Suburban Goddess

I think I’d be a lobbyist. It’s really not such a stretch… it calls upon my flair for drama, a passionate belief in something, and an overwhelming need to be a pain in somebody’s ass.

That’s got me written all over it.

While dealing with a particularly stupid individual, a comment was made to me. “Maybe you should try drugs….”

Hmmm. That got me thinking.

I’m a little neurotic, yes. And I might have a touch of OCD. Okay. But to imply that I needed medication to deal with the stupidity of others kinda rubbed me the wrong way. Why should I have to alter my brain’s perfectly functioning chemistry to have to deal with the complete ineptitude and stupidity of this person?
I tell you how to do something. You do not follow the instructions. I tell you again, a little slower. You do not follow instructions. Again. So I dumb it down into USA Today language. You do not follow instructions. AGAIN. So now I have to resort to language that I use with my TWO YEAR OLD DAUGHTER. And you do not follow instructions. AGAIN.

By now, I’m starting to get a little annoyed. I have a limited amount of time in my day, and when a spare moment is wasted because I’m repeating myself over & over & over again, I think I have the right to be a little bitchy.

So why don’t YOU try drugs. Because if all the stupid people in the world like you were medicated, then people like myself wouldn’t feel the need to resort to chemical zombification just to deal with you.

And please, for God’s sake, step away from all electronic devices before you seriously hurt yourself. Because I’d hate to see you get electricuted. Seriously.

“Saw your ride this morning…”

“Uh, huh… ”

(Snicker) “So, um, is that permanent?”

“NO.”

“‘Cause if it is, we’ll definately need to get you a soccer ball…”

“Die.”

“I just had a million-dollar idea.”

“For what?”

“I’m going to write some software.”

“But you hate code.”

“Well, I’m not actually going to WRITE it, I’m going to explain it to a developer then let HIM write it.”

“Then wouldn’t it belong to him?”

“No, because it’s MY idea.”

“Well, where did YOUR idea come from?”

“I stole it….”

I was in a great mood yesterday; I was coming off a great weekend, my financing for my home is finally in order, I was happy to see my daughter… so I decided to let go of some of my anger yesterday and try to be nice to Chip for a change. (I’m never deliberately mean, just cold. And that’s purely out of self-defense. I’m not emotionally equipped to be my soon-to-be-ex-husband’s “buddy” right now.)

So we were having a decent conversation when he drops the bomb that he spoke to the lawyer, and he’s filing the divorce papers today.

It was the equivelent to being kicked in the stomach. I seriously could not breathe for a moment. It’s not like it was a big surprise or anything; I knew it was coming. But there’s a finality in it that I can’t describe. I HATED my first husband, but when I got served the divorce papers (at work, no less), I still broke down and cried. It’s a colassal failure in writing; a public record for the entire world to see, a black mark on your permanent record.

Suddenly, I was just insanely furious at him. I hated him for dragging me through this, I hated him for letting me down. I hated him for being a selfish bastard and I hated him for stealing half my daughter’s life from me. I hated him for being nice to me, because I can’t handle nice. I wanted to be able to hate him with a clear conscience, and know that this is entirely his fault, and that I’m not a complete failure AGAIN.

Because this is my reality; every seven years, the man I pledge my life to leaves me. I can only blame them so much; there has to be SOME reason that this happens. There must be SOMETHING I do to drive them away.

Not to mention it’s seriously depressing when someone basically says, “I just can’t stand to be with you anymore.”

So, in my anger, I let loose yesterday. I’m sure I said things that I didn’t mean, and I know I said some things that I DID mean. I was in such an anger-driven, frustration-fueled haze that I don’t even remember what I said. But I am SICK of him acting as if he’s doing me a favor. And if I don’t acknowedge the little nice things that he does, he gets his feelings hurt, and that just pisses me off even further.

You expect me to be grateful right now?

You LEFT me.

I am NOT happy about that.

And no amount of “help” is going to change that fact. It doesn’t make it easier, it doesn’t make it better. Perhaps he does do things because he genuinely cares about my well-being, but right now, given the circumstances, I can’t really believe that. To me, it just looks like the actions of a guilty man, and all the “help” I’m getting directly benefits HIS situation in some way.

And that was pretty much the story of our life.

I gravitate towards people with a black wit; I can’t help it. I’m one of those sick individuals who finds humor in human suffering. I guess that’s because for me, humor is the only way I can get through my own suffering; left to deal with serious issues on my own, I usually fall into a downward spiral of depression and despair.

So I was quite happy this weekend to be surrounded by people with cynical comments and scorching sarcasm. The wicked comments rolled easily off their tongues, all in good fun. It was especially entertaining when they would turn on each other, pointing out faults and faux pas, until someone would finally call a truce. The nicest thing about it, though, was the fact that none of these people took THEMSELVES seriously. They could happily make fun of one another, and nobody took offense to it. No pouting. No hurt feelings. No sulking. By the end of the weekend, they were ripping on me, too, until I carefully took out my claws and gave them a cautious swipe back.

There was a moment of silence, that uncomfortable moment when you think, “Maybe it’s only okay for HER to say that,” and then, an eruption of laughter.

I have found my people.

I apologize for being so quiet this week; it’s been a rough one. My home went up for sale, my big yellow truck (and train horn) are gone, & my daughter is off with her father for the weekend. I’ve also been juggling the issues that arise when you’re buying a home for the first time, dealing with a divorce the second time, and trying desparately not to bite the head off everyone around you for the third time.

So now that I’ve got the whining out of the way, I decided a couple of months ago to go visit an old friend who can hook me up with some potentially VIPs in the graphics world. So I packed my bags last night and I’m prepared to go on my first weekend adventure all by myself.

It sounds silly, but I’m 31 years old and until now, I’ve never planned a trip by myself. Someone has always taken care of the details for me. I realized with great excitement that at this point in my life, there is not a damn thing stopping me from doing this whenever I choose to. And now, I can go on that cruise I’ve been thinking about (a GeekCruise, Photoshopping 7 days in the Bahamas! WooHoo!). And I have friends who are willing to travel to Italy with me who will actually appreciate the architecture, the wine, and the ambience of Tuscany… and maybe, just maybe, I might find the romantic kind of love that I’ve missed for so long. But I’m in no hurry to start that search yet…

My best friend called earlier this week to ask me to run a marathon in Phoenix in January, and for a moment, I paused. Then I realized, there is absolutely nothing stopping me from saying yes. I wanted to do it, and as long as I plan a little in advance for the finances involved, there is no one else’s plans in the way of mine.

It was the strangest feeling. And I liked it.

So although I’ve been uninspired to write, my spirit is inspired at the moment. For the first time in a very long time, I’m spending less time writing about life and finally LIVING it. In the moment, right now, good & bad.

Hello world.  The real Kristie is back.

I have my blog linked to my Blackberry so that I can get comments and posts immediately as they’re posted. Sometimes I get replies on older posts, and I’m surprised when that happens. Tonight I got the most peculiar comment from a post over a year ago…

I only get the comment, not the post it’s referenced to, so as I read it, I had no idea what it was in reference to. It bothered me so much that I came home and looked it up, then realized with a heavy heart how bitchy I was being when I wrote that post.

It’s no excuse, but I was in a completely different place when I wrote that. I was riding high on my horse, thinking I was better than I am, and being completely insensitive to the girls involved.

Yes, the issue was silly. But it wasn’t silly to THEM. To them, it was very serious, and I made light of it in a condescending and mean way.

So this is my heartfelt apology to Someone Hurt. I wrote the post over a year ago, and I’m a much different person now, in a very different place. I always invite people to challenge me when I’m being bitchy, and this person did so without personally attacking me, which I really appreciate. You are right; I let the girl down. Perhaps if I hadn’t had my conceited head stuck up my ass at that time, I would have been more sensitive.

If it means anything to you, at least you know karma got me on that one; it will be a very, very long time before I ever have a cool car worth taking a picture with again…

Over the course of the past month, things are changing so rapidly that I almost can’t keep up with them. New house, soon to have new (used) car, new life… the only contant will be the old job, and for that, I am eternally grateful. Because I hate change.

Change is frightening, change is scary. Some poeple seem to embrace change with exhiliration and excitement; I face it with terror & dread. I’m a creature of habit… and I like my habits. Over the last six months, my habits have changed more times than I can count. As soon as I get used to something, it changes again. There is no stability and there is no routine, and that leads to a complete lack of comfort on my part. I can’t relax.

It’s hard to stay wound up all of the time. When you can’t let go, and you live in this contant state of fear, it wears you down. I’ve been sick for almost three straight months… and the headaches, I can’t begin to describe. Occasionally it will hit a point that is so bad that I have nothing left to do but emotionally shut off, disconnect, just so I can deal with the details I must deal with.

I wish I could embrace change; I wish I could let go. I know, in time, I will. But right now, today, is just one of those days I want to stay in bed all day…

I heard a statement that got me thinking. The statement was “I’ve done everything I can do.” And I was righteously indignant when I heard that; obviously, I disagreed, and disagreed STRONGLY.

But then I started thinking… maybe it’s the semantics. IMO, a more appropriate way to say that would be, “I’ve done everything I’m willing to do.” Because maybe what I expect Chip to do is not something he can. Maybe the things I wanted Chip to do for me are so far out of his realm of understanding that it’s simply not POSSIBLE for him to do these things. Maybe to do them would push him outside of himself as the compromises I made in our marriage pushed me away from MYSELF. And there’s something to be respected there; you can compromise for someone, you can try to make them happy, but if you’re miserable while you’re doing them, then maybe you need to re-evaluate the situation.

When I look at it that way, I don’t think I’ve done everything I can to save this marriage. I could feign a passion that does not exist for a while, and maybe it would slowly become something real once again, but in the meantime I would not be true to myself, because I would be sacrificing the things that I need fror the sake of making him happy, while in the meantime I know he would not give me the things that I care about. I could wait for years in hopes that he would change and see the things that are important to me, but in reality, people rarely change, and people like Chip don’t ever see the need to.

I realized that I’ve said the same thing. “I’ve done everything I can.” Have I? No. I know in my heart that I haven’t. Will I? No. Because at the end of the day, I have to be true to myself. I can’t go back to the zombie that I became. And I’m not implying he made me that way; it was completely self-imposed. I compromised & compromised & compromised until there was nothing left of me, and we were living his life… even HE wasn’t happy with that.

The irony is, in the end, I made all these compromises in the hopes that he would never leave me, and it drove him away. So how could I ever expect someone who recognizes that to do the same thing for me?