I get these electric shocks sometimes. They feel like somebody has just hooked a battery up to my body. Most of the time I get them up and down my spine and in my neck. Sometimes they shoot out to my shoulders and even into my arms and fingers.
They happen when I remember things.
Things that I don't want to remember.
It's like my body is judging behavior that I have deemed unacceptable.
I was bad, and now my body continues to punish me for it.
I see this picture in my head of an ex-girlfriend and I feel guilty that I broke up with her. No, I feel guilty that I ever went out with her. I feel like I was lying when I told her that I wanted to go out with her. I obviously didn't want to go out with her, because we broke up. And so I feel like I lied. Or even-- a more sane thought-- I changed my mind about her. I initially thought I wanted to go out with her, but then I decided that I didn't want to anymore. I didn't like her enough to continue seeing her. And then I feel stupid, like, "Why didn't I see that sooner?" And now I have to hurt her. And I don't like hurting people. And then her friends write me emails telling me about how bad I am. Like they're confirming what I'm already thinking. They tell me I'm evil and a horrible monster. And even though I know in my head that they are going over the top, I just really hate hurting people, so I feel guilty. It's my fault that she's hurting, and so I must have done something bad.
And that was back in 2006.
And now I think about it and think that there's something wrong with me because I can't let it go. Because it still sends electric shocks up my back. And my wife tells me that I must be getting something out of it, and she tells me this because that's what I tell her. And I believe that's true. But I don't know what I'm getting out of it. And I don't know how to get rid of it. It feels like a sickness that I can't shake. I don't have medicine for it. I don't always remember it, but when it comes back, it's really hard to shake.
And I don't know when it's going to happen or what's going to set it off. And I don't know how to get rid of it.
Monday, September 20, 2010
Thursday, September 16, 2010
Snake On A Porch
There was a fucking snake on my front porch this morning!
My wife said something like, "garter snakes don't bite," and, "there's nothing to be worried about," and, "it's a small one, everything's okay." But I know better! That snake was waiting to eat me! Anybody else see "Snakes On A Plane"??? I rest my case! And he had the perfect time of day, too: when I've just awokened and am groozy and woggy from an unproductive night's (non) rest. That's the best time to jump me and eat me! Like the perfect killing machine that he is! All three inches of him ready for dinner at 7 am!
But my wife handled the situation perfectly.
"Would you like to leave through the side door?"
Yes I would, Brilliant Wife!
She totally saved my life today.
My wife said something like, "garter snakes don't bite," and, "there's nothing to be worried about," and, "it's a small one, everything's okay." But I know better! That snake was waiting to eat me! Anybody else see "Snakes On A Plane"??? I rest my case! And he had the perfect time of day, too: when I've just awokened and am groozy and woggy from an unproductive night's (non) rest. That's the best time to jump me and eat me! Like the perfect killing machine that he is! All three inches of him ready for dinner at 7 am!
But my wife handled the situation perfectly.
"Would you like to leave through the side door?"
Yes I would, Brilliant Wife!
She totally saved my life today.
Wednesday, September 15, 2010
How Did You Sleep?
I could've answered her this morning.
She typically asks me this question when we wake up. "How did you sleep?" And I usually get a little frustrated with the question. I don't know how I slept. I was asleep. I don't remember how I slept. And then she explains that she's asking if I feel rested. I don't know. I'm just waking up. Of course I don't feel rested. I wanna go back to bed. I wanna snuggle with you. I don't want to be up. Do I feel rested? If I answer "no" can we go back to sleep?
She asks me these questions a lot. And we go through this same dance a lot. And I don't get, like, real real frustrated. I just want to have an answer for her, and I don't. I feel like I'm not doing it right because I don't have an answer for her. And I never remember that she's asking if I feel rested. Probably because I haven't really rested and so I'm still asleep, but she always explains herself calmly, as if she knows that I'm not upset with her. As if she knows about this dance, too.
Maybe she's just talking to me. We like to talk to each other. Maybe she's trying to find something to say first thing in the morning and has nothing else to say so she asks how I slept. Maybe she's asleep, too, and this is like a morning stretch for us: we go through this same thing in order to get our brains working. Maybe. I don't know.
But through my frustration, I like it. I like that she's talking to me. I like that she's snuggling up next to me. Sometimes, she asks me right in my ear so that I can feel her hot breath on my neck. I like feeling her that close to me. I like feeling her arm over me. Her feet tucked into my knee pits. I like her. More than I've liked anyone else. Ever. She was made for me.
But she didn't ask me today. "How did you sleep," did not come out of her mouth.
Because she was asleep herself. And I had to gently pet her head and kiss her chin before she took that deep breath in that signals her rising.
Had she asked me, "how did you sleep," I could have answered her today: like shit. I woke up several times during the night and looked at the clock with tired eyes that shouldn't be looking at a synthetic green-blue digital readout that's trying really hard to be welcoming and soothing but falls short of the mark. I couldn't find a good snuggle with her last night. And I woke up with aches and pains like I'm a geriatric. I had a hard time walking this morning. I felt like a large dude whacked me with a rubber mallet over and over again. All over. I feel awful.
I'm kinda glad she didn't ask me this morning. I wouldn't have had a good answer for her. And I only want to give her good things. Good answers. Good kisses. Good feelings. Good things.
Yeah, yeah, I know that I can't always give her good things, you Contradictory Asshole. I know that life is good AND bad. It's not like I was born yesterday and I certainly don't need you jumping in and giving advice which is not asked for and beside the point.
The point is, I WANT something, and that something is to give my wife the best of the world that I can give her. And today, my world wasn't very good, and had she asked about my world, it wouldn't have been very good.
Instead of asking the question, she groggily put her arms around my neck, and sleepily returned the kisses I flitted on her face. And she told me she loved me.
And some days that's all I really need. I'm so glad to have my wife in my life. It's the best thing ever.
She typically asks me this question when we wake up. "How did you sleep?" And I usually get a little frustrated with the question. I don't know how I slept. I was asleep. I don't remember how I slept. And then she explains that she's asking if I feel rested. I don't know. I'm just waking up. Of course I don't feel rested. I wanna go back to bed. I wanna snuggle with you. I don't want to be up. Do I feel rested? If I answer "no" can we go back to sleep?
She asks me these questions a lot. And we go through this same dance a lot. And I don't get, like, real real frustrated. I just want to have an answer for her, and I don't. I feel like I'm not doing it right because I don't have an answer for her. And I never remember that she's asking if I feel rested. Probably because I haven't really rested and so I'm still asleep, but she always explains herself calmly, as if she knows that I'm not upset with her. As if she knows about this dance, too.
Maybe she's just talking to me. We like to talk to each other. Maybe she's trying to find something to say first thing in the morning and has nothing else to say so she asks how I slept. Maybe she's asleep, too, and this is like a morning stretch for us: we go through this same thing in order to get our brains working. Maybe. I don't know.
But through my frustration, I like it. I like that she's talking to me. I like that she's snuggling up next to me. Sometimes, she asks me right in my ear so that I can feel her hot breath on my neck. I like feeling her that close to me. I like feeling her arm over me. Her feet tucked into my knee pits. I like her. More than I've liked anyone else. Ever. She was made for me.
But she didn't ask me today. "How did you sleep," did not come out of her mouth.
Because she was asleep herself. And I had to gently pet her head and kiss her chin before she took that deep breath in that signals her rising.
Had she asked me, "how did you sleep," I could have answered her today: like shit. I woke up several times during the night and looked at the clock with tired eyes that shouldn't be looking at a synthetic green-blue digital readout that's trying really hard to be welcoming and soothing but falls short of the mark. I couldn't find a good snuggle with her last night. And I woke up with aches and pains like I'm a geriatric. I had a hard time walking this morning. I felt like a large dude whacked me with a rubber mallet over and over again. All over. I feel awful.
I'm kinda glad she didn't ask me this morning. I wouldn't have had a good answer for her. And I only want to give her good things. Good answers. Good kisses. Good feelings. Good things.
Yeah, yeah, I know that I can't always give her good things, you Contradictory Asshole. I know that life is good AND bad. It's not like I was born yesterday and I certainly don't need you jumping in and giving advice which is not asked for and beside the point.
The point is, I WANT something, and that something is to give my wife the best of the world that I can give her. And today, my world wasn't very good, and had she asked about my world, it wouldn't have been very good.
Instead of asking the question, she groggily put her arms around my neck, and sleepily returned the kisses I flitted on her face. And she told me she loved me.
And some days that's all I really need. I'm so glad to have my wife in my life. It's the best thing ever.
Monday, September 13, 2010
What I Would Say To You If You Were The Therapists That I Don't Have Right Now But Probably Should Have
So BloodyCumster signed our 9-year-old up for football. Then he paid top dollar for brand new sports equipment which he could've rented for a fraction of the cost. Then he's got the vagina to ask for compensation. My wife, quite aptly, told BC that if he had told us about football in advance, we might have had the opportunity to prepare for such a large expenditure. However, with such short notice and without consultation as to whether it would be best to rent equipment for an ever-growing 9-year-old versus buying top-of-the-price-tag equipment for a boy that won't be able to wear that equipment next year, BloodyCumster would be on his own financially. I love her for that response. She's brilliant.
Then BloodyCumster buys cleats for our 9-year-old. They are cleats that are so slippery on regular surfaces (tile in homes and stores, cement, etc.) that our 9-year-old must walk as if he were traversing ice until he reaches the safety of grass, where he can ambulate normally. So BloodCum tells me that our 9-year-old "must" take flip-flops with him to practices so that he can change into them when he's done and won't slip and fall and hurt himself. In my head, our 9-year-old can just kick the shoes off and walk in the house. However, BloodyCumster feels it necessary to force foothing apparel, so I'm gonna let him do his thing, as he can't force me to do my thing. So my wife and I take our 9-year-old to practice. Everything goes great. We take him to another practice. Everything goes great. And no flip-flops either time.
Then our 9-year-old has a game. He does really well. After the game, BloodyCumster takes our 9-year-old to Target, where he slips and hurts his back and now he is going to the doctor today at 1 to make sure he's okay. He was with BloodCum, not me. I wasn't even aware of the trip to Target until my wife told me about it moments ago.
And here's the funnest part of the whole shindig: BloodCumster calls to tell my wife about our 9-year-old's injury, and the reason for the fall is because he TOLD me that our 9-year-old should wear flip-flops after practice so that he doesn't slip and fall.
Lemme recap for you, in case you missed this (because if you're sane, this will take a second to comprehend):
1. I was not at Target when the slip and fall happened
2. I did not know about the trip to Target where the slip and fall happened
3. Our 9-year-old has never fallen in my presence nor has he missed football practice because of a fall he's sustained while under my care
4. Our 9-year-old was in BloodCumster's care
5. BloodCumster had verbalized understanding of the great possibility of a slip and fall occurring due to the slippery nature of the cleats, even going so far as to making "rules" to prevent such an occurrence
And after all of this, the reason for the slip and fall, according to BloodyCumster, is because I hadn't made our 9-year-old wear flip-flops after practice over a week ago.
I'm at a loss as to what to say.
This is the man who is in charge of our children's care for more than half of their lives. Apparently he is unable to maintain their safety and is unable to provide a sane or logical reason for their injuries. It's like trying to parent with a lunatic who has completely lost touch with reality.
He fell because I hadn't made him wear flip-flops over a week ago??? What kind of bullshit is that??? How about this for more logical thoughts on the matter:
He fell because you bought him cleats that prevent him from walking on any surface other than grass.
He fell because you took him to a store that has not been floored in grass.
He fell because you didn't take him home after the game.
He fell because you weren't watching him closely.
Or maybe you want more neutral reasons:
He fell because gravity works.
He fell because all people fall and it was his time to go down.
He fell because he tripped on something that anyone would trip on.
He fell because his cleats weren't made to walk on slippery retail store flooring.
But BloodyCumster goes for the step-father blame. He goes for the crazy, Hail Mary bomb blame. Giving me more power than I'm deserving of. Completely stripping himself of any responsibility and, therefore, any power to prevent or help the situation. Making him look even insaner than he already looks.
Fuck, this man should have been aborted. What a waste of space.
...at this point in our therapy session, I would hope that you would offer me great drugs that would help me feel better and give me some great mental health treatment so that I could go about thinking differently so that I might use my cognitive therapy in conjunction with my prescription medication to alleviate my anger and frustration. However, you're just a silly blog and suck at writing prescriptions. I would really like some prescriptions right now.
Crap.
Then BloodyCumster buys cleats for our 9-year-old. They are cleats that are so slippery on regular surfaces (tile in homes and stores, cement, etc.) that our 9-year-old must walk as if he were traversing ice until he reaches the safety of grass, where he can ambulate normally. So BloodCum tells me that our 9-year-old "must" take flip-flops with him to practices so that he can change into them when he's done and won't slip and fall and hurt himself. In my head, our 9-year-old can just kick the shoes off and walk in the house. However, BloodyCumster feels it necessary to force foothing apparel, so I'm gonna let him do his thing, as he can't force me to do my thing. So my wife and I take our 9-year-old to practice. Everything goes great. We take him to another practice. Everything goes great. And no flip-flops either time.
Then our 9-year-old has a game. He does really well. After the game, BloodyCumster takes our 9-year-old to Target, where he slips and hurts his back and now he is going to the doctor today at 1 to make sure he's okay. He was with BloodCum, not me. I wasn't even aware of the trip to Target until my wife told me about it moments ago.
And here's the funnest part of the whole shindig: BloodCumster calls to tell my wife about our 9-year-old's injury, and the reason for the fall is because he TOLD me that our 9-year-old should wear flip-flops after practice so that he doesn't slip and fall.
Lemme recap for you, in case you missed this (because if you're sane, this will take a second to comprehend):
1. I was not at Target when the slip and fall happened
2. I did not know about the trip to Target where the slip and fall happened
3. Our 9-year-old has never fallen in my presence nor has he missed football practice because of a fall he's sustained while under my care
4. Our 9-year-old was in BloodCumster's care
5. BloodCumster had verbalized understanding of the great possibility of a slip and fall occurring due to the slippery nature of the cleats, even going so far as to making "rules" to prevent such an occurrence
And after all of this, the reason for the slip and fall, according to BloodyCumster, is because I hadn't made our 9-year-old wear flip-flops after practice over a week ago.
I'm at a loss as to what to say.
This is the man who is in charge of our children's care for more than half of their lives. Apparently he is unable to maintain their safety and is unable to provide a sane or logical reason for their injuries. It's like trying to parent with a lunatic who has completely lost touch with reality.
He fell because I hadn't made him wear flip-flops over a week ago??? What kind of bullshit is that??? How about this for more logical thoughts on the matter:
He fell because you bought him cleats that prevent him from walking on any surface other than grass.
He fell because you took him to a store that has not been floored in grass.
He fell because you didn't take him home after the game.
He fell because you weren't watching him closely.
Or maybe you want more neutral reasons:
He fell because gravity works.
He fell because all people fall and it was his time to go down.
He fell because he tripped on something that anyone would trip on.
He fell because his cleats weren't made to walk on slippery retail store flooring.
But BloodyCumster goes for the step-father blame. He goes for the crazy, Hail Mary bomb blame. Giving me more power than I'm deserving of. Completely stripping himself of any responsibility and, therefore, any power to prevent or help the situation. Making him look even insaner than he already looks.
Fuck, this man should have been aborted. What a waste of space.
...at this point in our therapy session, I would hope that you would offer me great drugs that would help me feel better and give me some great mental health treatment so that I could go about thinking differently so that I might use my cognitive therapy in conjunction with my prescription medication to alleviate my anger and frustration. However, you're just a silly blog and suck at writing prescriptions. I would really like some prescriptions right now.
Crap.