Under the Lilies

I found it amusing to receive an email from a friend of mine yesterday asking me if I was still alive and if I was, where the hell was the blog?  I replied to say that I was most certainly still alive, but life has been hectic.  An answer fired back with “I was beginning to think you were in the back yard buried under the lilies…”  This made me laugh as I replied with “if anyone is going to end up under the lilies, we both know it won’t be me.”  She agreed.

So aside from life, work, kids and the normal hectic curveballs we usually get thrown, I’ve had an issue with my internet connection (now fixed) and an even worse issue with my laptop.

I’m a relatively careful person, so upon purchase I made sure to pay the extra and grab the extended warranty.  This proved to be fortunate since the hard drive was faulty and died about three seconds after the one year warranty ran out.  I was amazed that it ever so politely informed me “the hard drive is faulty; you should back up and contact the supplier”.  Ha!  Like everything I have isn’t backed up; then backed up again.  Organisation is my middle name! (Actually, it’s Jane, but you get my drift.)

So I called the number on the extended warranty pamphlet and was informed that I would receive a call from a company regarding its repair.

And that is where the drama began.  Wait one day to get a reply to my original call.  Then another day passes while I receive a post order print out, wrap the laptop, bubble wrap and pack it in a box.  I read and reread the documentation and suspicious of the world, wonder if there will be an issue that isn’t covered by the warranty – such as ill treatment.  Good luck with that.  I love my laptop and it looks like new.

A few days go by and I call to find out what is happening only to discover that the hard drive was indeed faulty and due to the size of it, they were awaiting one to come in.  Another couple of days go by and I get a call; all fixed – on its way back to me. 

Ahh my true love is coming home!

There is something I don’t quite understand about companies or the post office.  I have a post office box but things like computers or phones can’t be sent there; they have to go to your home address.  I’m at work so what do they do..?  Take it to the post office – and not my usual one either which throws more running around into the mix.

I don’t care about the run around; I rush into the house, rip the box open and there it is… Glistening and red, like a beam from the heavens is shining on it.  I open the lid reverently, press start and I see the windows firefly things whizz to life for about three seconds before all goes black.

I do it again.  Same thing.  Close the lid and march to the phone to call the company.

Of course they are not in by the time I’ve come home from work, traipsed off to two different post offices and made it home to test; so I don’t get a call back until the morning.  Now a week has passed.

I go to work with the laptop, boxed up, in the boot of my car, figuring I’ll have to send it back and get a call from some guy who gives me the instructions to press F8 while starting it, then select “last known configuration that worked” (which amazingly worked); then shut down and do it again.

The doing it again part didn’t go so well, it just went to a black screen again.

I call back, tell another guy what the problem was, what I was instructed to do and what the result was; where upon he tells me to send it back.  Great, another week without my damned laptop.

Yesterday I get a call from some receptionist to say that my computer is ready to be sent back to me.  There was a memory card in it and the boot sequence was going to that so it was my problem, not theirs and I’d have to pay the return postage.

I decided to argue the point.  I actually don’t care if the postage is $15 or $500 but I do expect a service, especially when I have paid for it.  I tell her that I am assuming it was tested prior to being sent back and that the tech should have seen that would happen and leave a note in it; if not then, then perhaps when I called and spoke to two people there, one of them should have mentioned the memory card.

Now I like to think I’m a reasonable person but this is where it all goes pear shaped.  Her tone turns cold and the rudeness level goes up as she basically tells me “too bad” at which point I remind her that I am the customer and she tells me “I don’t care what you are.”

Ooookkkaayyy.  The conversation moves along: (I’m sure you’ll get who is who)

“I can see this is going nowhere, I’d like to speak to the manager please.”

“He isn’t here.”

“Well I’d like his phone number.”

“I can’t give out his number.”

“Well… Why don’t you give him mine and ask him to call me.”

“He won’t.  He isn’t here.  He has personal issues and won’t be back this week”.

“Is there anyone else there I can speak to?”

Then I get the tech that worked on my laptop and was actually the first guy I spoke I had explained the issue to.  He proceeds to tell me he spoke with me, told me what to do and I didn’t bother to call back and say what happened.  I pointed out that my call back was answered by someone else, I explained in full and was emailed the post slip”

Then I had the same argument I’d just had with the bimbo.  I tell him that if there is a memory card in there, it’s been in there for months and that had never happened previously so why now?  He says that it was sitting in there but not pushed in and maybe while they were wrapping it in gladwrap and boxing it up; the packer had pushed it in.

Thinking that this is an admission of guilt..?  Of course not.  He says it is my fault and I have to pay the freight and then goes off and gets the cost only to come back onto the phone to say “lady, its $15 is it really worth all the arguing?”  I once again remind them that I am the customer and they are the business – so perhaps they should ask if the $15 is worth their reputation…

Where upon I get a “well I can’t help you” and I actually hear the phone moving away from him so I screech “don’t you DARE even think about hanging up on me!”  He comes back on the line, argues some more and then mentions that fine, if I want to cause such a fuss, they will pay it.

I hang up, fuming and suspecting that although it is ready to go Tuesday, it won’t be posted until Friday, meaning I don’t get it back til the week after.

Well N*tional PC Solutions; I emailed the store as soon as I got home and told them that I was instructed to do so by the bimbo who answers phones!

The List to Address

Well the Squeeze departed to take Kid 3 home this afternoon (thank God).  These weekends totally wring me out; exhaust me…   Everything is such a drama and my stress levels soar.   The sending off without clothes; the non-showering; the laziness.  The reality that she is a pig; the Squeeze is a pig (if I let it take control) and between them, them have bred the laziest bunch of piglets I have ever seen.

After we forced the kid to have a shower even though he carried on because the foot had to be inside a bag, inside another bag and sealed with medical tape (all for a minor toenail operation done 1.5 weeks ago mind you); I found the soggy bags laying on the bedroom floor with the clothes that needed the stick removal (I made the Squeeze get them and take them to the laundry because I sure as hell wasn’t touching them).  Then we had the “tinea” issue – yeah, thanks for alerting us to the fact that the kid has a fungus!  Common courtesy would suggest that maybe, she should give us a heads up to that.  But no… Not this bitch.

I’m to the other extreme of this family of sloths and I’d rather be stripped naked, covered in honey and staked to an ants nest than use anyone else’s towel; so the last time the fungus came to town, I got out of it unscathed.   The Squeeze was not so lucky, acquiring “jock itch” or some sort of fungus in the penis region.

There wasn’t a hope in hell that thing was going anywhere near me until it was totally gone; and don’t think I didn’t demand a light on inspection before I conceded!

So the laziness, the fungus, the sheer unadulterated lazy bitchiness of it all…  WTF?  For your information, I’m wearing a bright red summer dress; I’m not in a maid’s costume!  And I can’t even blame the kid because this is the fault of the parents.  I already know what Kid 2’s place is like – it’s the new ‘clean freak hell’.  Kid 1 – wouldn’t know but knew the state of his room at clean freak hell.  Now this budding little pig inflicted on society!

We were in the car for a long time today so I was doubly glad I’d pushed the shower, change of clothes thing, but sorry I’d washed his school uniform too – I should have left that for her and next time, I’ll make sure it’s secured in a plastic bag dirty and she can gag when she opens it!

So off he went down to velvet wearing land.  He had sent a text prior stating “if the tent isn’t collected today; you bought it” – but we all know it won’t be there, and I seriously doubt he will proceed with the “bought it part”; and someone in this partnership has to be the materialistic weasely one; someone has to save this idiot from himself!  

So if he arrives without it and doesn’t doc her maintenance, then we are back to the kid not coming in January when she ‘wants’ us to have him – and I will ensure it happens.  I will make sure the house is packed to rafters with other invitee’s on the same damned week – because I refuse to roll over continuously for this bitch.

In the scheme of things, that seems small by comparison since he also had the “don’t forget to discuss the non-showering; the no packing of clothes; the tent and who the hell she thinks she is in changing schools without even a discussion!!!”

Frankly, I’m tipping none of that will be done.

Washing: A Necessity; not a Luxury

The last few times Kid 3 has been here for a weekend, he has smelled.  I’m talking creepy, unwashed old man kind of smell.  It is not just him, his clothes reek of it.  It makes me physically wretch.  I have a keen sense of smell and a weak stomach.  I’m wondering if she is saving up clothes until they have this stench, prior to sending him here; but I can’t believe anyone would be that cruel to their own kid.

I’ve mentioned the smell several times to the Squeeze; and combined it with ‘the’ discussion.  Hell, this lack of hygiene thing needs to be addressed with the Harridan – not just for me, but for him.  Not to mention that smell permeates the spare room.  And it is getting worse.  Last time he was here I had to undo the car window and stick my head out like a dog going on a ride (minus my tongue hanging out) whenever we went anywhere; yes, it seriously was that overpowering.

This morning, I got up and sent the Squeeze out to cook breakfast on the bbq while I made us coffee on our new coffee machine (which I am actually becoming quite skilled at I may just add in there)  We sat down to breakfast but I only made it half way through mine before gagging and making an excuse to eat in the kitchen.  I could not physically sit in the same room as him.

I don’t get it.  I don’t understand it.  What sort of pig is this woman?  When we raised the idea of having a shower, he replied that he wasn’t able to due to his toe; hadn’t had a shower since Wednesday week ago – WTF???  10 Days!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I mentioned that I had my toe done years ago and I managed to shower after a day or so to which he replied that his had been infected which delayed things.  I of course, had to say “yeah; probably because you don’t fricking shower…”  So he slunk off back to stink out the spare room.

Okay.  There are no if’s or but’s here.  I’m not going to gag in my own home; so either the kid showers and changes clothes, or off the pair go.  He had a shower (after much arguing) and the Squeeze gave him a pair of jeans and a clean t-shirt (which I will wash and take back tomorrow) while I moved his stuff from the washing basket to the washing machine with a stick…

No undies.  No socks.  Just jeans and a t-shirt.  Dumb bitch.  I mean how hard is it to ensure the kid has packed some clothes to wear.  But not her; she sends only the reeking, vile jeans and t-shirt he changed into.  I quite literally, would have been happy to toss the whole lot in a garbage bag.

This must have a profound effect on forming any kind of friendship; bonding is out while you are gagging.  Poor kid.  Of course, I can’t guarantee she isn’t storing a pair of jeans and t-shirt in the garage and bringing them out each weekend he is with us; but I suspect not – the kid doesn’t seem to be gagging.

Aside from that, we went out to dinner with the boys and had a good time.  They had a card and he received money to go buy a kindle – so I was pleased with that.  He deserves a present.  Kid 2 is really quite the conversationalist when he gets going; and even better, I was impressed at how wrapt he was to get my old television.

The only sour note on the evening was when it was mentioned that Kid 3 was changing schools… Again.

How nice it is to be a parent and guardian; yet strangely, not even consulted on things like this.  Frankly, I would stop her – A: to prove a point;   B: because the kid has no friends now.  C:  we are not putting in for another new school uniform.

The tent, if not returned tomorrow; is hers.  He has told her that he will keep $250 of her maintenance next payment; which I will believe when I see it.  I know that he is full of empty threats; as does she.  And he would rather lie to me than wear her wrath I suspect. 

Having said that, lies have a way of coming out at inopportune moments; and if he lies to me on this, we are done.

I’m thinking about asking the kid about how often his mother washes his clothes…

Birthday Dinners

We are off out for dinner tonight catching up with all 3 of the Squeeze’s boys, and boy 2’s partner.  The Squeeze, Boy 1 and 2 all have birthdays around the same time.  The Squeeze was annoyed that he went to bed last night without working out what he had bought and who it was going to.

I’m sure they are all doing the very same thing today….   Not.  And I’m seriously going to attempt just to nod and smile tonight.  If they turn up empty handed, selfish swine’s, then I won’t say a word…

I’ve got the day off but instead of relaxing, I’m helping the girl move her stuff.  I got a text at 8am asking me to wash some towels and bedding for her so they were fine when they got to the new place.  Sheesh.  So much for a sleep in.

To make it worse, it’s hot here today.  In the 30’s and humid.  My brand new coffee machine is sitting on the bench and I’ve manage to read enough to pull it down, wash it and put it back; but don’t have the time to read the next bit and work out actually making myself a coffee or I’ll still be in my pyjamas when the moving crowd arrive!

Dawn Breaking

Dawn was not watched when it happened at my place; I didn’t wake until about nine given that my daughter and I went off to a 12.01am showing of Breaking Dawn, part one of the last of the Twilight movies.  They leave it so long between movies that I keep thinking I’ll be disappointed.  I wasn’t; it was actually pretty good. 

Of course it is so damned romantic that you can’t help but leaving the movie wondering what you did wrong as you get into bed next to a lump that doesn’t even wake up!  I’m not even hoping for the sparkly super human bit!

My daughter and I have gone to the 12.01 session on opening night each Twilight movie; it’s become tradition.  There we were last night, in Gold Class, lying back in our chairs, food and drink coming; the girl with a gold class blanket over her, stretched out like a queen.

Tomorrow is all about moving.  I’ve taken today and tomorrow off so that I can help clean out my garage and get the girl and her never ending pile of stuff, moved.  It will be good for her to have her own place, it will be good to have a garage again finally!

So tomorrow I get to lug stuff about all day and then go across to the other side of town to have dinner with the Squeeze and his heathens.  I still have a tiny piece of hope that they will turn up with a card and gift; although I’m thinking that I won’t hold my breath.  I’ve told them what happens in my house to selfish kids who couldn’t give a hoot about their parent – but in the end, it is the Squeeze that has to teach them the art of consideration – and I can’t see that happening anytime soon.

In moving the girl, I asked him if Kid 2 on his side wanted a television stand and a large television that she no longer needed as she bout a flat screen and surround sound.  Okay, it isn’t the trendiest new item; but it works and is a good brand.  Hell, I’d been using it up until last year.  When he came home, he said that the girlfriend wasn’t impressed that he had bought it over there because it was only 3 or so inches bigger than the one they were using and she wanted a flat screen.  WTF?

I don’t think he understood my “beggars can’t be choosers” line; nor my frosty “it’s quite simple… go to school, get an education and a real job and you get to buy yourself the things that you want.  Stay on the dole or just do bar work when you have to; and you probably don’t get to buy nice things”. 

In short, she fell about four rungs on my ladder of respect.

Mercy of Technology

My world, I have discovered, is at the mercy of technology.

Last night we went down to Aireys’s Inlet which according to where.is.com.au is about a 1.45 trip.  No so.  Try 2.25 hours.  It may have been a five hour round trip however, this time was well spent.  I caught up with old friends and realise how lucky I have been to have great people cross my path.

Today, it was the Squeeze’s birthday.   He woke early to me bouncing on the bed and singing “is it your birthday today…” – an old Play School song that played and birthday names rolled past.  Actually, that was only when I ran off to get my well hidden gift.  He had been sleeping and so I turned to face him; watching.  I knew he would sense it, he always does.  Suddenly one eye opens and looks at me. 

Birthdays have always been important in my family; I gather not so much in his.  Christmas and father’s/mother’s days – yeah; but a birthday is the one day of the year that is yours.

I got him a card with his name spelled out on cheer leader pom poms (how) and an electric mandolin that had taken me much searching to find the exact one I wanted which was not about features, because let’s face it, I don’t know one from the next.  It was about how it looked.  Plain and classy as opposed to in your face Memphis stuff.

This seemed like a great idea because he plays guitar and I figured one string thing is the same as the next; but it seems instead, I gave the gift of grief.  They are not the same.  I don’t play anything, (although have wanted a piano since I was about ten and still say I will get one, one day…)  Still, it felt as though he was playing the mandolin like a guitar; and it sounded wrong.  We have decided to get him lessons…

The gift of grief it may have been, but at least I remembered and celebrated the day with a card and gift and a cooked breakfast.  Kid 1 didn’t remember at all.  Kid 3 remembered late this afternoon and Kid 2 met us on the other side of town.

Back to the title of this blog…   It will be an exceedingly short, sharp blog.  My laptop that has only just clicked over one year old but is a core 7, so no slouch – has been popping up warnings to backup – the hard disk is faulty.  Stupid hard disk.

What this means for most of humanity, is a huge problem.

What that means to me, who is backed up and backed up again – and currently doing a full backup… The person that of course, spent the extra $150 and purchased extended warranty is a minor hiccup while I take it in and tell them I need the hard disk replaced!

You do have to love the way modern computers work.  They don’t just die willy nilly; they actually prepare you for the event!

Champagne Headache

Well it’s my own fault but I awoke with a headache today.  Last night I had just over a bottle of champagne; all by myself.  But hey, it was the end of the week; and not only that, it was a pretty good week.  I closed a deal at work that has taken forever; I got fed up with work and applied for 3 jobs (two I suspect were the same through different agencies). 

The Squeeze finally sent the Harridan an email to say “if I don’t get the tent back, I’ll consider you purchased it and take it from your maintenance.”  Yes, yes; that is the easy part I know and he has, up until this point at least, been full of empty threats.  Upon receipt, she will toss her head back, spikes to the wind and give a maniacal laugh at those words.

Also on that communiqué, was the reminder that according to their agreement for maintenance made in March/April, she is now responsible for the purchase of books and uniforms so to plan accordingly.  I have no doubt that she will have figured he would pony up the cash for these things.  In reality, he can’t do that.  He struggles to make it pay to pay now and I’m sure as hell not sitting home all Christmas/New Year because she hasn’t planned for it and used maintenance for that which it should be used for.  And why not?  She and the kids are flying to Perth for Christmas, so she can’t be doing it too tough.

I know that she is an art teacher, but common maths is quite obviously above her pay grade.  Last year the “fair deal” was her pay $150 for books, he pay “$800” for uniforms.  Like he paid for Kid 2 to fly to Vietnam to which she insisted her part was equal in cost.  She paid the “travel insurance”.

She finally took the kid in to have his toenail operated on; I didn’t think he would actually have the spine to castigate her for it and he did in fact finish his email with a comment regarding her making decisions and not including him in this process.  He even put a little dart in there by stating this could all have been avoided if it had of been attended to a year ago…  Power to him.

It only took 1.5 years of pain for the kid which in my book is bloody child abuse.  The funny part was that he was told after the event; and then only by the kid.  I can only imagine the fire and hell that would rain down on him if this little trick were reversed. 

Fine by me; my only proviso was that when he has a day off school, she expects the Squeeze to take a day off work; drive across town and back; to babysit (a 14.5 year old kid) and then take him back across town.  I did pause to say that I didn’t want us to have him; she could take time off and look after him.  It’s damned painful – I know, I’ve had it done.  And if here, I’d have been loading him with drugs for the pain – which she would never allow – so she could bloody well look after him.   He laughed at that and he is right.  As if there was a hope in hell that she would allow him to come here; we all know that are simpletons that are simply not capable of looking after him after his fricking minor ingrown toe op.  Dumb cow.

Will be interested to see the reply he receives to the email.  Will be more interested to see if I even get to see it or be told about it….

Madness - It's Growing

I’ve never denied on mad; in fact, I’ve always been kind of proud of it.  My profile line says “a little bit mad, not psychotic” so it’s not like I’m trying to hide it.  A little bit of madness is intriguing, at least in my mind.  It’s not like I’m burying people in the back yard under the lilies.  It’s a pleasant kind of madness.

But these days I’m beginning to wonder if my ‘little bit of madness’ is morphing into ‘full blown psychotic’. 

The Squeeze drives me utterly mad; all those things documented within the past posts while I lived in “clean land” and he lived in “clean freak hell” still exist.  But now they are in my face… All the time…

If you look to the bottom of the page you’ll see what “clean freak hell” used to look like and he sure as hell hasn’t suddenly become Mr. Clean.  So I’m doing nonstop work to keep things in check and yet also letting some things slide by. 

Then we have a never ending parade of kids who are all doing a stress dump while they a leaving stuff on every available surface of every room in the house. 

For some reason, all of these people in my life seem to think I’m God.  I can fix everything!  And I’m a woman, so I’m close to it – but I’m not Wonder Freaking Woman!

Sometimes, like now, the whole thing feels like I’m standing on the edge of a cliff, screaming my head off, and not one of the selfish swine in my life even notice.

A Day In the Country

I’m really looking forward to a day off tomorrow with a girlfriend.  I’ve taken a day off work and I’m playing chauffeur; I’m organised.  She is the opposite.  So I have sent her an itinerary that was written with military precision.   No matter what, I will get her to her lecturing gigs on time; and still allow for hours of gossip along the way including a fabulous lunch in Sorrento.

I have had hard days lately.  I’ve taken a fair bit of sick time off but still feel exhausted.  Maybe I’m just emotionally wrung out; I sure as hell feel like it.  Some days I wonder if I’m just looking for an issue in the ‘Squeeze/Me’ relationship.  Some days, I know there is an issue.

We have done it tough this weekend.  Aside from the kid and my music; and discounting the fact that the Squeeze told me he had fixed it after five hours or so; he had not.  Most of my music, what differentiates him and me, was gone.  Sure, Gaga was there; but then again, Miles Davis was also there – and that sure as hell isn’t me.  I know that there are some that think he was the king; I’m just not one of them I’m afraid.

The reality for me was that I felt like I handled it well.  I talked about it with the kid over breakfast.  I told him that the hard drive had going on fifteen years of music and that I had kicked pillows around my bedroom in utter despair at its loss.  I said straight out that there wasn’t one single momentous instant in my life that wasn’t represented with a song on that hard drive.

My problem was not the kid; because I can’t see him slinking in and dragging it off to the spare room anytime soon.  I did mention he would be buried in a shallow grave… under the lilies if he did.  My point is I didn’t have to scream or swear.  I merely had to discuss the problem over breakfast and he didn’t burst into tears.  I’m funny and excuse the self-praise, but I’m clever.  There was no point in screaming or swearing at him.  Discussion, dotted with humour works best.  And he laughed.  I blended laughter and funny with a lesson and rules.  I have no doubt he took it in and this won’t be my problem again. 

But I’m fighting a war of evolution.  These kids were reared with the Harridan who believes that kids should have everything handed to them on a platter, including paying their speeding fines or bills when they get into trouble.  And then there is the Squeeze, who just wants peace at any cost and is so damned fearful of the Harridan, he doesn’t know how to chastise so instead, remains passive as they rape and pillage all that he has.  They expect.  He gives.

My problem was not in handling the kid; it was handling the squeeze.

He has often bemoaned the fact that no matter what he did or what happened, he was never, ever, right when it came to Kid 1.  He was the step dad and let’s face it, he will die in that role.

For myself, also of a step family, I approached it differently…  After all, the person I married and lived with had taken the role of father.  He had taken the financial role of father.  I approached it as I would a real father.  Objection is discussed after the event.  You don’t allow a kid to see a chink in the united front – if you do, it is over.  You remove any power the step parent has. 

Hell; if you want to do it all yourself… If you think you are always going to be right – stay single.

My problem was that the Squeeze who refused to entertain the idea that my music was gone because Kid 3 had dragged my external hard drive into the spare room to plug in to his Mac.  It was coincidence.  It was fairies; gremlins; leprechauns. 

It was not his kid!

Then to add insult to injury, he got up half way through a movie and went out to get a bucket of detol and bicarb for the kid to soak his foot in.  My comment of ‘it hasn’t worked for the last year; maybe it will this time’ went unanswered and I left the room wondering who this person I am living with, is.

When he went to empty the bucket I said “the harridan sent you a message to soak the foot, didn’t she”.  Of course she did.  And even though it is pointless, has been an exercise if utter fruitlessness for one whole year, he did as was told.

This morning, I woke and up and realised that I will never; ever be right.  I will never, ever be supported and it will take 2.7 seconds for his children to smell the blood and play on that.  But worse, he Harridan knows that he will leap on command, even living in a new life with me, she holds his testicles.

Writing that, I figure she may as well; it’s not like they are used for much else lately.

Music Memories

Last time the kid was here, we had a discussion on music.  He was doing his usual spouting of the Harridan’s words verbatim, ie:  I want technology; but I don’t need it.  ‘Yeah.  Whatever.  Knob” is my first thought, however it’s not exactly an appropriate response.  Instead I tried the common sense tactic.

I told him that every single important moment in my life, is represented by music.  A song is so powerful; it can drag me back to a certain moment in time. 

The Cowsills – I Love The Flower Girl; I was 3 or 4, sitting in the sand outside of our caravan and annexe at Ocean Grove, playing with my bucket and spade.   I was sitting on a foam surfboard and wearing a pale blue bikini; white frill on the skirt, daisy’s on the top.  Unchained Melody – married; David Bowie – Sorrow; the first time a boyfriend cheated on me; Jessie’s Girl - my sister in full wedding garb on stage singing her heart out at her wedding.  I’m sure you are getting the picture.

Music is more important to me than movies or television; I’d have to seriously wonder if it comes higher on the ladder than books, maybe it would – which is weird considering I’m a writer.  But maybe they are too similar to compare; music represents escapism, but in some ways; so does writing.

An example of our life and music is in a picture of our lounge room (below).  And these are just the records…

Given that I have painted a picture for you, perhaps you can understand the significance of what I felt this morning, when I realized that my 1.5 terabytes of digital music, spanning fifteen years – is gone.
The kid has been dragging our external drives to the spare room to copy stuff.  After all, the moron he calls a mother did get him an uninsured iPhone; and given that technology is evil over there in velvet land; his only chance to acquire music is when he is here.

And somehow, in his copying, he has managed to remove all my music.
I have texted the Squeeze to tell him that I love that fifteen years of music more than I love him; so he better hope he can find it; but as an aside, I’m going to start putting rules in place as his kids have been raised with the idea of “open slather”.  In my world, my things are mine and you don’t touch them without asking.

Yesterday, my doctor upped my does of Valium.  This is to combat the stress and migraines.  I didn’t feel like my stress levels have escalated, but then this morning, as I felt my anger levels hit the roof, and I actually kicked the pillows on my bedroom floor in a tantrum; I realized the Squeeze, and his selfish family that think to rape and pillage anything of his; not to mention his thieving, lying wife ARE MY STRESS!

The Perils of Forcing Change

Cup Day we had family and friends gather at hour home. The sun shone; the women looked fantastic in their hats and heels; the men came wearing ties and we had huge buckets of champagne on ice. It was a day to celebrate; a day from the routine of work; a day to rejoice in the people that we love, that we are lucky enough to have in our lives. 

My sister and nieces arrived early and as is the family tradition, the first cork popped well before midday. There was much laughter and barbecue; relaxation and migration inside to watch the race that stops a nation. Betting wasn’t quite as good. No names jumped right out at me so I backed something called Fox Hunt, which basically meant I backed my brother in law, the Silver Fox to win the Melbourne cup. I promptly text my sister in the UK to tell her the Fox had better win, or her husband was toast, to which she replied that she too, had backed it.

The Fox is probably still running…

Doing no good at all in my bets, I had arranged a “sweep” that encompassed prizes of money and wine; at least I got second in that.

No pleasant day of family and friends comes without a family drama.   In this case, it was my son, having downed several large gallons (I suspect) of Chivas Regal.  He basically attacked my daughter and her boyfriend when they arrived; the day went rapidly downhill from there. I was left to deal with a daughter in tears and driving off; a boyfriend skulking down the road and an angry son with a girlfriend trying to pacify him.

He didn’t understand that we all get to choose who we are with. If we love them, we stay and we march on through the good and the bad. If we don’t love them, or if their issues are too hard to deal with, we walk away and go it alone; hoping to find our idea partner somewhere down the track. She is marching on. He is attempting to change. The key word there, is that it is “he” seeking change.

I used to date thinking I was going to be the person who would help whoever it was, see the light. They are some of my greatest dating horror stories. Instead of showing them life and love, I just ended up hurting myself. Changing someone is not possible, they must change themselves, and before that, they have to want to change.

I told my son that the road he is travelling will do no more than alienate his sister; and if she needs him, she will feel unable to call and that is the ultimate betrayal in my family.   I know that I could call my younger sister or brother at any time, day or night, and tell them there is a body in the back yard.  They would come with a shovel and a bag of lime.   Okay, that may be an exaggeration because I’ve never had a body in the back yard to test the theory; but I believe it is the case.

We long ago established that my older brother is too law abiding and a little holier than thou and my older sister would be brow beaten into lugging the body through the bush, but would squeal like a pig as soon as a torch shone in her face.

Where am I going with this?   My day ended up with me drinking copious amounts of champagne and having a great time. I did miss the bed at one point and fell flat on my arse, but hey, that’s me.  Love me or leave me.

The next day I suspected I was in trouble when the Squeeze left with a “later man…” – not exactly the most romantic goodbye; hell, not even a kiss.   Later on, he had a go at me for drinking too much, falling on my arse and basically making a fool of myself.  He often comments on my drinking and I need to point out here that he drank for many years and I’ve had a glass in my hand for the last fifteen years; certainly before we ever dated; well before we moved in together – and yet he wants to change me.

When I thought on it, I realised that if you're trying to change someone, you are indirectly telling them that you don't love them the way they are. You are in love with the person you are trying to turn them into.

And then I realised, I like me.   I don’t want to be the person he wants me to be.

Wowser versus Liver

Okay.  I freely admit that I like my wine.  Champagne, even better!  But it makes it difficult when you live with a tea tootling wowser.  He is never going to get smashed and fall on his arse.  I’m never going to be able to be snooty with him because he made an arse of himself.  But hey; to each their own.  I have my own cross to bear in the form of the Harridan, the stolen tent, the school fees, the maintenance – the list goes on.

In the scheme of things, if he has to pull me up from the floor when I’ve missed a chair wearing satin dress and hat; well too freaking bad.  Because I put up with so much more than that; and not just once a month, either!