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.