the Narc would not allow me to keep it inside the house because all horse tack “has poop on it, no matter how well you say you clean it.” He said the same thing about the wool and bunny fluff, too. He resented anything “horsey” and bitched at me until I sold my horse. That saddle and a couple of bridles are all I had left after having horses for 20+ years.

Anyway. I’m sure Barb was “impressed” with my rusty, mildewed, Cordura Western saddle. When she tacks up her $10,000 Dressage horse with English (made in England because she only has the Best) gear, worth more than my CAR, yeah, I’m sure she thinks of my old saddle and is “impressed.” What a load! Sure, it’s probably good enough for “visitors,” but it ain’t anything special and anyone who looked at it would laugh at his absurd statement. And I’m supposed to drive up there to get it if I ever want it back? WTF?!? Whatever. If it gets used, that’s fine with me.

The more important message here is that he’s telling me he’s giving away my stuff and if I don’t come back soon it will all be gone. I told him when I left that he is free to use, give away or sell whatever I left behind. I meant it. Really. This is just another thinly veiled attempt to get me to communicate with him.

I think of you every minute of every day and hope you are doing well.

Miss you very, very much.

Yeah, right! I wonder what he thinks about? How good it felt when he made me cry? How much he enjoyed beating my dog? The joy of getting new stuff and not having to pay for it? How about two cooked meals a day? Opening the fridge and finding it stocked with all of his favorite foods? Does his miss having his laundry done, the house cleaned and the lawn mowed without him lifting a finger? Sex on demand?

Yeah. The truth is that he is doing whatever the fuck he wants to do, likely painting me as the villain in some Tale of Woe that he spreads among his “friends” and prospective victims and I really don’t care. There’s a picture of him sitting in a boat with a woman, head down to avoid the photographers, at the annual Boat Show, so maybe he’s found someone else to mistreat? I can only hope!

I do wonder if anyone asked about me and what he said if they did. I thought some of the people liked me well enough, but I could be wrong about that, too. Some of them are Nice People and it kinda sucks that I had to give up everything to get away from him, but there ya go – the victim loses again and again just to stay sane and healthy.

 

The Narc and Garbage

Usual disclaimer here: I am not a trained therapist, I speak only of the Narc I lived with for 11.5 years, any resemblance to an abusive person in your life is really, really sad, etc. etc. etc.

The Narc has very definite views on waste and garbage, which on the surface are very Green and respectable. My views are similar, so you would think we would be on the same page about this one thing, right? Nope, but you knew that if you’ve been reading here for awhile.

So, basically, we both believe in recycling and re-using whenever possible and throwing as little “away*” as we can. The Narc refuses to pay for garbage service, preferring instead to have three plastic trash cans that he hauls to the dump twice a year in his truck, along with whatever other big stuff needs to be hauled off. He insisted that the load must weigh 400 pounds because there’s a flat fee for up to 400 pounds and he is a tightwad.

On the surface, this all sounds sane and reasonable, right?

When I moved to the Coast into his house four+ years ago, the cans were almost full of his building scrap and whatever else he couldn’t compost or burn. Of course there was packing material that couldn’t be recycled** and assorted odds and ends that moved but should have been tossed and the cans filled all the way up and it was time for a Dump Run.

You would have thought I’d committed some awful crime the way he carried on. First, he insisted that I be the one to load the truck (this would become a theme that ran throughout future Dump Runs and caused many, many arguments) to show that I was responsible. He gave me a long lecture throughout the loading process about how it should be done and how I’d only been there a month and here we were already going to the dump and how it was going to cost him a fortune in dump fees and how irresponsible I was for having so very much to throw away, blah, blah, blah. It was torture.

Once at the transfer station, we weighed and The Rules for Dumping became the topic for the next half hour along with a continuous litany of my sins against the planet with “my” garbage, and on and on.

When we drove up to the window to pay and the trash weighed less than 300 pounds, I got a lecture about “forcing” him to make a trip with so little trash, we were wasting money, blah, blah, blah. I offered to buy another can (he had a freakin’ HUGE flat-bed truck – it could have held a dozen or more garbage cans!) so we would have more weight next time and that earned me a lecture on the Evils of Plastic. All I could do is suck it up and keep my mouth shut until the next Dump Run where it would start all over again. Lather, rinse, repeat.

You may wonder why I remember this event so clearly. I wonder, too. It all came back to me in a rush yesterday as I was cutting veggies and tossing egg shells into the garbage can and I was mad all over again about his Rules about waste of all kinds. I wrote about just one incident in the post called I hate curry.

“Wasting” food was a cardinal sin as far as the Narc was concerned and a constant source of anguish for me. Every vegetable peel, every spoiled whatever earned me a lecture.

He would make a big production of “cleaning out the fridge” in order to lecture me. I had to sit and watch while he took the items out one by one, demanding to know how long it had been in there, forcing me to tell him what it had been intended for, how much it cost, and on and on. I started throwing things out that looked like they were thinking about going bad whenever he was gone for an hour or two, stashing the bags in my car for disposal at work so I didn’t have to listen to him chastise me. Sick, I know, but what could I do?

The whole Garbage issue is still with me today, even though I have access to trash cans that are paid out of my space rent. It’s not all bad – I try to buy as little packaging as possible, recycle as much as I can, and not throw food away (no compost pile here) but every time I make a decision about it, I think of the Narc and his Rules, which makes me angry all over again.

* There is no Away – it all goes into a landfill where it never really breaks down, but rots and poisons the environment for all time. I won’t get started on that rant because I have not exactly been as “green” as I would like to be the last few months.

** Recycling was another hot button for a couple of reasons:

He “once had a friend” who visited a recycling facility some time back in the ’70’s who said if any recycling containers came in that looked like they had garbage in them, everything in those containers was tossed in the garbage (not recycled at all) and consequently the Narc didn’t really believe that anything was truly recycled, and anyway, there has to be a market for the recycling, and did I really know where the “recycled” materials were going?

The recycling had to be delivered to the transfer station because the local garbage company would not pick up recycling if you didn’t pay for garbage service, even if you only filled their can once a month. Same price, no matter how much garbage you actually produced and the Narc was not about to pay for garbage service. Also, he drove right by the transfer station every time he visited his boat. Right.by.the.place. Not even one block out of his way, but directly off the highway he had to drive to run an errand that he routinely ran. Asshole.

 

Guilty Pleasures

Yesterday’s Plinky Prompt:

Tell us about a guilty pleasure that you hate to love.

I try not to feel guilty about anything these days, but there are some things that I don’t talk about and they all revolve around entertainment. The Narc hated TV, depriving me of Knitting Time with his antics and now I may be going a bit overboard with my quest to get caught up with my favorite shows. And my knitting.

My Number One Guilty TV Pleasure is Duck Dynasty –

Make no mistake, I am not a redneck. Much. I don’t even know where I first caught a glimpse of these bearded dudes or what led to watching and becoming hooked, but there you have it. What appeals to me the most is that everyone is fully dressed for each episode and they treat each other with love and respect. Sure, there are practical jokes and teasing, but you always know that they truly love each other. And you never see boobs to distract from a poor story line like some other “reality” shows.

The Robertsons seem like a pretty well-adjusted family living the American Dream – patriarch Phil invented a duck call that went global, passed the little enterprise on to his sons who have grown the business into an empire. But they are still Real People; there are no divas (at least not where the film crew lets us see 🙂 ) or ostentatious demonstrations of wealth, no cursing or nasty behavior, they just seem like they could be your eccentric neighbors. Who like to blow up shit. And fish and hunt a lot. Yeah. I know these guys.

Next up is Dexter who I discovered through Netflix because I am too cheap to pay for ShowTime –Who doesn’t love a show about a serial killer masquerading as a blood spatter analyst? Clear back at Season One I was fascinated with the character who admits in Episode One that he doesn’t have emotions like normal people and has to watch others to gauge what his reaction should be to “normal”situations. He compares himself to an actor who is surviving by flying under the radar with his job at the Miami PD while fulfilling the needs of his Dark Passenger.

At the beginning of the series, I felt like I was emotionally dead, hearing the Narc tell me every day that my emotions were not normal, that my anger and “hysteria” were unfounded and that I needed to get counseling to “deal with my issues.” I believed that the problems with our relationship were mine, that he was the sane one, but as time went on and my Inner Voice started shouting that all was not well in Narcland, I began to see the Narc as the person who was faking his emotions. His affect was so similar to Dexter’s that I found myself wondering just what he was capable of. It was scary how cold and calculating the Narc was when I could see behind his mask.

Season 8 (the final season) is about to start, but I’m still back at Season 6, so don’t post any spoilers in the comments 🙂

Next up is Breaking Bad, the story of what a desperate man can be forced to do –

The evolution of Walter White (and Jesse Pinkman) is a fascinating look at our society today and how we can justify anything to reach our goals, even if we know it’s very, very wrong.

Walt, a high school chemistry teacher, is diagnosed with cancer in the first episode. Knowing that he has only months to live and no savings, he sets out to make some money fast to provide for his wife, son, and unborn daughter. He chooses a path that no one in their right mind would choose (cooking meth) but he’s desperate. One thing leads to another and he evolves into a man willing to kill to protect his family and his secrets.

Bryan Cranston is amazing in this role. His expressions tell so much more than the story. You find yourself liking this guy, even after he’s just shot someone. You can see how a desperate situation can go sideways and wonder if you would be able to do the same if the end cause was noble.

Jesse Pinkman, on the other hand, evolves from a low-level street thug into a man with a heart and Aaron Paul plays the part to perfection. You just want to feel sorry for Jesse, take him home and make him eat freshly baked cookies. Then you remember that he killed Gale. Whatevs.

This is all rather dark, eh? I also like dark fiction, most recently J.A. Konrath (aka Jack Kilborn) and his Jack Daniels series and horror novels. Dude is seriously twisted to be able to write such dark shit. I can’t stop reading. I wonder what that says about me?

That about wraps it up. If you don’t count Tequila, Pepsi or chocolate, smoking is my only vice. I don’t count my love of wool in all its forms, fabric, fiddles or sewing machines among the Guilty Pleasures because there’s no reason to feel guilty about things that make you happy and don’t harm anyone else. Sabu might argue that if there was less Stuff taking up space there would be more room to play ball inside, but she’s not getting a vote today 🙂

 

New Kitty?

This little cutie showed up at Harley’s door at 1:30 AM the other morning, crying to be let inside. Being his Mother’s son, he went out and bought food and supplies and fell in love with her. Unfortunately his apartment complex does not allow pets and she has to go.

Enter Mom. This was the exchange on Facebook:

H, in reply to another commenter: and no my apartments do not allow pets. I am going to talk to the apartment manager and see if I can keep her until I find a good home. But she loves me so much it’s hard to give her away.

Me: Ya know, your Mom is currently cat-less…What’s the kitty’s name?

H: We call her “Revy”. It’s a name from a show Brittin [his Best Buddy] and I like. She’s really sweet you want her?

Me: You named her after the anime character? The one who “is a merciless and sadistic killer without a conscience who will kill anyone at the slightest provocation, even unarmed civilians?” And you say she’s “sweet?” Are you sure?

B: ^Exactly. That little kitty is a merciless and sadistic destroyer of music recording without a conscience who will jump on any keyboard at the slightest provocation, even unarmed civilians. [They had been making music until the kitty make them stop with her antics]

H: Lmfao. My mother has seen Black Lagoon. Holy fuck my life just got turned upside down. Everything I thought I knew about my mother has been irredeemably flushed down the shitter.

H: But in hindsight, the character “Revy” is actually very moral. My cat fucks everything up for her own amusement. And I kinda like that. Its funny. I cant get mad at her.
Anyhow, I quite like the name Revy. This cat is so much like Din. She will sit on my pc monitor and stare at me while I am trying to watch a movie. Or jump onto my keyboard when I am really into a song I am playing. So cute.

Me: Hey! Your Mom is cool, Jack! (a hundred bucks says he won’t recognize that reference 😉 )

It amazes me that he would think I watch anime, and I confess that I’m disturbed it didn’t occur to him that I would just Google and find the meaning of “Revy.” Does he think I’m stupid or just too old to know how to find information online?

Srsly? Am I That Old? I know I’m out of touch, but really?

The burning question: is this my new cat? I’ve been waiting for over two years for another cat to fall into my life, and maybe little Revy is The One?

 

For Your Entertainment

How many of you can relate to this one?

“For Your Entertainment”

So hot
Out the box
Can you pick up the pace?
Turn it up,
Heat it up
I need to be entertained
Push the limit
Are you with it?
Baby, don’t be afraid
I’m a hurt ‘ya real good, baby

Let’s go
It’s my show
Baby, do what I say
Don’t trip off the glitz
That I’m gonna display
I told ya
I’m a hold ya down until you’re amazed
Give it to ya ’til you’re screaming my name

No escaping when I start
Once I’m in I own your heart
There’s no way you’ll ring the alarm
So hold on until it’s over

Oh, do you know what you got into?
Can you handle what I’m ’bout to do?
‘Cause it’s about to get rough for you
I’m here for your entertainment

Oh, I bet you thought that I was soft and sweet
‘Ya thought an angel swept you off ya feet
But I’m about to turn up the heat
I’m here for your entertainment

It’s alright
You’ll be fine
Baby, I’m in control
Take the pain
Take the pleasure
I’m the master of both
Close your eyes
Not your mind
Let me into your soul
I’m a work it ’til you’re totally blown

No escaping when I start
Once I’m in I own your heart
There’s no way you’ll ring the alarm
So hold on until it’s over

Oh, do you know what you got into?
Can you handle what I’m ’bout to do?
‘Cause it’s about to get rough for you
I’m here for your entertainment

Oh, I bet you thought that I was soft and sweet
‘Ya thought an angel swept ya off your feet
Well I’m about to turn up the heat
I’m here for your entertainment

Oh oh…
Oh oh…
Entertainment…
Oh oh… Oh entertainment…
I’m here for your entertainment…

Oooohhh…
Do you like what you see?
Wooooaaaahhhh…
Let me entertain ‘ya till you screeaaam

Oh, do you know what you got into?
Can you handle what I’m ’bout to do?
‘Cause it’s about to get rough for you
I’m here for your entertainment

Oh, I bet you thought that I was soft and sweet (bet ya thought)
‘Ya thought an angel swept ya off your feet
Well I’m about to turn up the heat (turn up the heat)
I’m here for your entertainment

 

 

The Narc and walking the dog

Disclaimer: I am not speaking of all Narcissists, only the one I lived with for 11.5 years. Any resemblance to an abusive person in your life is pure coincidence and I mean no offense. I have no scientific credentials, only my own powers of observation and memory. This is not intended to be a diagnosis, only a conversation piece and a way to let my readers know that they are not alone.

Our subject for today comes from Lee Woofenden:

The thing is, for people whose lives revolve around themselves, there is no objective standard of right and wrong. “Right” is whatever they think is right at the moment, and “wrong” is whatever you think and whatever you want to do. Even if two seconds earlier they would have thought something is fine, like walking the dog now instead of later, as soon as you mention it, it will be instantly wrong–and they will instantly have a million reasons *why* it is wrong. The only “standard” of right and wrong with people who are wrapped up in themselves is: “I’m right. You’re wrong.”

Speaking of dogs and picking a subject:

Walking the dog.

Let’s address the first part of Lee’s comment before getting to the subject at hand. Lee makes a very good observation: Narcissists (and their brethren Psychopaths and Sociopaths) really do believe that they are the center of the Universe. I don’t think they have any concept of other living beings as anything but tools or toys that will be discarded when broken or no longer useful. There is a vital part of them missing. Once you are able to accept that fact, the game changes and that’s where things get interesting.

So. Walking the dog. Dog Discipline. Oh, yes, the Narc had plenty to say about dogs. First, let me remind you that the Narc is disabled. He can’t walk long distances, it’s just impossible. Oh, he can build boats and ride 100 miles on a bicycle, but he is not able to just go out and walk a dog that needs a lot of exercise. Fine. That duty fell to me and it was a relief to be able to head out the door and get some peace with the dogs away from his watchful gaze.

Neither dog was able to be out in the yard unsupervised. Sabu had a cable run behind the house, but Old Dog had to be taken out and closely supervised. Building a fence was out of the question because the Narc “hated the idea of fences.” Tying a dog up on a rope was acceptable, but a fence was not. Whatever.

Because of his disabilities, the Narc can’t hop out of bed and take the dogs out. He can’t get up in the night if a dog (or cat) decides to puke on the floor. He can’t get up if the cat brings in a mouse or squirrel. Those duties fell to me and if I didn’t get up quick enough a lecture would follow the clean-up and I could forget about sleeping the rest of the night. But I digress.

I took the dogs out first thing in the morning before doing anything else. I brought them back in and fed them and then took them out again after taking a shower. The morning dog chores generally didn’t provoke comments unless one of the dogs looked like she had gained half a pound – then the lecture would start about maintaining a healthy weight and how if I can’t feed them the proper measured amount of food he would take over and ration the food out until he was happy with their weight and by the way aren’t I looking a bit heavier these days…and so on.

During the day I took the dogs out several times, but was instructed to stay in the back part of the yard so the neighbors wouldn’t stop to chat and “waste [my] time.”He could not take time out from his projects to do anything for or with the dogs.

The last walk of the night was between 10:00 and 10:30 PM. He insisted that it be late enough that no neighbors were out to incite Sabu to bark, no matter how tired I was. On a couple of occasions he volunteered to walk them; he then complained about how hard it was for him, how the dogs don’t mind and I’ve “let discipline go by the board” and it’s “obvious that [he] needs to step back in and set things straight again.”

If Sabu barked at a dog going by he would beat her. Old Dog never barked, so she was spared that particular torture. If Sabu barked in the house, he beat her. If Sabu growled at him because he was standing over her being threatening, he beat her. He ruled the dogs with an iron fist between bouts of affection. If he was mad at me, he beat my dog. On many occasions he provoked her into Bad Behavior so he could beat her. Thankfully Sabu is a strong, young dog and he never seriously injured her. I hate him for what he did and I expect I always will.

You see, he believed that he had to be Top Dog; leader of the pack; that the dogs wouldn’t respect him if he wasn’t brutal when he “had to be.” It was clear that he was talking about more than the dogs and I got his message loud and clear. When he beat the dog, he always lectured me about how she “made [him] do it.” How if she would just “show some respect” he could love on her like she wanted him to. And on and on. He was daring me to step over the line in his mind that would make it necessary to beat me, too, and we both knew it. Oh, sure, he’ll go to his grave denying that last sentence, but we both know that it’s true.

The dogs were my responsibility if we went anywhere. I packed their food, water, bowls, etc. and made sure they had leashes, collars, stake-out stuff, toys, bones, blankets whatever. I was responsible for them every minute of the trip, walking, feeding, cleaning up after them, keeping them quiet so no one would be “offended at our wild dogs,” everything. I think he liked the notion of the three of us staying “over there” so as not to offend but coming when he called us over to show us off.

No matter what I did in relation to the dogs, he had something to say about it, yes, contradicting himself at every turn. I never did anything as well as he would have done it, but he would never do it himself, preferring to ridicule and berate me for doing it “wrong,” whatever his definition of “wrong” was at the moment.

God he’s a dick!

Suffice to say that Sabu and I are much happier now (Old Dog having crossed the Rainbow Bridge before I moved out) that we have organically found our own routine and redefined what “discipline” means. My rules (if you can call them that) are much looser than the Narc’s ever were, but I think Sabu is a happier and more well behaved dog because I let her think and reason and most of the time she makes the right decision. Punishment is never beating and I try to reward and distract whenever I can. She still has a couple of strange behaviors that we’re struggling to overcome and I have faith that in time she will be a Good Dog all the time instead of just most of the time 🙂

 

How does that happen?

Thank you all for your happy weekend wishes. It went very well.

Sabu and I arrived at the dog park in Newport about 3:00 PM. The skies were overcast and the mist was rolling in off the Pacific –

That ain’t fog, that’s salty mist blowing across the trees.

Quite refreshing after the heat of the Valley. For about ten minutes. Then it’s just fucking cold.

August in Newport, Oregon. Nary a tomato in sight!

No dogs were out and about so Sabu had to fetch the squeaky ball all by herself.

Friday night was spent at Roxy’s cottage where we had almond chocolate torte and vanilla ice cream for breakfast on Saturday. I know! Oh, woe is me 🙂

Saturday we met up with Awana and Rebecca. The car was stuffed full and it was with immense relief that I handed off the old spinning wheel and accessories to Rebecca; she’ll be using the wheel to learn on. As an added bonus, it won’t have to be stored in Towanda’s limited space. Win-win!

We couldn’t replace Awana’s sink because the RV shop is closed until later this week, but that was fine because we had fleece to sort. That’s right, once again word got out that I was making a visit and people came out of the woodwork to give me stuff! When I drove away on Sunday the car was packed to the gunnels. How does that happen? And why do I stop at other stores on the way to get even more stuff?

I have lost my mind, obviously. Granted, the fleece and fabric is already earmarked for projects that will later be sold, but still. Sigh.

In order to get The Curtain Project underway, I needed to purchase some velcro and fusible fleece. Simple, right? I stopped at Jo-Ann’s Fabrics with those two items in mind and came out again with fantastic, pretty storage boxes and two yards of muslin. I did get the fleece and velcro, and the boxes were 70% off, so it wasn’t a totally insane stop. Sabu was not happy about being so crowded, but it wasn’t for long and we made it home safe and sane. Debatable, obviously.

Anyway. We’re back, supplies have been laid in and the Sewing Marathon will commence this afternoon.

 

Off for the weekend

 

Bored. Dog is bored. Dog is pitiful. Pitiful and bored.

Thank goodness it’s Friday! Poor Sabu can’t handle another day in the office where the men never have cookies to pass out and no one ever takes her for a ride in one of the Big Trucks. She’s bored out of her mind.

We’re about to be off for another weekend at the Coast. It’s been a busy week, but not for the dog and she has let me know it every three minutes or so. Sigh.

Got a ball, a big field to run in and enough energy to run four dogs into the ground! Where are my playmates?

Hopefully some of her Coast playmates will be at the dog park this afternoon. Maybe the beach will be deserted and she can run off leash (rain is in the forecast) for awhile between errands.

Have a great weekend, everyone!

 

He’s still at it…

The Narc is still trying to woo me via email. I changed my phone number and expect to be getting increasingly distressed notes in the near future until I can shut down the old email address. I assure you that I’m not dwelling on this crap, just posting it here for amusement and educational purposes 🙂

Today’s subject line is “Communication:”

Ok, I understand you want nothing more to do with me. To sad for words.

The garden is beautiful, your hard work has paid off. As you suggested, the front row is filled in with wild flowers (the green house remains fallow). There are two perennial plants that look like Queen Anne’s Lace – they are different but similar.  You explained what they were once.

Your blueberries are big and blue. The comfrey is huge. The mint is the bee’s favorite. Sitting on the porch and watching them is an afternoon delight. Pookie likes that part best.

Killer has moved in – at least two nights, I have seen him in the dark front room, though he runs away like lightning. He’s in the yard a lot since the dogs are gone. Pookie is delighted and scared at the same time.

Are you sure you don’t want your saddle? It seems so much a part of you.

Much love, my lovely woman.

your man, until I die,

[his first name, all lower case]

Sigh. Really? Let’s take it one thing at a time.

Ok, I understand you want nothing more to do with me. To [sic] sad for words.

“You’ve made it clear you won’t respond, but I will keep trying because I haz a sad and need some diversion from my pathetic little life and you’ve always been good for that. Maybe I can make you cry in sympathy…”

The garden is beautiful, your hard work has paid off. As you suggested, the front row is filled in with wild flowers (the green house remains fallow). There are two perennial plants that look like Queen Anne’s Lace – they are different but similar.  You explained what they were once.

“Ignoring all those hours I harangued you about working in the garden, directed your every move, demanded to choose every plant and where to put it and then chastised you for doing it all wrong, I want you to remember all the hours you put in making the garden plot the envy of the neighborhood and regret that you no longer have that kind of space to plant in now. The greenhouse that I built, bitched about and harassed you about paying me back for (including my “sweat equity”) is now empty because you are no longer taking responsibility for it – here’s a little guilt for you. I forgot, yet again, to pull all the carrots and now they are in bloom, again, making me crazy because they are Worthless Weeds and you are not here to clean up this mess. I have to do everything myself and it sucks.”

Your blueberries are big and blue. The comfrey is huge. The mint is the bee’s favorite. Sitting on the porch and watching them is an afternoon delight. Pookie likes that part best.

“The garden you worked so hard on is in full flower and don’t you regret leaving yet? You’re missing out on both weeks of Summer here – even Pookie the cat is enjoying the warmth and dry weather. Aren’t you sorry yet?”

He hated the comfrey and refused to let me brew comfrey tea for fertilizer. He didn’t want me using rabbit poo, either. It’s oregano, not mint. Doesn’t look or smell remotely like mint. And he claims to be a Master Gardener!

Killer has moved in – at least two nights, I have seen him in the dark front room, though he runs away like lightning. He’s in the yard a lot since the dogs are gone. Pookie is delighted and scared at the same time.

“The neighbor’s cat has finally moved into the house at night now that the dog is no longer here and I’m getting pretty pissed being woken up in the middle of the night, thinking there’s an intruder. Pookie is not amused and it’s all your fault for torturing that poor cat yet again. If he pisses in the house I’ll really be mad!”

Are you sure you don’t want your saddle? It seems so much a part of you.

“Even though I made you give up horses and keep your saddle outside in the shed where it got moldy and rusted, I want you to come pick it up so I can beg you to come back. I can make you forget who you were when you met me, just like I did before, and I’ll start by reminding you that you were once a cowgirl. You always liked that about yourself…”

Much love, my lovely woman.your man, until I die,[his first name, all lower case]

This is just complete bullshit. He couldn’t show his love when I was there in front of him begging for it, but now his notes overflow with this shit. He could go on and on for HOURS about how inferior I was, how it would take eight of me to keep him entertained, how ignorant and ugly I was, my hair, clothes, everything just so wrong. Does he think I’ve forgotten the reason I left? Is he high? Is it wrong to think, “yeah, I’ll outlive you, asshole!” ?

Oh, look! A spinning wheel –

It was a fantastic weekend, really! Yeah, I know the formatting is all screwed up, but it’s getting late and I have spinning to do…