Tuesday, April 5, 2011
Sounds of Silence
Sigh. I guess we are somewhere between the ‘silent treatment’ (my pet hate) and ‘over it’.
I’m not even sure who is what, although I do have to admit that I’m not the silent treatment type. Hell, my dad still says that I could talk under water with a mouthful of marbles! No... Silent treatment, that is the Squeeze’s bag – to be honest; I find that it screams of a distinct lack of intelligence and maturity. I suspect it means you are just too stupid to put your feelings into words; and too immature to see that sulking is a teenager trait.
So I guess that means he is ‘silent’ and I am ‘over it’.
And to be honest, I am over it. Yesterday – the fridge – I saw my life with the Squeeze stretching out in front of me. Just an endless parade of kids; all in their 30s/40s and the Harridan, demanding her pound of flesh; and the Squeeze, running for the Wusthofs’ to slice a little piece of his heart out.
I feel quite justified in arguing against handing over the fridge. In essence; he has been robbed blind – repeatedly. Has walked away from a laughable relationship with nothing financially. The only thing he got out of the marriage (by his words and said with pathetic pride) was the fridge. Now, he turns around a gives it back to her.
So she has the house. Everything in it. Wants maintenance but that shouldn’t interfere with the endless bills. Boy 3 needs school shoes. Boy 3 needs new soccer boots. Boy 3 needs saxophone fixed. Lessons. And on and on and on it goes. And it will never be enough.
So where are we at? Well I had a brief 3 line email while he was home from work babysitting the 13 yo - it basically said “what is happening, because if things are off with us, I have to find accommodation”.
Yes folks. That is what I am. Accommodation.
It doesn’t matter that I have a right to be angry – because hey! Moron! I hardly want to acquire some leech moving in with me – so that he can afford to offer a sacrifice daily at the feet of the ‘Lesbian She Devil!’
I kind of just wanted a relationship. That’s all. Someone who loved me and could actually tell me they loved me; and maybe once – just every so often; put me first.
And my lengthy email sent this morning at 10am, stating that we couldn’t really decide or discuss anything until we had established one thing – did he still love his wife… Not ‘could he live with her’,’ would she want him back’,’ is the sky falling’ – but ‘do you still love your wife..?’ Because in the answer to that; is the answer to if there is, or has ever been an ‘us’.’
Did I get a reply I hear you ask? No. I did not. Which I suppose in realtiy, is its own reply.
I’m just glad I found out now, prior to me giving up my fridge…
Posted by Mistress at 9:17 PM