Soapbox Diner: Hit the Road, Jack.

Soapbox Diner

Hit the Road, Jack.

02.05.07

Gosh, I miss the old days here in Diaryland. I left without barely a second glance back - first the computer died and then I got it back hobbling, and then it went for good. I got a new computer and life just had settled into a comfortable rut. I just didn't come around anymore. The man came into the picture and we were busy so much. The computer was in the communal room, so every time I sat down to the computer, he was right there looking over my shoulder. It just didn't work.

Now I come back and you know, I sort of expected Diaryland to have carried on as usual; the same place I bookmarked. But it, too, has marched on. Now so many of my friends and favorite people just don't update as regularly as I want them to.

Hrmph. I can't say I fault anyone, because I don't. I just miss everyone and wonder where they have gone and what they are doing these days.

I've been thinking for soooo long now of leaving the Man. I even formulated my very own Evil Plan. I wouldn't normally feel karmically justified in hatching an Evil Plan, but he makes life changes so difficult, I don't see any other way to go about it - clean, even harsh, break. That's it.

About a year ago, I broke up with him. It was New Years Day. We'd gone out the night before, said hateful words. I went about on my way - we were out at the casino lounge with a group of friends. I saw a man on the dance floor and tipsy me made my way over to him - under the full guise of seeing a fun-loving single guy who might like to meet one of my own recently-divorced friends whom I had conveniently in tow.

They didn't hit it off, but he was fun, and neither of us had any strings in mind. We danced, and danced, and danced. We had a blast. I didn't even give a second thought to the Man. He leaned into my ear and whispered some clever little thing about the Man must be a gambler, cuz he sure was lucky to have won me or something equally silly and unexpected and corny and completely charming. Then another of my girlfriends came up and informed me that I was being watched by the Man (who had previously left me in favor of the craps table), and he was none too pleased with me enjoying my dance with this stranger.

Oh, Jesus Christ. Fine. Bye, anonymous dude. I have to now go and pacify this 50-year-old man who is jealous of a dance. No, really. Thanks again. Bye now.

Later that night, at home, The Man and I had the most amazing, wicked crazy sex. I don't even know why. I was mad at him, I think. And in the morning as I stood out on the patio smoking, he came out and wrapped his arms around my shoulders from behind, conveniently strangulating any oxygen from entering my airways (I have a throat phobia. Nevermind about that).

He said, 'I love you, do you know that?'

I replied that I knew nothing of the sort. He had been harassing me relentlessly for months, never supportive. I had been in the process of losing my job at the time. Worried about what I was going to do and what was going to happen to me and Steven (the kid). I just wanted reassurance that he was there, and whatever it took, the time I was unemployed, he would be there to help support the house.

He couldn't, wouldn't, say those words. He just didn't care that it was a hateful work environment and that I couldn't sleep, eat, function, while there anymore. It was aweful. And his demands on me . . . it was just the end. I don't care - if a person is in a relationship that is monogomous and co-residing, there needs to be emotional support during times of doubt. I'd always assumed that was a given. Well, the Man doesn't work that way. He doesn't understand life by those rules. It's just foreign to him.

So I broke up with him; told him I'd give him three months to get his financial situation together and find some other place to live. In the meantime, I moved out to the couch in the living room. Steven also slept out there, so it was just better that I leave the bedroom, rather than him.

During that time, he would come out to the living room three and sometimes four times a night, begging me to change my mind, trying to hold me, touch me. He cried, he begged. It was the saddest, hardest, most pitiful thing I've ever seen. It broke my heart, but I was resolute - and became more so every time he refused to give me the space and rest I told him I needed. Finally, I just snapped. I told him to get the fuck out. I pushed his embrace off. He screamed for me not to push him, and he knocked my glasses off my face with the ball of his hand as he smacked me. The frames of my designer glasses bent, the lens popped out, and the metal scraped a long strip of skin off my collar bone.

And that was it. The next morning, I threw him out. Finito, done. I was done. It was a motto I chanted to him relentlessly for a month.

And then we reconciled. But that was a mistake. I knew it then, and I know it now. Fucking moments of weakness, man. Killers.

Then came the sale of the trailer, and the house hunt. Found the house. Fell in love. Spent way too much money I don't have on my own. Four bedrooms, 1/4 acre lot, private backyard retreat, gorgeous wooden floors. L-O-V-E.

And it's all hell. Moments of peace, strings of arguing. Checks on the calendar to notify me when I'm not satisifying his libido with great enough frequency. Nights when he just doesn't come home.

But a steady, almost enough, second paycheck.

And so was devised the Evil Plan. Wait six months to refinance the house and get a lower payment. Wait for the raise at the job. Get Steven's father to take over the health insurance which would allow me to save $250 a month. Refinance the car. Maybe get a roommate to share some of the household expenses.

Then change the locks. Let the Man know he could find himself a new place to live. I'll pay the moving fees, just get out. Don't come around here no more, no more, no more. But . . .

Moments of peace. Quasi financial security. Dumb, stupid status quo. Whatever. Complacency.

I don't know. Moreover, I'm not entirely sure anymore.

Whatever.

Who links to me?

sbd v. 11 @ 2002-2007