Putting the Ho into Ho Ho Ho!

I can’t believe that the Harridan is so lacking in common sense, that she would storm the place on Boxing day and demand that the Squeeze, Kid 1 and Kid 2, all front up outside so she can tell them all point blank that ALL COMMUNICATION MUST GO VIA HER.

Yes…  How DARE we invite the Squeeze’s kids to a Boxing day dinner – without organising it via her.   My mistake; but then I didn’t realise...  I mean given that two of them don’t live at home, I just couldn't foresee an issue.  

And what did that achieve..?   I mean other than upsetting everyone – including her own children.

Yes.  What a martyr.  Everything she does is for the kids.  Everything....

Seeking Help

Today we had our usual drama. Christmas number 4 - and that psychotic witch continues to disrupt the world according to normal, rational people.

In short; and the Jewel on the crown is that Harridan is dropping kid 3 off 2.5 hours after the lunch expected time frame/invite and sending bursts of text to the Squeeze to say this is what happens when he doesn't organise via her.  So glad she had the good sense not to cross the threshold...  Although that level of sheer audacity wouldn't have surprised me.

In reply to her abuse via text, I got fed up and replied "you need help".  Short.  Sharp.  Accurate.  To the point.

She replied that she was checking in to a 'facility' come end of January.  Frankly, I don't believe it but it obviously tugged at the Moodle's heart strings who then began an argument with me that I dared to send a reply from his phone - of course I made sure she knew it was from me so I'm not sure what all the fuss was about other than the fact that I called an kettle a kettle.

But once again, I'm the bad guy.   When does this idiot grow some testicles and just tell her that her reality will no longer played to?    Longer than I have to wait I suspect...   Why does she wreck everything; why does she dictate all meetings.  Why does her let her..?

Aren't I the one who just had his whole family to lunch - served at 3 pm due to her ridiculous games of "I don't know what's going on....  We are at Rye..."   Of course we don't want to deal with her; she is a raving nut job and we don't wan't to deal with it... seriously!

I am so sick of being the bad guy...  This woman could set him on fire and I'd be berated because I raised the fire extinguisher and put it out; because she was going to stifle the flames...   I'd ruined it all.

Over it.  Fed up with it!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

The idiot I live with can live an emasculated life without any joy - but with a shit load of "do this!!! NOW!!!!!"   And I seriously won't care.  His problem.  But all "lunches/days/parties/organisation" is off from this side of the planet!

The insight of comments

I’ve been inundated with contact about my blog today.  Alright, inundated for me is a couple of email, some blog posts and a few texts – but they all amount to the same thing.  WTF is wrong with this woman?

My sister’s comments are my favourite.  It’s all death and doom – “she’s a raving psychopath!  Be careful!”  The less than humorous part of that is that she is spot on.    The Harridan likes to pretend she is a martyr, but truth tell, she’s more likely to set me on fire than to burn herself in protest over monks in some God forsaken country.

My brother’s text comments were funny.  “What the hell is with the spelling…?  What does she teach?  Work shop!” lol

But new friend Anonymous 1 and only friend Anonymous 2 had it right.  Segregate her poison from my blog… This was such an excellent idea I’m most definitely going to do that…  And:   I hope your partner will realize that by continuing to allow her to treat him this way, he or you or the kid will never be able to be happy. You can't while someone controls your life. It's not doing anyone any favors and will be the demise of your relationship. We all must fight for who we love and who love US. Not the ones that wish to destroy us.

How true; those words.  This is a kindred spirit and I don’t even know her name.

The upside is that all has been silent in Harridan land today.  Perhaps the threat to “block” her if she didn’t keep a civil tongue in her head gave her pause.  Either that or she suspects that I am the one that answered her lol

Brooding...

Okay, I haven't exactly been sitting awake all night and brooding about the Harridan, although it is 2.50 am here in Melbourne.  There would be no point.  Besides, I'm more than pleased that the Squeeze actually stood up for himself, albeit, not in the way I would have but maybe his way of quiet grace and civility is better...

Then again, quiet grace could just be over rated.

I'm having a sleepless night where work is spinning around in my head, which turns to finding a new house and how those living arrangements would look.  Then I update my Words With Friends with my sister who is sleepless in another town...  Then I sleep for what feels like 8.4 seconds before I'm awake again.  It's a vicious cycle that escalates stress as the clock tick's forward and the hours until my damned alarm goes off, diminish.

Tonight I tossed and turned a little with the visual turn my blog has taken.  The addition of text messages is most certainly ugly.  I've come from a design background and so anything that doesn't look 'just right', borders on offensive; and these huge lumps of blue and yellow text are down right ugly.  What to do... what to do...  I could ad lib as I have often done in the past, but in some ways, this visual truth of what we deal with has greater impact. As evidence, my sister has sent several emails and texts to say "she is psycho!!!  Be careful!!!!" which I found amusing.  Of course the scary part is that she is correct.

At about 2 am, I checked email and discovered a comment on my blog.  I have no idea if I have a fan base that consists of more than my family and close friends.  I do average a good 100+ hits a night which sometimes astounds me.  If I fell on this website while surfing one night, I'd probably make a snap judgement about what a whiny little bitch I am. Although I'd like to think I'd delve a little deeper before snapping off a comment.

So for reasons that I am unaware of, comments are pretty thin on the ground.  Granted, every so often I've defended myself swiftly and harshly so those people have probably never ventured back; and if they have, they sure as Hell weren't going to open their mouths.  But hey, until you walk a mile in my shoes, it's oh so easy to see the world in a different way; and that is everyone, including the Squeeze.  Until I said "imagine how you would feel if Saturday morning, I woke up to a a tirade of delusion and demands from some guy; and then actually went about doing as I was told!"  It did give him pause and he state that he probably wouldn't like that.

The blog I did tonight did garner a comment with an excellent suggestion - segregate those Harridan gems such as "YOU R A F*CKING ARSEHOLE" (sorry, I had to tone that down a tad) and "u will have him ly on yr couch for a fortnite from 28th I won't be here..." - great, thanks for the notice you stupid cow.  I mean we actually have jobs and work for a living.  What that means in the real world is that we have to apply for holidays and have them approved - and bosses, ignorant fools that they are, get narky if they only get 3 seconds notice!

This isn't even thinking of the fact that if we haven't moved, then that two weeks won't be happening here.  And without notice, finding a spot to go camping is proving difficult.  I guess he could always go with the "sure thing, I'll have him at your place.  He can stay home and lie on the sofa while I go to work and I won't have to worry about the mess - because it's already a hovel!"

Anonymous gave me an excellent suggestion - keep the texts but put them some place else.  So from here on, I'll put Harridan rants up on the Classic Harridan Communiqué page - what a fantastic idea!

Blogging no longer means typing...

Well - I just have to come out and admit it...  This bitch has ruined my blog.  Her text messages are so beyond the pale; so in you face "raving nutcase, I'm a freaking loony" that mere words just pale into insignificance.

I no longer have to think... or type.  Why would I?  How can you compete with these gems..?

This is today's rant...

And the orders just keep on coming....

What’s happening...?
Well I’m just going to go out on a limb and hazard a guess as to what's not happening.  Peace!  Again!

Yep...  It's okay to pitch an external drive at his head - but no walking to extra shops!  And hop to it... NOW!!!!!!  Hey... moron; work it out.  If he loses his job due to jumping to your commands while at work, guess who isn't getting maintenance..?

I guess there is no power in the redback haven..?  Or neither of them can turn on a computer to add one line to a CV that we created for him...  I mean seriously; has this bitch got a bone in her leg..?        AND HOP TO IT SLAVE!      NOW!!!!

And then, classic Harridan guilt...  Ummm actually we’ve taken him every weekend, written and printed the CV, encouraged him, applied online.  Out of curiosity, just what the hell have you done?

How do we stop this person?  I mean seriously...  Short of blocking her from his phone or whacking her with a shovel - how do you stop someone with this level of madness...?

Sybil...

Okay, I’ll freely admit it; I have no freaking idea how many personalities live inside the head of the Harridan.  Her text message tirades are a fragment of how it must feel to be inside her head – and it’s an ugly, lonely, place; a seesaw of rage, anger and martyrdom.

Every so often, the blinkers fall off and she gives a glimmer of insight into the real person that exists within.  I’ve always felt that her martyrdom was not born out of love for Kid 1, 2 or 3.  Instead, she is something of a narcissistic paradox.  Her suffering is not for the children; instead, it is so that she can tell the world – “Look at me… Look how I suffer…  See how I suffer for my children…”

And her madness is becoming worse with the passing of time.  Perhaps this is due to the fact that mostly, when I don’t think of her and the anchor she is to our lives – we are happy.  Happiness is not something she can conceive of.  That the Squeeze escaped her tyranny jealously seethes within.  Not because she loved him; but because he dared to leave her.  I’ve seen her text rants at him about how he left; which I’ve always found weird – given the fact that we have been friends for many years and I saw how many times she kicked him out, only to drag him back if she thought he may actually meet someone.

Yesterday, amongst her cruelness directed at the Squeeze and in fact, even her own kid; there were the odd tiny jewels of humour that I clung to.  She had called the Squeeze as he drove home, screamed abuse at him and told him she had abused the kid and thrown things at him when he got home – and it was of course, the Squeeze’s fault – because there was no “4 day” weekends worked out.  He had already told her he would arrange things with the kid and had explained to the Kid that while we live in this house, staying overnight was out on work days.  Hell, no way am I facing Mr Burns nudity in the morning again.  In fact the kid was fine with the “just not cutting it” do stuff and drop at home…  

So in utter fury at losing control of the situation, she screamed abuse and hung up on the Squeeze.  She called back multiple times and he didn’t answer – neither should he since he was in my car and the last thing I need is for him to zoom my new Mazda around a tree while arguing with the Harridan! 

Then came the diamond…. “Ring back or I’m ringing Brunhilde!”  -  And there it was.  Please God!  Why didn’t that bitch call; because unlike the Moodle, I’d have in no uncertain terms, let her know that “divorce means you stop ordering around!”  Tirade…?  She doesn’t know the meaning of the word!

Now that the thought of calling me has slithered in to her insane brain, I cling to the hope of it happening!

I’ve attached another snap shot of the text diatribe from yesterday (she is yellow, he blue) - love the bit where I am supposed to be office  works - printing CV's  And the repeated "GET HIM A JOB!" - ummm how..?  How can we do that..?

So she oscillates from morose uncooperativeness into blind fury and insults directed at the Squeeze and anyone else she can think of – even telling the Squeeze he is just like his own father which is a callous blow.  His father wasn’t much in the father department.  He was fond of breeding, obviously, but not fond of rearing.  And he loved to marry.  Marry a lot.  He just forgot to divorce in between  J

My favourite line in the whole thing is "u should ring kid and chat to him. he realy sad".
Ummm no kidding!!!!  You abused him, threw stuff at him!  You make everyone's life a living hell!

I wonder why he is really sad!!!!

Dredilocks and the fearful Moodle...

The idiot that I live with doesn't get what I mean when I tell him it’s time to ‘man up’; ‘nut up’; shut her down already.  She’s horrible!   And attempting to explain it to him is a thankless expedition into the mind of a simpleton.  He can’t understand what I mean when I say “Jesus!  Would you stop Moodling around and tell her to get stuffed like 99% of the rest of humanity would in your position! 

Non-stop orders!  Abuse!  Demands!”

Last night, while attempting to give him the ‘shut her down or I will’ discussion, I explained it in as simple terms as possible.

Hell, if I’d have had to dumb it down anymore, it would have started with “Once upon a time, there was a tiny, scared little bear named “the Moodle”.   He lived in fear of the hideous, evil velvet wearer named Dredilocks – with her red-back infested hair…”  I’m sure you get my drift.

Instead, I merely said “just say Saturday morning rolls around and I get a string of text message demands from some guy – and I’m actually stupid enough to jump to those orders – how would you feel..?”  I think he got my drift, but probably not enough to nut up.

Below, is Saturday mornings treat – before he went to cricket and copped the live version…

Yes.  This is an actual snap shot.

All bets are off…

On Sunday, November 4, the Squeeze uttered the words that made my heart sink all the way down to my Greek slippers.  I’m sure I actually saw the pom pom’s wilt.  “Sit down, we need to talk…” – which accompanied him pulling out a chair.

That was 34 days ago; or approximately 5 weeks.

Since that time, I’ve lived on a roller coaster of not knowing from one minute to the next, what the Hell was going on or where my life was going.  I’ve had stress and angst to the point of heart palpitations.  I have lived on the edge of his irritation; directed at me because I don’t want his 15 year old to move into my 2 BR apartment.  Obviously he and the Harridan have absolutely no care at all about my children or my parents or my siblings having nowhere to stay if they come to visit.  Why would they get any consideration..?

Just as they sit for the tick box discussion, where 5 of those 6 tick boxes contains my name, yet I’m not entitled to be at the table discussion on my life or my home.

Me and mine do not exist on the totem pole.  I never will.

It is about my lack of compromise – except I already compromise every single second weekend of my life and have done so now for 3+ years.  I sacrifice my sanity to this utter Harridan who is unbalanced, intruding into our lives – continuously.   In an attempt to compromise prior to this being raised, I had suggested he take one or two nights a week to go bond with the kid – in a way that didn’t impact me.  But according to the Harridan, dinner and an activity doesn’t count.

She says it doesn’t count so of course, the puppet that I live with, mimics her words at me – even though he had agreed to the idea as a workable compromise just weeks ago and was in fact, already going off to movie nights etc.

Hell, I didn’t even see her stick her hand up his arse to move his lips with the “that just doesn’t cut it…” – how good a ventriloquist is this woman?

Then I get the guilt card…  If he moves out it is because of me – because I didn’t just accept another person to be in my life - full time.   Double the laziness, washing, ironing, cleaning…  And we both know it isn’t just the kid; the escalation of the Harridan’s shotgun blasts of attack would be unbearable.

So I hunkered down; stuck to my guns.  Cajole all you want; it ain’t working!  I’m not living with a kid where I have no say or power.  I’m not having a kid live in my house 24/7 where all “decisions” will be round table affairs that I’m not allowed to attend.  That is the reality of it and all the promises in the world won’t alter it – because I know who and what these people are…  It’s that simple.

I’m the box standing off to the side while all these round pegs are sitting in their neat little holes of delusion.

Next option was that we move to a bigger house.  Sure, but then I have the same issue where my life is dictated to by a nut job…   The relationship would end and suddenly, I would have no home.  Here I am safe.  Here it is mine and if the relationship doesn’t work, he moves out the door.

Yesterday, he went off to meet the Harridan to get the “definitive answer”.  Because I’ve had it; he is moving out and getting a place with the kid; then she isn’t moving.  Then she is.  Not.  Is.  Not.  Is.  No….  If you are getting dizzy with that picture, imagine living in my head this last five weeks.

I mean enough is enough already.  Make a decision; and as he leaves the house I text “don’t come home without an absolute “in stone” decision”.

And when he comes home, we are where we were five weeks ago.  We are all going to have to sit and wait to see what the Harridan will do.  Move out.  Not.  Move out.  Not.  More arguments about why I have to suck up more time with the kid, just because she doesn’t accept the idea that dinner and a movie isn’t “kid time”.

And I can feel my emotions and feelings shrivel, because this selfish fool is hanging me out to dry.  I’ve seen it coming.  I’m prepared.  I know he is weak, but I’ve had one tiny glimmer of hope that he loves me enough to develop a spine and tell the Harridan: “This is how it is…  You have no say or opinion in our lives.  I have no care about yours or your finances or what you want.  Demand all you like but it means nothing.”

I can be downright obstinate when I feel as though I’m being pushed into a corner; and I have now reached the mulish position of “I’ve done enough damned compromising and I’m not doing any more” line in the sand.

Not doing any more and not waiting any longer for these morons to make decisions.  So I turn and say “okay, times up.  I don’t care what she is doing this week or next…   Make a decision and make it now.”  Hell, five weeks is enough time to treat someone you are supposed to love, as something worthless to you.

So I get some sighing, followed by the head back to glare at the heavens probably internally shouting at the Gods about the injustice of it all….  Then a return of RES (rat eye syndrome – where he would rather look at anything, except into my eyes) before he gets that final thrust of blame in.

“Given that he can’t live here, you leave me with no choice…”

Yes.  It is my fault; me who changed the rules of engagement.

And that was when I emotionally withdrew from this relationship.  That was the moment that all bets were off and the world changed.  Because from here on in, this is my world and I am the only one in it.  I don’t have to compromise my world at all anymore, and nor will I.   At all.

He better move quickly is all I can say, because this just became a kid free zone and I couldn’t care less what the Harridan says or does.

Groundhog’s Day

Once again, life stops while we await the Harridan.  Who knows where the gun will point in this round of Russian Roulette; hopefully we will get some answers and I'll be able to work out what the next chapter in my life will hold…

I’ve had quite a bit of discussion with the Squeeze over the last few days.  No mean feat I have to say; he tries to squeeze lengthy Harridan conversations into a couple of words. This is his way of attempting to ignore the drama but from my perspective, it is like pulling teeth.  I've also done quite a bit of rubiks cubing too I must say; thinking of the options… twisting and turning my brain until it clicks.

I’m not unsympathetic to his pain and position.  I know that if I said “sure, let’s all live together like one happy family…” this kid would be far better off.  He’d be going to school with clean hair… his uniform clean and pressed; shoes polished.  Home-made lamingtons in his lunch box!  No kooky, velvet wearing hippy weirdo poultices or whacks to the head with dead fish – he would see a real doctor and take the prescribed medication.  And just for once, get through a winter without having to drown in his own mucus!

But then my life would no longer be mine…  There would be more work for me; more expense for me; more emotional crap to deal with.

I have had children since I was twenty-one years old.  This is ‘my time’; or is supposed to be.  Even if all the planets were aligned, I don’t want to go back to raising a teenager.  That isn’t even taking into consideration that this poisonous witch would then be firmly entrenched in my life. 

Every… single.. day. 

She would never relinquish control and just let us live in peace.   She is incapable of even a modicum of objectivity.  There is no us.  There is only her.  And then a poor second… The kid - all masked within her cloak of martyrdom.  She would be relentless.  The terminator, chasing down the car and hooking her greedy claws into the boot as we raced away.  There would be no stopping her.  She absolutely would not stop...

So if in a moment of weakness I feel like saying “oh Hell, let’s give it a shot then…”  I don’t.  I can’t.  Because I know that this would be Hell for me and this would end us.

And in amongst it all is the anger.

He is angry at me because he feels that I am putting him in the position to leave… Forcing his hand; changing our relationship.  He is no Mr. Romance, but beneath his moodleness and his inability to do a reasonable facsimile of Clarke Gable ready to sweep me off my feet, he is real. 

He loves me.  I am his best friend.

As for me; I am angry at him.  Because he is changing the terms of our relationship, forcing me to walk away from the person I love… My best friend. 

And in my head, it feels as though he is eliminating any chance we have of buying a house; risking the destruction of our relationship – and all so that his kid can go to a public school with a reasonable music program…

I hope it is worth it.

But wait; there is more....

The Harridan called tonight while we were at boxing.  In fact judging by the list of missed calls I saw for a brief flicker when he tossed the phone on the table as we got in the door, I assume she called multiple times.

His first mistake was to return the call (or answer another call, I'm not sure which)...  But that is the point that begins her ranting and raving about the fact that if she breaks the lease on the Blackburn house, she'll have to pay $500.  Frankly, I think this is rather generous.  Of course history would show that she has probably only got half the story and the $500 is the breaking lease/advertising charge.  She hasn't yet worked out that she has to continue to pay rent while the agent finds another sucker to pay through the nose for a dark, ugly, box of a house.

But the general gist of her conversation is "what are you going to do about it!!!??"

Of course I'm only hearing one side of the conversation, but to hear that damned Moodle say "I don't have to worry about that yet" nearly made me bust my spleen.

Why does he ever have to worry about it?  Why does he not say what 99% of the sane population would say???  Ie:  "your problem you dumb cow!  You signed a lease.  Nothing to do with us!  You work it out!  I don't want to hear about it!"

But no.  It was "I don't have to worry about it yet..." and then my stress levels shoot through the roof again as the realisation kicks in...  Now that a week has spun by and she has changed her mind again, that will mean that the whole "if she moves, I'm getting a place with the kid" rears its ugly head again; is hanging over my head again - and once again, I'm left wondering what the hell is happening.

And suddenly I realise that this whole damned one sided life is getting less attractive by the moment.

In short; move out moron.  I no longer care.

My life in tick boxes…

I didn’t get much feedback after the meeting the Squeeze, Harridan and Kid had the other weekend to decide the fate of my life.   We had a house full of people at the time so I only received the briefest of updates.  Basically, things weren’t going to change, other than the fact that the kid wanted to spend more time with the Squeeze.

For some reason, in the world according to the Harridan, Squeeze and Kid, spending more time is an extremely precise activity without room for negation or variation.   For example, dinner and a movie do not meet the ‘spending more time’ criteria.   It is only ‘spending more time’ if he is in our home, ‘hanging’ – for the whole night.   This means 24/7 television.  Given that it is now summer I can only assume that would entail a cricket argument re the television - every single day. 

Frankly, this is my idea of Hell.

Personally, my thoughts are that the mid-week dinner followed by an activity is far better as bonding time.  There is nil bonding in our house.  The only conversation that occurs at home is the Squeeze’s repeated requests that are subsequently ignored.  Ie:  “go have a shower and get ready, we are leaving”.   I heard that same statement ten times yesterday morning.  At one point when the kid slunk into the dining room and started to unwrap the newspaper, I said “you start reading that newspaper and I’ll give you the wooden spoon!” It may have been an idle threat, but he got the picture and mooched off to the bathroom.

But then I entered the land of bliss.  Finally, I had the house to myself for the afternoon so I proceeded to do a bit of a tidy.

The day before I had run the vacuum cleaner over the house and in a pique, grabbed the armful of clothes haphazardly strewn about the floor on the Squeeze’s size of the bed and tossed them behind the door so I could vacuum.  If you are wondering why I didn’t open the wardrobe on his side and just throw them in there, that would be because there was no way I could fling them in there without them tumbling out to hit me in the face.  His wardrobe is clean freak hell and I try not to look inside when I open it.

However, now in tidy mode and feeling a tad guilty, I grabbed the mound of clothes and began sorting in to washing/folding piles.  Emptying pockets found all manner of crap that would otherwise dot clothes throughout the wash but the find of the day was a folded piece of paper where the Harridan had drawn a bunch of tick boxes with the options for the future.

Out of the 6 options the Harridan had noted in boxes, 5 of them had my name in it.  How the hell do these fools think that they can sit and draw boxes and design my life without me being part of that discussion?  Here they are, playing Russian roulette with MY LIFE!  

Sorry about the difficult to read names; I de identified!

Popping My Clogs!

The last few weeks I’ve had this bizarre heart thing.  I wake from a dead sleep feeling like I’ve just gone three minutes in the ring with Tyson; my heart is racing so fast.  Or even worse, virtually panting; trying to drag in air that seems so thick it’s almost like I’m breathing soup!

I figured I was surely going to have a heart attack.  Pop my clogs and go out with a bang.  If I think about it rationally, this is my choice of death.  I don’t want to be too old and it had better be damned fast; no painful lingering.  Still, I didn’t really intend to invoke my ‘retirement plan’ just yet.

So I’ve been to the doctor a few times.  I’ve been prodded and poked, tested and looked at and everything has come back ‘normal’.

Then today, I realised her questioning has taken a different turn.  Now it is centred on ‘how is work..?’  Yeah, I got a pretty good rise last week so things are fine and dandy there.  ‘What about the kids…  House…  Life….?’  Nup.  All rosy!

Stress.

Me?  Stressing..?

Then I realised that this all started around the same time that damned Moodle gives me “the kid will have to move in; or I’ll have to find a place with kid” routine.

That idiot is going to kill me.

How did we get here…

When I used to know you so well…  I do love this acoustic version of Decode, byParamore; and it seems to fit with my mood today!

The Squeeze has gone off to the cricket.  I’ve sent a single text message to say “discuss this today, because it’s gone on long enough.” – And let’s face it; it has.   I’m living up in the air; on the edge; not knowing what and where things will be next month.

And the weird part is that the Squeeze, the kid and Witch (kind of sounds like the witch and the wardrobe…) are planning to sit down and have a discussion that involves me… my home… my life – yet I don’t have an opinion. 

Sadly, this bunch of self-absorbed fools hasn’t even bothered to think about that.

I didn’t do it…

Last night, was like a scene out of a Simpson’s episode.

No…  The Squeeze did not come out in his y front undies, scratching his balls and eating pork chops.  Frankly, that would almost have been my preference!  Instead, he became a ridiculous ten year old surly brat and I, in my usual desire to issue truth and discipline, wanted to slap him.  The wooden spoon never looked so good.

The trouble started about the time I noticed some pretty severe dents in the plaster of the wall in the lounge.  It didn’t take a mental giant to work out what they were.  The kid grabs the Maton from the guitar stand and in a moment of rock star delusion;   plays.  It is usually some Sid Vicious type of thing - violent.  I cringe with the style but also, not being a player myself, I fear for the strings and wonder how they don't break.  When dream time is complete, he tosses it back to the corner with that last, lingering bit of rock star fueled testosterone - so that the tuning keys whack into the wall.  We are talking machine gun dents… All in a neat little row and severe enough to require filling.

So I mention to the Squeeze that I’m annoyed about the wall and maybe he can ask the kid to exercise a little bit of restraint while putting it back; a glimmer of care and consideration for other people’s property.  I mean considering I have to repair the damned wall.  And I mean who the hell does that without noticing…?

First I get “how do you know it is was him…  It could have been anyone… in true Bart Simpson he didn't do it...” fasion.

Yeah.  My kids can’t play the guitar.  Nor can I.  So scratch that.  the only two people who pick up that guitar are the Squeeze and the kid.

So then he adopts the Harridan technique of being the martyr.  It could have been him; or maybe he did some and the kid did some.  Whatever.  I mean, do I seriously look that stupid?  I have never seen the Squeeze pick up and use the Maton with anything other than reverence.  He loves that guitar.  He wouldn't toss it back to the stand haphazardly; not out of consideration for my wall, but out of love for his guitar.

So he becomes the ugly parent that can’t just admit that their kid has done something wrong.  And for what purpose?  In my mind, for a brief second, I thought of what my life would become if I stupidly agreed to the demands of the Moodle and the Harridan and this kid lived here full time.

I would never be right.  I would never win.  I would always be in the wrong.

Yeah.  How long does he thing that would last?

Melancholy

My mood today can only be described as melancholy.  I hate the sound of depression.  It’s an ugly word.

Why?  My good friend is moving to the UK and I had my farewell lunch today.  She has left a veritable swag of stuff for me to get rid of on eBay which is depressing – given what she has paid for some of these things and what I know she’ll get for it.  I’m not kidding; there must be 20 pairs of sunglasses and some of those are brand new – still with the $500 price tag attached.  I’d keep some myself except most are those hideous “blow fly eye” large glasses and I’m a John Lennon round kind of girl.

My oldest son’s father is such a narcissist that he has never thought about either my son or daughter.  He has never figured in their life in any way at all; other to swan in once every five years to tear their still beating hearts out of their chest cavity.  My older son has never really coped.  Just put on a brave face.  He has started the process to change his name, which has upset my brother – who has laid it at my door.  Hell; nothing to do with me.  The kid is entitled to be whoever he wants.  Even if it happens to mean his name will basically be the same as my brother.

Then we have the fact that I’m tired.  I’ve been washing all day.  5 people for the weekend involves a hell of a lot of cleaning after the fact.  Sheesh, there has been 2 loads of towels, let alone anything else.

Then this morning I was left astounded by the Kid today when he was a smart arse about not getting the Squeeze anything for his birthday.  In front of the whole table I asked “did you get mummy a birthday present?”  Of course the answer was yes.  “Did you get her a mother’s day present?”  You guessed it – yes again.  “And did you get her a Christmas present..?”  Of course he did.  They all did.

And yet the Squeeze got nothing for any of those things.  Kid 2 couldn’t even be bothered to send him a “happy birthday” text.  And the kid is either too stupid, too selfish or too brainwashed; either way, he seriously couldn’t understand why I wanted to bitch slap him off a chair.

And within seconds I knew that I never wanted this kid in my life 24/7.  Not a chance.  He is selfish and self-centred and without even the common sense to understand that he has zip in the friends department and that maybe it’s time to look at himself.  At 15; he is her.  He has learned as they all have; that the Squeeze is wrong, bad, lazy, useless – and that is how they treat him.

So my melancholy stems from the fact that the Harridan and Squeeze will get together with mini Harridan to decide what happens next.  What the Squeeze pays, or if he moves, or what he does or doesn't do next.  And even though that discussion will change my world; will strain or end my relationship… I’ll only hear about it after the fact.  How the hell does that work..?

In truth, how can it not end things?  How can going back to what we were before, not end things..?  How can he make such a statement, that being with me is somewhat less than the demands placed on him – not change how I feel?  What I want?  Who we are..?

Snap. Breaking Up To Do.....   Or maybe we should just kiss and say goodbye...

You are a pathetic, selfish, pointless father…

For his birthday, the Squeeze copped a barrage of abuse from the Harridan.

She loves to tell him what a pathetic, selfish pig he is.   In fact, he is a totally useless father who has no care and does nothing to assist in the rearing of his children.   Hell, let’s face it; just as picking up the kid to take him to dinner and a movie doesn’t count as spending time, the average 1k a month he is shelling out doesn’t count either.

If we jump to the end of the tirade, it ends with us having the kid…

So what the hell does that say about this woman?  Is she really intending to hand over her child to this uncaring, selfish monster? 

I have been incredibly busy of late and so blogging has taken a back seat.  Of course the fun and games do not stop; I can’t see them ever stopping really.  Not while she is still drawing breath.

At the moment, I believe the dialogue is about her ‘wants’ and 'demands'.  And why not; after all, his surely don’t count.  They never have up until now, so I can't see that changing any time soon.

In short, an ideal solution for her is for the Squeeze to move out of our home, take over the lease that this moron took out on an expensive, dark, ugly house in Blackburn and rear the kid – paying for everything no doubt.

And the reality is that if he has to have the kid full time; it’s not going to be an “us” thing.  There isn’t enough room in our apartment to raise a teenager.  Even if there was, I seriously couldn’t stand it.  I would have no rights in my own home – even if he agrees to the kid being reared in “my world”; he wouldn’t stick to it.

If we look for something bigger, then I give up my home and without doubt; she will change her mind within a few months or the Squeeze and I will argue over the kid – and I will have lost my place. 

This doesn’t even address the fact that I don’t want the kid.  I don’t want to move back to teenager land.  This was not ever on the cards or a reality.  Trust me, I made sure of that.

Sigh… What the Squeeze doesn’t seem to get is that when he moves out and begins to rent a place for him and the kid – that effectively ends any hope we have of getting a house.  Even if he were to man up and demand she pay him what he now pays and went via the Child Support Agency (because she is a thief and a liar and wouldn’t pay) – he won’t be able to live on his wage.  Our saving a house deposit will most certainly go out the window.

And she will have achieved her aim. 

Ensured the fact that he will have nothing…  Own nothing…  And die alone.

Elephants and I…

Tell me a lie and you had better remember exactly what you said – for the rest of your life...  Elephants and I never forget.

I may not be a Rhodes Scholar; but I do have a few super powers:

1.       I can sing a few bars of a song and have anyone… Anyone, walk off singing that song (which can be fun if you happen to sing something particularly daggy; ie: whip-crack-away from ‘Calamity Jane’.)
2.       I can name the actor that just walked on the screen and say what they were in – no matter how fleeting that walk on is or how different they look.
3.       I can remember every detail of the lie you told me when you forget as time passes; and mention it again.

Today is Melbourne Cup and therefore a public holiday.  The kid had yesterday and today off; the Harridan once again attempted to place him with us for a four day weekend while she was off doing whatever it is she does.  Actually, her idea was to place him for the weekend, the week following and the weekend after.

That a fifteen year old possesses not a single friend that he can go hang out with is, in a word, tragic.  He had yesterday off – not one friend.  Friday night he was with us.  Saturday, he didn’t go hang with friends; instead, he went to the country to go camping with mummy and her velvet wearing, red back packed dreadlocked hairy friends and family for her sister’s birthday party.  No wonder the kid was in bed by ten.

Sometimes I hate myself.  I hate that part of me that is as gooey as caramel in the centre of a chocolate.  Feeling sorry for him, I gave up one of my days and suggested we grab the kid today to go drop of resumes.  He came to the car with filthy clothes that looked like they’d been dragged from a pile on the floor.  His hair, although neat since we had it cut Friday night, was back to a stinking greasy mess that was making my eyes bleed.  Runners – shoe laces not done up and head bowed like he was off to the gallows.  No one is giving this kid a job.  If he didn’t get close enough for the putrid cloud to envelop them, then the drooping head would put them off.

It is frustrating to watch.

Afterwards, we went for lunch where the kid mentioned he had gone camping on Saturday night.  I dragged information out of him with a few questions.  At first I felt a glimmer of hope that he had actually gone some place fun; only to discover it was a party for the velvet wearing obnoxious sister, attended by her “I’ve had life… I just want to die…” selfish prick of a husband.

Instead, I focussed on one thing.   “Camping..?  Didn’t realise you had a tent…” 

Lying, thieving bitch in true parenting skill of a despot, once again instructed her children to be liars.

One day, it is my fervent wish, that her arsehole festers.

Lonely Boy

Life for the disorganised is hard.  No ifs or buts about it.

The Harridan repeatedly berates the Squeeze for his lack of ‘care’ or attention re the kid.  This is her way of sucking it out of him, rewriting history and then using her “truth” to beat him into submission.  And he falls for it.  He has for years.  He immediately Moodle’s up, feels guilty and then caves in to her tantrum.

Okay, that was the old Squeeze and rewriting history isn’t as easy when I’m here to colour code our calendar.  I could take a screen shot and send it to her to let the truth wash over her, but what would be the point.  If we shoved it in her face and put electrodes to her eyeballs, she would still go with her version of the truth.  Still, the Squeeze actually has the kid quite a lot.  More importantly; he spends time with him.

But back to our calendar…  It looks kind of busy and I believe I’ve put a shot of it on the blog previously; but if not, the colours are:

Red = time we have the kid.

Orange = time she sends the guilt ridden “kid wants to spend time with dad…”

Green = time we go out – which often encompasses the kid and is less than any other colour.

Black = the repeat demand “you will have the kid!”

Purple = My time.  Touch this at your own peril.

Today we have been inundated with Harridan history.  The Squeeze is a low down lousy father.  She attempted to get a bed and breakfast thing up and running in velvet land – which has backfired.   Well an ounce of sense would have dictated that a:  the economic climate would be against her; and b: she is a lazy pig with zip hygiene – and weirdly, people prefer to rent clean houses.

The short of it is that she can’t make rent wherever she is at so the Squeeze has to pay more; oh, and the kid wants a new saxophone – so let’s fork out for that.  And the school trip to Paris!  (I guess the fact that she can’t make rent is totally lost on her…)

Anyhow, the crux is that she figures we “owe” her kid time; after all, we went to Europe for 6 years.  

Actually, it was 3 weeks.  We missed one weekend of the kid and we had him here for 2 nights prior to leaving to make up for it.  Since that time, every weekend and quite a few’ through the weeks’ have been kid time.  We owe her nothing – except maybe a bitch slap from a bar stool.

When she is cornered by his reply stating the actual dates and times we have had the kid, she becomes patronizing.  His life sounds horrible.  He is nothing but a lonely person. 
A Lonely Boy.

Then she sends a text asking for for our doctors number; with a follow up to state – “you don’t even ask why we need the doctor!!!!!”

Who the hell would have to ask?

Easy...  The kid had a scratch on his hand the other day.  His hygiene levels are dismal at the best of times and so the deep scratch got infected.  Big deal.  I noticed it looked red and angry.  The next time I saw it, she had placed a bandage on it and I thought to myself “well let’s see how that goes.  Let’s just trap those germs in a warm, moist environment...”  If antibiotics weren’t “evil”, I’d have put some antibiotic cream and a bit of gauze on it and it would be gone.  She will of course, await red streaks up his arm, agony and the potential arm dropping off phase before resorting to ‘evil antibiotics’.  Dumb cow.

And let’s face it; if I tried to put it on the kid, he recoil as if he was a vampire and I was treating him with ‘holy water’.  My God; he is brain washing at it’s finest.

I haven’t even started to cover the “sit down… we need to talk” discussion I received from the Squeeze yesterday.

Where has all the maintenance gone..?

Background music:  where has all the maintenance gone...  well close enough....

Last night, on our fourth weekend in a row of ‘kid’, he arrived in his school uniform lugging an armful of clothes - not even in a bag this time.

As expected, the pants were limp and of course, not ironed.  The jumper obviously washed (whenever it was last washed) with towels as it was pilled and lint covered.  The white polo shirt, as with any white clothes he brings, was a dull kind of grey.

After he went to bed, I was moving his kicked off shoes from the centre of the entry way to near the door (marveling at my skill in teaching him the 'shoes off' in the house rule) when I noticed what a poor state they were in.  Obviously not good quality when purchased, the top to the toe where the fake leather was extremely dull - the coating had pealed away.  On each side of the shoe – about 2 inches long – was a huge gaping hole!  One shoe was missing the insole, the other was all scrunched up.

How on earth does she send her kid to school looking in such a state of neglect..?  And if she can’t buy him a pair of shoes, what the hell is she spending all the maintenance on?  

Yes.  I know.  Kids are expensive.  I had three of them and I had all the same costs.  Much of that time, I was on my own.  It's not cheap, I know.  But she get's a lot of help from the Squeeze, not to mention the fact that she obviously rents out the house and apartment since she is renting somewhere else.

So where has it gone..?  Not on clothes, that’s for sure.  The only clothes he gets are the ones the Squeeze buys.  He does school fees… Music… so what the hell is she doing with it?

All I could do was think back to my kids going off to school in their clean, pressed uniform, hair in neat braids or cute short boy cuts.  Whites were white.  What a horrible, neglectful person she is.

A World without Antidepressants

Sounds grim; I know.

Years ago I slid off the rails for a moment in time and went out with total dick.  Actually he was a private eye, so dick by occupation, dick by nature; and let’s face it; you have to have a ‘creepy stalker’ gene to get such a gig.

I went to therapy during the five years we dated because I needed to find the root cause...   He really didn’t feature in my sessions as anything other than a shadowy representation of my love life to that point.  It wasn’t about him, or those before him.  It was about me.  I needed to understand what was inside me that kept dragging me back into unhealthy relationships.

Did I find the answer?  Not really.  I felt like I had come to an understanding; maybe.  In the end, what did that knowledge change?  Contrary to popular belief, you don’t suddenly discover the cause and from that moment on, you’re just skipping down the path of life, carefree and laughing.

Oh.  Nor did I require antidepressants to escape that hellish relationship.  I use the term as a heading only to set the scene!  So I’m not swallowing handfuls of pills – at least not any more than those I should be having (which would appear to grow by several every year as your knees give out and your back starts to ache).  I’m not slashing my wrists or crying into my cups every night; yet something isn’t right.  Something is niggling at me.   A requirement for my good mental health is missing!

It is the evolution of care.

You meet someone and so begins the evolution.  “Friendship” moves into “hot”; “hot” morphs into a warmer “love”.  That “love” means you “care” a great deal about that person.  You want them to be happy; you go out of your way to ensure that happiness!  If they are not absolutely blissful, then you’re in serious trouble.  The relationship is floundering!

And therein lies my problem.  I evolved.  I morphed.  The Squeeze is still in the same place he began.
 

If you snap back through hundreds of blog entries, you’ll see that early on in the piece, I lamented the fact that the Squeeze uses a totem pole of “importance” as his internal/moral barometer.  Time has passed; we are living together... A family; yet it would appear that the totem pole has not altered.  This basically means that I come in last.  My problems are addressed last, and only if they don’t affect the problems of kids/ex-wife/family.

Well Hell, shouldn’t I have made it up the pole by now?

Let’s look at it rationally; (or as rationally as I get I suppose…)  The other night he mentioned that every night I begin a conversation that has something to do with the ex-wife/kid/kids.  Of course he was exaggerating and I don’t consider “any news from the Harridan..?” to be a “conversation” – but in some ways, he was correct.  She is often between us.

What the Hell does he expect?  We argue over her telling us that the kid is staying all of next week.  He sends a text to say “yeah. At your place” – but gets no reply and gives no follow up.  That’s not organised!  That is leaving a loop hole!  A slither of opportunity for her to seep through!  So I live on edge – until it is “organised”, I worry what is coming at us next…  So I ask!

It seems pretty reasonable to me.  I’ve said from the start – this is what I need to be able to make this work.  Much of those requirements laid out at the outset have not eventuated.  I’m not sure if he figured I’d just forget about them (in a pig’s eye) or perhaps if he ignored them long enough, I’d get tired of asking/whining/complaining.  (Yeah, good strategy…)

This morning, for about the millionth time over the last couple of years, I walked into the bathroom, picked up the bath mat, folded it and hung it up to dry – in the very same place he retrieved it from.  The very same place he has retrieved it from for approximately three years.  Yet it doesn't seem to have sunk into his grey matter that the bath mat seems to dry better hanging up; and even if it doesn't, the witch he is living with prefers it that way!

Same with the kid; I try to discuss work arounds but there just isn’t anything coming back at me.  Agreement followed by reneging   Then while hunting around for a birthday present for the Squeeze this afternoon, I realised what the problem was.

I care.  I love.

And his meter is set to zero.  Worse than zero!  It's in the negative!

If I had to pick a song that was him... It would be Running On Empty! - Because there ain't nothing there!

Deep Impact

It feels as though I am repeatedly being called upon to explain what “impact” having the kid has on me.

This proves to be most difficult given that most of my grievances are around hygiene, or lack thereof.  How do I explain that where I come from, people are clean; in fact some of us possess serial killer neatness!  No one smells; we wash our hair, our clothes, our hands! 

I didn’t have to tell my kids to have a shower or wash their hair; they just knew and understood it was a requirement.  And let’s cut to the chase here; if I had to tell them to clean up their act, I simply told them.  I’m not afforded this luxury in this environment where the Squeeze sees his kid as miraculous!  Amazing!  And he can do no wrong…  

Although mummy and daddy adopt the ‘velvet wearing’ parenting process of “they must always feel good about themselves… look how perfect they are….” The realities of life seem to get in the way.  I mean hell, idiots… Wake up!  Your kid is not perfect.  Nor are any of mine.  They are kids, accept it.  Sheesh.  I don’t need a musician!  All I need is for them to be happy.  And let’s be honest, I have shaken my head on many occasion wondering how anyone can feel good about themselves when they have greasy hair speckled with dandruff and their clothes reek.

This is the crux of the problem between the Squeeze and I; will forever be the major issue and one I begrudge more and more as time goes on.  I get zero support from him; have no power and no say over the kid.  What I consider right doesn’t count.  What I consider ‘ugly’ isn’t my problem or place to comment.

Right… So some kid is coming and going from my lovely clean home – and I’m to have no power over this.  I can’t say “hey kid, you’re fifteen for crying out loud; pack some damned clean clothes to bring!”  The one time I did have this discussion, I was given a heap of fifteen year old “I am smarter than you” drivel that encompassed an argument around my clean clothes requirement being my reality, not his. 

A discussion with the Squeeze after the fact consisted of an inadequate “he handled himself well.”  Ummm no.  He didn’t handle himself well.  He was rude, obnoxious and above all – wrong.  And if being rude to me is considered “handling himself well”; how am I to ever deal with it?

Last night I broached the subject of his reorganised weekends (at her request); which was obviously above his negotiation skills because not only did he ensure that we extended kid time last weekend – he had now given over a night from our next weekend. 

To be frank, this does not suit me.

What I got was another argument on impact and its lack thereof, on me.  His dispute is that we are now getting Saturday, Sunday, Monday night free.  Ummm no.  Sunday and Monday nights are already free – just because I have the day off doesn’t necessarily mean it’s up for grabs by the kid pushers.  It is free.  It is mine.

In the end, I realised that I shouldn’t have to justify myself.  The reality is that I do not want a kid there every weekend and that is enough justification.

What impact is there on me when the kid is there..?  Well considering I’m a lone little figure facing off a damned tsunami – I’d say it is has a ‘deep impact’.

We Never Have Him!!!

We Never Have Him!!!  We've only had him once this month!

That is the argument I get when I put up a fuss re the kid coming unexpectedly or without my being asked or if we are arguing because I’ve had enough and determined to put my foot down.  

Then we move into 'wheedling' – like this weekend.  We had a screaming row that ended at: ‘I’m moving out (again)’ stupid Moodle.  Re today, I got “he will be gone first thing in the morning!  He’s going over to a friend’s place to watch old Bogart movies!”
Hmm.  What friend would that be..?
Where did this new found friend come from?  And Bogart movies..?
Strange; still, I guess any friend is good, even if it is a weirdo one.

But of course the friend and movie was cancelled…  Yay.  So instead, I’ve just done the whole weekend AGAIN!  In fact this month there is not one weekend that has/will be kid free.  Not one.

Now why the hell would anyone figure that I’d want to give up every weekend to have someone else’s kid?  Worse, someone’s kid who is lazy; that I'm not permitted to yell at as I would my kids.  And I always have ten times extra work when he leaves – including mopping up spilled chocolate milk from the floor and wiping down my fricking fridge because the handle is oh so obviously there for show.  I’m not even going to talk about the toilet floor or washing!

Add to this, that I have to hear the Squeeze say “Come on! Come on! Come on!” repeatedly.  To the point where I’m almost ready to bust my spleen!  It doesn’t take a mental giant to work it out!!!!  Take his laptop off him until he has done as asked instead of repeatedly asking!

And he wonders why I jack up.  Why I’m being so 'unfair'…  

And then we add to all the other pleasantries the fact that the lazy biach sent him packed for a wedding with no shirt and a pair of pants screwed up into a ball.  I tried to iron them but the stench that came off them made me swoon.  I had no time left to wash them so instead, the Squeeze had to stand and hold them out while I sprayed them with Frebreeze before he hung them on the line.  I didn't even attempt to iron them again.

I’d rather be staked to an ants nest than to have ever let my kids leave the house like that; but then again, I guess my EVERYTHING wasn't about them...

Anyhow – here is the month. 

Legend:

Red = kid days – including days where the Squeeze picks him up for dinner and a movie. 

Orange is her demanding we have him – or rather her “kid wants to stay with his dad…” texts.  (yeah, sure he does…)  Please note:  he has agreed to these days on the proviso it is at her place.

Purple is when I have extra days off.

Green are things that we get to do something - and more than likely, certainly not on our own.
I cut Monday off to fit since there was nothing on it :-)

Yeah.  I never have the kid!

Kramer vs Kramer

No.  I’m not writing about that old movie…  There is no tear jerk at the end of this story.

Instead, I’m writing about the weekend.  The Squeeze instructed that me that I was to have no opinion; he would talk to the kid and suggest he washed his hair, this time with shampoo.  (Perhaps you remember, he had to talk to him, I was to remain silent - in case I trampled on his fragile self esteem.)

Still, I could only imagine his moodle-like, gently-gently, velvet wearing discussion.  I mean why go with totally honesty when you can moodle around his fifteen year old feelings…?  Yeah.  Stuff that.  When the kid waltzed out to kitchen to ask what time breakfast would be ready, I told him that breakfast would happen after he had a shower and washed his hair.

Actually, I said “my eyes are bleeding with the stench of your head.  Wash it already!  This time, use shampoo!!!”  Frankly, I think he would have been too scared not too.

When he came out for breakfast, I noted that his hair looked clean, but somewhat fluffy.  He mentioned that washing it gave it an “old lady hair” visual.  I’m not fond of “old lady” style but Hell, that is better than making everyone’s eyes bleed.

Actually, he looked a little like Kramer; or some other weirdo with that fluffy bit on the top of their head.  But there is more than one way to skin a cat and if his moronic parents had an ounce of brain between them, they’d have instructed him to curb the Kramer hair in a way that didn’t ensure he had zippo friends via killing them off with a stench that could curdle cream.

Yesterday, I purchased him some good old fashioned hair fudge.

Now how fricking hard is that..?

Your Moving Out Today

‘Don’t you tell him.  I will.’

That was what I was told re the hair washing last weekend.  Funny really, since I’m the one that is doing the washing.  I’m the one having to leave a room due to the vile smell permeating the air.  I’m the one washing his stuff and hanging it out.  I’m the one bringing it in and folding it.  I’m the one airing the room and changing the bed.  I’m the one that has the kid every second weekend – but I’m also the one who isn’t allowed to actually tell him to do anything.

Not sure how the hell that is supposed to work and I guess at the end of the day… It isn’t.

I resent it.  I resent the fact that he wants him here all the time when I can’t and don’t.  I resent the fact that it doesn’t seem to matter what I want.  I resent the fact that he doesn’t seem to need 'date' time with me, or need to spend time 'out' with me.  I resent the fact that he just keeps making decisions that impact me – and I’m supposed to “suck it up my darling”.

More than anything, I resent the fact that I truly loved him; but his utter selfishness is sucking the life out of me.  His inability to see that I want and need things, is slowly eradicating what I felt to the point where I looked at him tonight and I hated him.  As it was, I screamed at him.  When he mentioned I should stop shouting I think I shouted "I obviously have to shout!  You're too damned stupid to understand otherwise!!!"

This evening; at my prompting, he finally called the Harridan to organise the week he is available to baby sit the kid, but at her house.  Him putting off calling makes me feel uneasy that it will happen and I will have no say in it.  I'll have four days off and three of those will be in babysitting land.  And when it all comes down to it, I am organised and I assume that even if she isn't, he still owes it to her to give her time to attempt to organise herself around it.  Instead he organised that will have the kid this Saturday night to go to a wedding.  Yes, I knew the kid was on the invite but I figured as it was not our weekend and he had done nothing about swapping, that maybe it would be just us two.  Great, we could get dressed up, go out and have fun, have a bit of romance…  Romance.  Yeah.  Like that was every likely.

So instead, I am to have another person in my small house again this weekend.  24/7 television.  Yeah!  Just like I did last weekend.  And this one would be followed by the next weekend – kid again.  Then the week – kid again.  Then the weekend – kid again.

And I don’t want it.  I never wanted that.  It's not about the kid.  It's not about the Squeeze.  It's not even about the Harridan.  It's about me and my need for some time out... some space... some consider-fricking-ation!

And I won’t do it.  How can I when I can’t even tell him to wash his stinking hair..? 

This is not working for me.  I don’t think I love him enough to put up with it.  I don't think I ever loved anyone enough to endure this!  I loved him so damned much once, but I’m sick of always being last on the totem pole.  How can it work when I am forced to have the same argument all the time..?  We talk, I think he see's my  point of view, only to discover he is obviously mentally impaired because he didn't take any of it in!  Last time, I documented it.  All I got when I bought that up last night was "but that is all about what you want!!!"  Oh how quickly we forget that every second frigging weekend is not what "I WANT!"  I do that for him.  That is strictly a "for him" gig.  So given that every second weekend of my life is gone, and has been for years, I'm entitled to put my foot down on a few areas!

This time when he got to his usual threat of:  “I’ll move out.”; I realised that this time – he f*cking can.  Because I’m over it.

“So….  Pack up your dirty books:  Your Moving Out Today

Manky: Foul, putrid, crawling, nasty, odiferous.

This is how my spare bedroom smells today on night two of a kid weekend.   Yesterday I wondered, just briefly, if I had jumped to conclusions when I saw the shampoo bottle was unopened and as dry as a bone.  Maybe my “father was a detective” skills had diminished over the years.

But no; the reality of it is that I am James fricking Bond. 

No way did that kid put anything on his revolting, manky head; and the stench permeates the air of any room he is in!  I had to open the front door to air out the lounge which is relatively open.  The closed bedroom basically made my skin burn and my eyes bleed.

It is gag worthy.   Putrid is being kind.   A dead thing would smell better than that.  The kid needs a bath, lye soap, a scrubbing brush!

And I’m angry.   Really angry. 

The Squeeze is back to “I can’t smell anything…”  This could be because the tosser has been off all day with the kid so is just immune to it; and when I got home later the pair of them are sitting in the lounge, laptops on knees, television blaring.  No one thought about putting dishes away or bringing in the washing.  Lazy gits.

So.  He can’t smell anything.  That is probably good because if the smell has seeped into his pores after sitting in a closed room with that smell all night, he’ll be sleeping in there with him!

These people are slothful and selfish.  For the life of me, I can’t work out how to address it; given that his mother is a complete moron and his father is a delusional moodle.

All I know is that I am seriously not putting up with it.

I’m going to wash that kid right out of my hair…

The Squeeze and I remain on tender hooks.  Not overtly; but it’s there – just under the surface.

I don’t see another way really, until the kids are in their 40’s and she can no longer use them to beat him around the head with.  We are who we are at this stage in our lives.  I need things in stone, organised and planned.  He would rather delay the inevitable.  So I ask.  And ask.  And ask.  Seems relatively simple to me; the only thing achieved with his delay, is stress and angst within our relationship and maybe a couple of days delay of the Harridan abuse.

What are we arguing about…?  Although we have discussed and compromised (and documented it!); it would appear that I will continue to be besieged by the witch tossing the kid at my head.  In the first twenty days of November, we have been instructed to have him for twelve days.  This doesn't take into consideration that one of the eight free days is the Squeeze's birthday, which will be kidded up I assume!

This would be easier to deal with if she would address some of the issues.  I say easier, although that is still a damned site more time than I would like with someone else in my environment.  And she won't deal with the issues of course since she considers our issues are actually about “your stupid ideas on hygiene”.

Ummm yeah.  Filthy clothes and lank, dandruff filled hair is just about me being a clean freak...

And after a lifetime of learning that clothes don’t need washing… nor do you need to shower or brush your teeth, it’s hard work attempting to steer him back to a reasonable direction.  We have attempted to combat her obvious slovenliness.   The kid is instructed to hit the shower five minutes after arriving.  I slink in before he arrives to remove my paraphernalia, leaving only a bottle of shampoo that can’t be missed.  Of course he ignores this request and comes out with wet hair that still looks dull and lank.  While grabbing the towel, I check and the bottle remains closed and dry.

Okay.  An aversion to soap, toothpaste and shampoo!  Weird really, since having clean hair feels so damned nice!

So I reiterate the discussion we have had on fairness to all parties and state that the week she has instructed us to have the kid, I have already taken two days off for us to go away on a four day weekend with the new car.  Given that last month we went to Greece, I am fine with him vetoing our weekend away and spending more time with the kid – but as per our agreement, he has to do so at the witches’ house.

And I have no intention of being railroaded so he better come home today having seen her at kid cricket and tell me he has given her the options we are willing to work with!  I'm happy to spend my four days off in relative silence; new car to cruise around in and hitting the keyboard to write...

Will he have told her...?  Not a chance.