A 'Get Out of Jail Free' Card
Saturday's fourth-annual Halloween Bash at the nursing home in Kemmerer was very nearly a perfect delight. Only a few people who are crucial to my happiness were not present, and it's incredibly fun to hobnob with those who share my genes. I couldn't have picked a better family out of a line-up had I been given the chance and choice.
Here Monday comes, and it's brought a fresh skiff of snow, waterbills to print, fold, stuff, and mail, and a rotten attitude in the guise of things left undone last Friday. I must get a new spedometer for Monte "The Fridge" Dodge, because when it's cold in the mornings, it produces a deafening buzzing, and the needle broke in half weeks ago, which is just weird. Thank God for the folks at Junkyard Dogs.They make driving a cute little rusty jalopy not only possible, but fun. Believe it or not, I drive an '87 Dodge Raider because I love to. I have yet to find something I like enough to make Monte feel bad by leaving him parked while I drive off in some shiny behemoth with plastic bumpers, after he's been so faithful. And yes, I frequently give names and personalities to the inanimate objects I'm fond of. My ex once petulantly charged that I loved my truck more than him. I'll be damned if he wasn't right.
Speaking of that, I'm finally there. Maybe it was a Saturday spent being petted and praised by those who swim with me in the Bertoncelj gene pool, but I woke up done with Oscar. No, really! I know I've said that before and you've still had to hear about it, but really. I've been feeling bad about not having his blessing to sell the $8k worth of tools I bought him. Not anymore. So what if he comes back for them in six months? I gave him plenty of time to earn them. I paid for them in more ways than cash, and I can gain the last crucial piece of my missing life back by getting them the hell out of my sight. I spent five very precious young years trying to fix him; now I'd like to tell him to take his external locus of control and stick it in his ass. Sometimes it feels good to give up. It takes a long time to get to that stage of grief, but once you do, it's grand.
Here Monday comes, and it's brought a fresh skiff of snow, waterbills to print, fold, stuff, and mail, and a rotten attitude in the guise of things left undone last Friday. I must get a new spedometer for Monte "The Fridge" Dodge, because when it's cold in the mornings, it produces a deafening buzzing, and the needle broke in half weeks ago, which is just weird. Thank God for the folks at Junkyard Dogs.They make driving a cute little rusty jalopy not only possible, but fun. Believe it or not, I drive an '87 Dodge Raider because I love to. I have yet to find something I like enough to make Monte feel bad by leaving him parked while I drive off in some shiny behemoth with plastic bumpers, after he's been so faithful. And yes, I frequently give names and personalities to the inanimate objects I'm fond of. My ex once petulantly charged that I loved my truck more than him. I'll be damned if he wasn't right.
Speaking of that, I'm finally there. Maybe it was a Saturday spent being petted and praised by those who swim with me in the Bertoncelj gene pool, but I woke up done with Oscar. No, really! I know I've said that before and you've still had to hear about it, but really. I've been feeling bad about not having his blessing to sell the $8k worth of tools I bought him. Not anymore. So what if he comes back for them in six months? I gave him plenty of time to earn them. I paid for them in more ways than cash, and I can gain the last crucial piece of my missing life back by getting them the hell out of my sight. I spent five very precious young years trying to fix him; now I'd like to tell him to take his external locus of control and stick it in his ass. Sometimes it feels good to give up. It takes a long time to get to that stage of grief, but once you do, it's grand.
posted by A at
11:25 AM
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