Happy New Year.
There now that we’ve dispensed with the niceties let’s get on with it. I’ve been enlightened since the last time I posted. It’s been evolutionary self-enlightenment.
First, my much maligned and under-appreciated husband, who canNOT seem to find his way into my good graces to stay, made a frightful error in judgment when he married me in February. Of course, that he married me at all is a testimony to his lofty standards and high hopes.
I am very testy in the winter, only in the winter mind you, the rest of the time I am delightfully charming. Winter grates on my nerves, all that cold and dark just wears me down. Come February I am a whirling dervish of discontent. What happens in February? Our anniversary happens in February. At the beginning of January, I make happy plans for our February anniversary. By the end of January, I’m making an appointment for the divorce consultation.
I have a fantastic lawyer, who tells me without fail that I do not really want to get divorced. Sometimes (okay, one time) I cry at the unfairness I must suffer. It’s unfair, wait until you hear exactly how unfair it is. He sends me on my way, without charging me, and goes around to his partners and support staff to collect the money they wagered against his abilities to discourage my ill-advised intentions. I know they have a pool, like a football pool. I know the assistants secretly hope that one day I’ll make a clean break and send missives from the FREE world. My lawyer has known me longer than my husband has, sometimes he laughs in admiration at the horrible things my husband gets away with.
Yesterday, while I worked on year end tax reporting and bullshit business tasks that I do not enjoy, my husband called me from the lake, where he and the people who work with us were enjoying themselves, immensely, as they cozied up to a crackling bonfire waiting to catch fish on their ice traps. Did I mention that I was in tax reporting hell? He called me to issue a directive, call a fishing supply company and order fishing equipment, could he have it overnight? I know he needs a brain transplant. When he returned last night I made it pretty clear to him that I would NOT be going anywhere for our anniversary, a big one that falls on a weekend, instead I intended to emancipate myself from this sweatshop and luxuriate on my birthday (a month after our anniversary) far away from this godforsaken place, ALONE. Perhaps I have a touch of seasonal affective disorder or maybe not, maybe I’m fine and you-know-who is unfair and deficient.
I have come to accept the fact that as long as the younger generation continues to tell all about the disagreements they have in their romantic relationships, I will not like the people they’re partnered with. I will see the others as irrefutably other, viewed, through the microscope of caring protection, as opportunistic parasites intent on destroying the hosts. Those kids all have flaws, I know they do, I see them and I’ve reported on them on this very blog. They’re decent kids who love the people they’re partnered with and they don’t deserve to be treated like that. It makes me wonder what Mum must have thought of some of the specimens we brought home and it makes me realize what mothers thought of me when things went south in the flamboyant and hurtful ways they tended to when I was young.
Here we are at the final enlightenment.
Oh dear Gawd, I am not young anymore. I could catalogue the ailments and indignities but I will spare you the indelicacy. I feel as though springs and wires and gizmos must be flying out of me as I walk around. The stuff that holds me together has come undone. I don’t like it one bit, not at all. For the record I am OPPOSED. I don’t mind getting old or watching my skin slide toward the floor. I mind losing function and I mind the never-ending unladylike afflictions. Yes, I do! I don’t care if everyone has them. I am not supposed to have them because I am not everyone. I am ME and there is a different set of rules for me, just ask my husband.