I have just about reached the limit. No, scratch that. I’ve exceeded the limit, gone beyond any possible expectation, attained better than best. Yes, I have. Unfortunately, I alone recognize and acknowledge this state of transcendence.
As are so many things in my forlorn life, this is all my husband’s fault. He owns every bit of it. I am GOOD NATURED and KIND HEARTED and he manipulates the very essence of who I am to his own advantage. The man has no conscience.
I have been begging, for months, to make a short trip with him to a medium-sized town with movie theaters, museums, restaurants and a completely incidental and irrelevant bait & tackle shop. It’s important for him to enjoy, if not a geographical cure then perhaps, a revitalizing treatment. My motivations are pure.
Weeks have flown by and every weekend finds us both in a state of exhaustion but working through it to a euphoric, labor high-similar to a runner’s high for a person with blisters and in need of knee replacements.
Finally, in disgust, and fantasizing dangerously about “repurposing” my frying pan heh-heh, I recognized my precarious grip on sanity and made reservations for one, the only important one, ME. I told my husband about my plans in the sweetest, most reassuring way possible, without telling him my cell phone would be staying home.
Last night, after a day of countless, meaningless phone calls from him, phone calls to see if anyone else had called, (When would I have had time to talk with them if they had???) he happened to mention that he wished I wouldn’t go this weekend. He hugged me and said I should be happy that he wanted me to stay. I cancelled my reservations. Sabotaged and defeated, AGAIN!