And the angels sang

All has not been peaceful at night here in the land of Towanda. The weather has been crazy cold and yours truly is cheap Scotch frugal enough to feel the need to conserve resources whenever possible. This means the furnace gets turned down to 60* at night, which frankly only means nothing is frozen in the trailer in the morning, not that the air is actually 60*. The damned thing still wakes me up coming on way too often. (Yes, I also use oil-filled electric space heaters.)

I’d been waking up with aching teeth, which I was terrified meant I could put off a mountain of dental work no longer, but upon reflection I decided it could be because I was sleeping cold enough to grind my teeth all night but not cold enough to wake up fully, and I piled on every blanket in the place in an effort to find some lasting warmth. Let me tell you, 50 pounds of quilts + 50 pounds of dog on top of a person does not a good night’s sleep make. Add a wool hat and a kitten who insists that 0200 is the perfect time to play King of the Mountain, and I was waking up exhausted and miserable.

I stopped at a nearby Bed Bath & Beyond on Sunday and purchased $100 worth of fancy pillows to find some relief. Monday morning found me waking with no kink in my neck for the first time in weeks. At last – a step in the right direction! I was still being crushed and sleeping in a wool hat, though.

And then I saw Vagina’s post yesterday, an ode to her dead heated blanket. A lightbulb went on!

WTF didn’t I think of that? Silly question, really – the narc didn’t believe in leaving the heat on at night and he would never have considered “wasting” all that electricity with a heated blanket just so we could sleep, fer cryin’ out loud. Whatever his other faults, the man slept like a blast furnace and I was never cold. He was a big fan of “acclimating” which is narc-speak for gritting one’s teeth and freezing all Winter because “the  natives from this area didn’t even have clothes – they wore bear grease and woven reeds – and we are weak white people who need to toughen up” and other such nonsense.

I found my new best friend at the local Bi-Mart. $45 is a lot to spend on a thin blanket, but I was desperate. I have to admit the thought ran through my head that if I could just tough it out long enough to get the next quilt project finished up I would save all that money, but the desire for a full night’s sleep won out and I ponied up the cash.

Back at the Manse, I put off going to bed as long as I could in the hope that fatigue would send me over the edge into sleep more easily. I made up the bed, putting the heated blanket between two thin quilts, one to protect me, one to keep the heat in, provided the thing even worked right. I’ll admit I was skeptical, even after Vagina’s glowing endorsement of heated blankets. It all sounded too good to be true and I was prepared to be disappointed.

I optimistically set the heat dial at ‘4’ (it ranges from 1 to 10) and crawled into bed, Sons of Anarchy on the tube, waiting for the magic to start.

OMG. Magic doesn’t begin to describe it. Slowly, slowly, the heat began to build until it settled at the Perfect Temperature, just like it knew what I needed. Not too hot, but toasty warm from shoulders to (amazing!) toes. The warmth enveloped me, pulling my eyes closed as surely as if it was a drug. Dog and cat hopped onto the bed and for once did not settle against my legs, pushing me off the side of the bed, letting in cold air with every movement – they could feel the magic, too.

I fell asleep like I’d had two Margaritas and mind-blowing sex. I fell like a rock into a soothing warm abyss.

I woke in the middle of the night, not sure what was wrong. I lay there for a minute, assessing the situation. I realized the unthinkable had happened – my feet were too warm! I actually had to take my wool socks off in the middle of the night! In December! It’s unheard of. I mean, my naked feet don’t feel sheets until some time in late April or early May!

The ringing of the alarm was most unwelcome this morning. I hit snooze four times. I didn’t want to leave the comforting embrace of my wonderful blanket. Duty called, however, and I unplugged him, carefully folded him and tucked him away for tonight.

The outside temp this morning was 25*F. The driver’s side door of my car was frozen shut. The window scraper has gone missing – not really a big loss as it had some broken teeth, but still. I crawled over the passenger seat to start the car and get it heating up before work. Crawled back out to walk Sabu (she looked at me like I’d lost my mind.) Still frozen after 10 minutes of blasting heat. Crawled back in and drove to work. Crawled out at work, thankful no one was in the parking lot to see. God, I hate Winter!

All I can think about is how wonderful it will be to join my lovely warm friend in bed again tonight. He totally gets me. He knows just what I need – currents of warmth all night long, wrapping me in peaceful slumber.

He needs a name – nothing too fancy as he’s 100% polyester, after all, and a creamy-beige color. Suggestions?

 

But is it art?

Clicky-clicky. You know you want to…

Lookie there – a picture! Don’t say I never give you anything.

So, yeah, I’ve been away for awhile. I find myself pissed off pretty much constantly about the state of the world today. I really should quit perusing the ‘net and catching glimpses of the news here and there. And I especially should not be looking at posts over on A Voice For Men. Whew! Shit like that is exactly why women think they need anti-rape clothing like the subject of today’s re-blog. I want to reply to some of their bullshit, but I have bigger fish to fry this month.

NaNoWriMo officially starts on Friday and I am as ready as I ever am, which is to say that the book is outlined in my head (anger helps keep the story in order and my energy level up) and I’m ready to start entering stuff into the trial copy of Scrivener I downloaded onto a thumb drive (for portability, dontcha know. What? You thought I wasn’t gonna write at work? Are you new here?) This particular trial is good through the beginning of December (a NaNo special) if you want to give it a try even if you’re not NaNoing this year. Yes, it is a word, I just said so.

Anyway. Getting off track. My novel is titled “The Lies He Told” and will be a “fictionalized autobiography” of my relationship with the narc, and possibly some lead-in crap about ex#1 and ex#2 depending on word count. There’s so much more than what I’ve shared here and I hope to be able to show a clear progression through the phases of a relationship with a narc, both to educate others and to finally lay my own demons to rest.

I say “fictionalized” because I’ll be writing in the third person to keep the story moving forward and to avoid having to type shift-i all the time. No one needs to see that for 50,000 words. Unless the writer is famous or really, really interesting, and I am neither. “Fictionalized” also because conversations will be recounted to the best of my memory (unless I have recordings and can bring myself to listen to them again) and to avoid any potential lawsuits.

Here’s the cover –

Cool, yes? I know, getting the cart before the horse, but that’s how I roll. I’ll tell y’all the story of the cover and the new logos in development that came about after reading a thread on Reddit another day. I gotta go plot some shit for The Boss.

Happy Monday!

 

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.

 

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.

 

Guest Posting

Daan Vandenbergh saw my post on Deliberate Donkey and asked me to write a guest post on his blog about the Power of Stuff. Go take a look and see what you think about this other side of me –

http://www.daanvandenbergh.com/guest-posts/3113/the-power-of-stuff/#comments

Discuss!

Many thanks to Daan and Melanie for giving me these wonderful opportunities to rant on the ‘net 🙂