If you're in a relationship and you don't want to murder the other person half the time—are you really in a relationship?
— VodkaVendettas (@VodkaVendettas) September 12, 2014
Showing posts with label Marital Bliss. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Marital Bliss. Show all posts
Marital Bliss
I re-tweeted this the other day.
Grief
I had to tell the dramas today about the divorce. They are devastated. Again. I’ve been weepy all day. The worst I have felt so far through this second go around. But tonight, I’m simply devastated. I can’t stop crying.
I miss my husband. I miss his smell. I miss telling him goodnight and lying by him in bed. Even though I knew something was up for months, even though I knew what I did all this week, I feel so alone. Even though my brother and sister are both here, and my kids, I just feel so alone. There is something to be said for the comfort that comes with routine and predictability.
And he is angry. He already has tried to blame me. He has put it all on me. I was distant. I didn’t act like I wanted to be with him. I pushed him away. He actually told the 16 year old in a text that I did love him, but I didn’t love him enough all these years and that I would be better alone because I push people away and then he had the nerve to say to her that she was “a clone of me” and that he loved her too, but she didn’t show him that she loved him.
I’m more hurt by his words to her than what he has done to me. That was just so fucking cruel and hurtful.
And those fucking letters the inmate wrote to him. I have read them twice now. I know what they say. I know they are the truth. I know they have had sexual encounters because she describes how great they were in the letters. I read his email to her. I know what he said about running off together when she gets out. But he is denying all of it. I even said in a text yesterday that “you have nothing more to lose, just grow a pair and own your shit!” but he denies that anything ever happened with her.
He told our oldest daughter (the 22 year old) that nothing happened with any woman but that I found some letters from a long time ago but nothing was true it was some crazy woman who wrote to him and that we were going to get a divorce anyway so not to worry about it. She called me devastated tonight.
His mother (who I refuse to talk to because she’s bat shit crazy and just as narcissistic and even more vindictive and mean) actually called and told our oldest daughter that I served her dad with divorce papers because I found some letters that were old and that nothing ever happened but I am crazy so she (MY FUCKING DAUGHTER) should not call me or talk to me because she just needs to protect herself from me and my whole family.
But I know that deep down he is afraid because he asked me today if I was going to turn the letters over to the prison. I am so inclined to do it. But on the other hand, I just want this whole thing to be over.
I hate that I am so conflicted with my feelings right now. I just fucking hate it.
There is something to be said for that moment when you can finally exhale
Yesterday was very hard - especially since he kept making references to the future - our future - like how he was going to make salsa today and take the kids out shooting on the weekend and maybe we could go golfing - but I kept my game face on and made it through. Hardest thing I’ve ever done. Ever.
I think I’ve only slept 9 hours this whole week.
But this morning, I got up and washed my sheets and bedding, pretended it was a normal morning until he left for work at noon.
Then I immediately went and closed our joint bank account, bought some boxes from U-Haul and rented a storage unit. I put all of our guns and the family safe in it in case he somehow gets into the house. Then I went to his work, unlocked is truck and took the house keys, the garage door opener and left.
Luckily my kids were having sleepovers tonight so they are not here. I came home and waited.
The process server confirmed service at 10:15 p.m. I sent a text that said “I loved you with everything I had. I’m sorry that was not enough for you.” He replied with “what are you talking about” and I about shit! I thought for sure the process server served the wrong person!
But then he called about 10 minutes later and had the fucking balls to be pissed at me for serving him in the parking lot of his job! and what the fuck was up my ass now.
The he proceeded to DENY DENY DENY! Even when I said I read the email he sent on the Saturday before Christmas. Even when I quoted from the nasty ass letters I found detailing their sexual romps! He claims it never happened. She’s making it up. He doesn’t know why she would write those things. He never even sees her.
The depths of his denial are mind boggling!
He threw in for good measure that part of why he’s unhappy is that his mother and I don’t have a relationship and that is my fault - which it is because after her voice mails last year I was done and explained to him exactly why I would never talk to her again. And I apologized that it would cause a problem for him. But I never held the kids from her so they can both kiss my ass on that one. But of course, he is also really mad at her because of the most recent thing she said to our oldest daughter about me and the fact that she didn’t call any of our kids back on Christmas after they each called to thank her for the gift she gave them. So apparently it’s okay for him to be mad at her and not go see her on Christmas and not even call her - but I’m the problem.
Then it was all about how he has been unhappy and he didn’t want to say anything until I graduated law school so that I could never say HE was the reason I didn’t graduate or somehow blame HIM for my failure to achieve my own personal goal.
Then it was all about how he was going to talk to me after the new year and how he was going to write the inmate and tell her it was over because he wanted to work on US and he never had any intention on moving to Texas to be with her (even though he has a saved favorite on his fucking laptop for the Texas Department of Corrections and has signed up for email alerts of job postings).
That’s some narcissistic shit right there.
In the end, it was sob story how “I can’t even rent for an apartment because I don’t make enough money to pay all the bills and rent too” (because this money train has left the fucking station!).
He came and picked up the suitcase I put out front and said he would call tomorrow to arrange to pick up his other stuff.
I almost feel relief. Like a huge burden has been lifted. If that is even the best way to describe it.
But I cannot bring myself to climb into that bed to go to sleep.
Numbness
Yesterday (Christmas Eve) I filed for divorce. Again.
I filed last year when my life exploded - but like an idiot - I thought we could work it out, so I dismissed the petition.
My gut feeling was confirmed on Saturday, but I didn’t want to ruin Christmas for the kids. Again. For the second year in a row. So I decided to wait until after the holiday.
This time, there is no turning back. It is scheduled for service on Friday after he gets off work.
This will be the longest week of my life. I have managed to avoid him, staying busy on the weekend with holiday planning and then he worked Monday, Tuesday and today. Having to look at him tomorrow when we have our “family” dinner will be the greatest acting performance of my fucking life. Thankfully he goes back to work on Friday.
But while I waiver between numbness, disbelief, fear and pain, I am also so pissed off I cannot even describe it.
But mostly, I’ve never felt so alone in my life.
Question
Why do I feel like a failure that I couldn’t make my marriage work? When the reason it didn’t work has nothing to do with me at all? I assume this is a natural feeling for the jilted spouse, but even with the logical brain I have, and knowing what I know, I still feel embarrassed, shameful and like a looser who failed.
Don't try this at home
Last weekend I worked and worked and worked some more. And when I wasn’t working, I was sleeping. All week long I worked and slept. That is all I had time for. I think I ate a couple times too.
Friday I had a headache all day long. Then on my way home, there was a huge wreck on Bethany Home Road and Grand. I’m not sure what it was, but there was a horrible chemical smell permeating throughout the air and by the time I got home, my headache was a full blow migraine. I made it through dinner before I had to yak, then I fell asleep on the couch. I dragged myself to bed around 2:40 a.m.
Saturday I got up at 8a to take the dramas to brunch with their dad and his uncle. We met them at the job site in Gilbert, a 62 mile drive (one way) from our house. By the time we were done driving, eating and driving home it was 1:30 p.m. and my headache was back. I went and laid on the bed where I fell asleep until 5:30 p.m. I didn’t realize how tired I’ve been. I woke up and took the dramas to dinner because I just didn’t feel like cooking. After dinner we went shopping for dog food and some groceries. I worked until 1:45 a.m. and dragged myself to bed.
Sunday we got up and we cleaned. TheMan cooked a roast and helped clean. Since I’ve worked every day the past two weeks, my house desperately needed a deep cleaning. It was so bad, I had to use two Swiffer duster pads. Can you say gross?
Between cleaning and laundry TheMan kept asking if I wanted a quickie. I kept telling him no. I’d come in with a new load of laundry, he’d grab me and say “how about a quickie?” and I’d say “go clean something.” Finally the 23rd time he asked I acquiesced. I did a quick head check on the children, 9 (Drama#2) was watching TV and 6 (Drama#3) was on the computer and my brother was cleaning their bathroom.
We rushed into the bedroom, shut the door and locked it. I threw off my shorts and pulled my shirt over my boobs. Then I laid down on the floor because the bed was full of laundry needing folding. TheMan nonchalantly removed his jeans, kneeled down over me and said “I’m not ready.”
I stared at him. “What do you mean you’re not ready? It was your idea.” He smiled, shrugged his shoulders and said “yea, but I’m not ready.” So I said “I have to do everything. Do you want me to talk dirty to you?” (Which I’ve never done before). Before he could answer, I said (in my best porno voice ever) “oh baby, yea. Fuck me with your big, hard co...” that was all I could say out loud before I busted up laughing. There is my cute husband, hovering over me in a pushup stance, shaking his head and rolling his eyes, and I’m laughing my ass off and have tears spilling down my cheeks. I finally took my shirt and covered my head with it because I couldn’t stop laughing. When I was done laughing and I was apologizing and telling him I didn’t mean it like it sounded, he just smiled and said “how about you leave the dirty talk to me?”
Friday I had a headache all day long. Then on my way home, there was a huge wreck on Bethany Home Road and Grand. I’m not sure what it was, but there was a horrible chemical smell permeating throughout the air and by the time I got home, my headache was a full blow migraine. I made it through dinner before I had to yak, then I fell asleep on the couch. I dragged myself to bed around 2:40 a.m.
Saturday I got up at 8a to take the dramas to brunch with their dad and his uncle. We met them at the job site in Gilbert, a 62 mile drive (one way) from our house. By the time we were done driving, eating and driving home it was 1:30 p.m. and my headache was back. I went and laid on the bed where I fell asleep until 5:30 p.m. I didn’t realize how tired I’ve been. I woke up and took the dramas to dinner because I just didn’t feel like cooking. After dinner we went shopping for dog food and some groceries. I worked until 1:45 a.m. and dragged myself to bed.
Sunday we got up and we cleaned. TheMan cooked a roast and helped clean. Since I’ve worked every day the past two weeks, my house desperately needed a deep cleaning. It was so bad, I had to use two Swiffer duster pads. Can you say gross?
Between cleaning and laundry TheMan kept asking if I wanted a quickie. I kept telling him no. I’d come in with a new load of laundry, he’d grab me and say “how about a quickie?” and I’d say “go clean something.” Finally the 23rd time he asked I acquiesced. I did a quick head check on the children, 9 (Drama#2) was watching TV and 6 (Drama#3) was on the computer and my brother was cleaning their bathroom.
We rushed into the bedroom, shut the door and locked it. I threw off my shorts and pulled my shirt over my boobs. Then I laid down on the floor because the bed was full of laundry needing folding. TheMan nonchalantly removed his jeans, kneeled down over me and said “I’m not ready.”
I stared at him. “What do you mean you’re not ready? It was your idea.” He smiled, shrugged his shoulders and said “yea, but I’m not ready.” So I said “I have to do everything. Do you want me to talk dirty to you?” (Which I’ve never done before). Before he could answer, I said (in my best porno voice ever) “oh baby, yea. Fuck me with your big, hard co...” that was all I could say out loud before I busted up laughing. There is my cute husband, hovering over me in a pushup stance, shaking his head and rolling his eyes, and I’m laughing my ass off and have tears spilling down my cheeks. I finally took my shirt and covered my head with it because I couldn’t stop laughing. When I was done laughing and I was apologizing and telling him I didn’t mean it like it sounded, he just smiled and said “how about you leave the dirty talk to me?”
The Ultimate Finish
In my old office, the running slam for we few mature employees was “dude, you suck” to which I always replied the same: No I don’t, ask The Man. I think someone even asked him at a Christmas party but that will be another post for another day. My answer however, is total bullshit. While I don’t spit, and I don’t swallow, I do have my own special, patent pending move that I affectionately refer to as “the duck and cover.”
I wasn’t always undercover. No. Back in the day, when I was God’s gift to man younger, I was rather adventurous. I had few inhibitions and I was always good for a dare. Like the time I followed my date (it was our first date) to the men’s room at the club to hold it for him. He got stage fright. I laughed. I went back to the table to tell everyone. Bitchy? Sure. Do it again? Probably.
I digress.
That one ultimate finishing move has always eluded me. Oh don’t get me wrong. I tried. God knows I’ve tried. Twice. The first time I couldn’t stop thinking about it and I kept gagging myself which gave me a very inappropriate case of the giggles. When I was done laughing and wiping my tears, I tried one more time and ended up barfing on his lap. The mood really wasn’t the same after that. For him or me.
The second time, after polling all of my girlfriends on etiquette, technique and any other advice, I was ready. I had a drink (the chaser), a towel (in case I was a spitter) and I had my subject, who being quite the trooper, was ready to give me another chance. While I played around and teased and basically stalled as long as I could, he simply laid there and waited patiently with a big ol' shit eatin’ grin on his face. When I was finally ready, I went to work (oh, don’t even try to say there isn’t any work involved here!) I kept stalling coming up for air and fondling and avoiding.
At one point, the phone rang and in an effort to further put off the act, I answered it. It was my mother! Awkward! My subject just laid there, patient and grinning and thrusting his pelvis toward me while I tried really hard not to look because I just knew my mom would see through that phone and know exactly what the hell I was up too!
I was chatting away, not paying much attention and my subject continued to thrust around like a seizure patient. Suddenly, from the corner of my eye, I see movement. The kind you cannot anticipate and are not at all prepared for. Just as I realized what was happening, it was too late! My sweet, adorable, fun loving subject let out a blood curdling scream and sprang up from the bed. My little 12 week old kitty, aptly named Hannibal, had um, er, grabbed hold of that thrusting, flopping, wiggly thing and refused to let go….in what seemed to take minutes but in reality was about 3 seconds, little Hannibal was flying through the air, landing on the bed, shaking his head and wondering WTF just happened?
I said “mom, I gotta go” and hung up. When I was done laughing, I, uh, inspected the damage and short of a small scratch on the stomach area, my guy was fine. That was the last time I ever attempted the ultimate finish. He didn't really volunteer much after that.
Fast forward some 15 years where the topic is being hotly debated once more. I say "I'm sorry honey, I just can't. You don' t know what I've been through. I’ve got scarring. Emotional baggage." He is relentless. Says I need to give 'er the ole college try. Take one for the team because I might like it this time.
I finally agreed to try if he let me have a kitten.
I wasn’t always undercover. No. Back in the day, when I was God’s gift to man younger, I was rather adventurous. I had few inhibitions and I was always good for a dare. Like the time I followed my date (it was our first date) to the men’s room at the club to hold it for him. He got stage fright. I laughed. I went back to the table to tell everyone. Bitchy? Sure. Do it again? Probably.
I digress.
That one ultimate finishing move has always eluded me. Oh don’t get me wrong. I tried. God knows I’ve tried. Twice. The first time I couldn’t stop thinking about it and I kept gagging myself which gave me a very inappropriate case of the giggles. When I was done laughing and wiping my tears, I tried one more time and ended up barfing on his lap. The mood really wasn’t the same after that. For him or me.
The second time, after polling all of my girlfriends on etiquette, technique and any other advice, I was ready. I had a drink (the chaser), a towel (in case I was a spitter) and I had my subject, who being quite the trooper, was ready to give me another chance. While I played around and teased and basically stalled as long as I could, he simply laid there and waited patiently with a big ol' shit eatin’ grin on his face. When I was finally ready, I went to work (oh, don’t even try to say there isn’t any work involved here!) I kept stalling coming up for air and fondling and avoiding.
At one point, the phone rang and in an effort to further put off the act, I answered it. It was my mother! Awkward! My subject just laid there, patient and grinning and thrusting his pelvis toward me while I tried really hard not to look because I just knew my mom would see through that phone and know exactly what the hell I was up too!
I was chatting away, not paying much attention and my subject continued to thrust around like a seizure patient. Suddenly, from the corner of my eye, I see movement. The kind you cannot anticipate and are not at all prepared for. Just as I realized what was happening, it was too late! My sweet, adorable, fun loving subject let out a blood curdling scream and sprang up from the bed. My little 12 week old kitty, aptly named Hannibal, had um, er, grabbed hold of that thrusting, flopping, wiggly thing and refused to let go….in what seemed to take minutes but in reality was about 3 seconds, little Hannibal was flying through the air, landing on the bed, shaking his head and wondering WTF just happened?
I said “mom, I gotta go” and hung up. When I was done laughing, I, uh, inspected the damage and short of a small scratch on the stomach area, my guy was fine. That was the last time I ever attempted the ultimate finish. He didn't really volunteer much after that.
Fast forward some 15 years where the topic is being hotly debated once more. I say "I'm sorry honey, I just can't. You don' t know what I've been through. I’ve got scarring. Emotional baggage." He is relentless. Says I need to give 'er the ole college try. Take one for the team because I might like it this time.
I finally agreed to try if he let me have a kitten.
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