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.