Soap made of goat's milk doesn't lather

I really don't know what to call this entry. Perhaps "Just one of the many reasons I was SO right to leave my husband".

His insensitivity. I've always tried to be as considerate and careful of his feelings as I can, bearing in mind I was the one that left him. Also, because I genuinely  cared  for him. I thought he was  a good father, a decent person and somebody worth having around as a friend. I've gone out of my way financially, emotionally and literally to put  his needs ahead of mind.

But things have changed. I don't think I can honestly say that any of those four things are applicable any more. Even cutting him all the slack in the world, and accepting that my behaviour changed him, I'm not willing to accept all the blame for our maraige failing. I left him; he pushed me away. We were married for sixteen years and he told me he loved me three times in that period. He didn't like to share a bed with me, he preferred to go out with the 'boys' boozing than be with me, he saw me as a fixture. Me? I just wanted him to love me, like I loved him. He never did

He's turned into a terrible tightwad who begrudges any money he spends on his daughters. He resents me for not earning enough and not giving him more money (I already give him way more than legally I am required to). His daughters see it, too. I don't denigrate him in front of them (not the other way round, though: my eldest showed me an email in which he basically said to her that he was too broke to pay for something and that I should pay for it and that I should go out a get a job. Yes, he knows Ron  is dying and that I have a job lined up after that but that appears to not be soon enough.)

The girls see the disparity and the different lives and they make up their own mind. I sold my engagement ring to give him $200, because I just wanted him to leave them alone, not be used as instruments of spite against me. I was surprised to feel a wrench even now. It meant so much to me when he bought it: we were both students and he lived on rice and potatoes for three weeks until he'd paid it off. I never forgot that.

I was so angry with the whole situation that I tried to avoid  him when he came to pick up the girls at the end of their six week stint with me. He came and found me in the bedroom and almost the first words out of his mouth were "is Ron dead yet?).

I can't believe that somebody could be as crass and tactless and rude and offensive as to say exactly that. I think I gasped. I don't know what I said in reply. I felt like I'd been stabbed.

I'm done with him. Totally done. He's not a person I would even want as a friend any more. He must act a little differently around his current girlfriend or else why should she be with him? I think they've broken up about five times now but it never sticks. I always vowed if I broke up a relationship I would never, ever do the rebound thing so I'd have to make sure that I really meant ti and that it was for keeps.

Oh yes, now it's for keeps.

So busy...

I'm off to the States on Sunday and I'm frantically trying to complete everything I need to, including working right  up until the last minute.

Yesterday (day off) I tried to get my scooter up to my ex's place. Once my daughter can legally ride it I'm going to give it to her. She's old enough to get her learner's permit and if SH will help out, then she can get the practical hours so that she can ride it, at least locally. (SH = exhusband. See previous entry for explanation.)

I didn't have enough time (or even felt well enough) to ride it there so I determined that it would fit into the back of my car,a Hyundai Getz hatchback. I looked at the scooter, I looked at the car; I determined that the one would fit into the other. The only problem was that I couldn't lift it into the back by myself. Don 't get me wrong: I would have done it regardless if I hadn't been getting on a plane in four days but the thought of killing my arthritic back by so doing, and therefore having to minimise energetic reunion sex was simply NOT an option.

SH had said once before that he didn't think I would get it into the back of the car and that, even if I did, it was not good for a motorcycle type transport mechanism to be laid down on it's side. My response was that living here in Ghetto Central meant the scooter was laid down a great deal of the time anyway, because I routinely found it tipped on its side every morning as I went to work, and that I didn't think an extra hour here or there would really kill it.

Plus, I've always found that when a man tells you that something won't fit into something else, he is invariably wrong. I regard it as a sort of challenge and, seriously, every male reading this blog would be severely surprised at the size, weight and dimensions of the objects that I have fitted into the back of my tiny Getz.

Mostly against the 'advice' (read: directions) of various males.

Anyway, I was thinking of my back and I asked my brother to come over after work to help me lift the Piglet into my car. Immediately, true to sterereotype, he started saying that it wouldn't fit in and what would I do if it didn't etc and so I made up all sorts of lies, such as that I would ride it if I had to or I had rope to tie it down if necessary etc.

He came over after work and I immediately wished that I'd offered the regular methhead-down-the-street-stroller-at-6pm ten bucks to help me lift it into the car instead. My brother was extremely negative and after failing to get it in straight away, ducked out. All it needed was for him to hold up one end while I manipulated the other and all that happened was him refusing to do so, saying that it just wouldn't go in and that the half a bike length that jutted out would have to be tied down. Of course, I didn't have any rope: I had an okky cord because I knew that it WOULD fit in and that I wouldn't have to tie in anything.

Brother and I screamed at each other in the carpark, me loudly exhorting him to "help me, PLEASE!. Please just hold it the end up and I'll move it round this end! PLEASE!" Him saying "NO! it just won't go in",  and he would have no part of it (seriously, he used this phrase: because obviously we live in Victorian England and rejection is so much more acceptable when couched in old fashioned language).

Then he took off back to his house to get rope to tie the scooter in. While he was away I managed to pull, lift, wriggle and maneovre almost all of the scooter into the car, until only the mirror and one handle bar were still out and if somebody would just have lifted the whole weight I could get that in too. Instead, I got a flat rejection, a statement that he didn't approve of me lying to him about having rope ( I was currently using the elastic cord to strap down the hatch back over the two and half inches of protruding sccoter) and a request that I returned the rope to him ASAP as he might need it. He tied that rope so tight over the scooter and inside the car that there was no hope of it EVER moving again without outside aid. Apparently, even though it couldn't move anyway, it was a safety issue. Not a 'male is always right, damn it; listen and admire' issue.

Okay. I am all about the safety. Things protruding need a red safety flag. I could supply. I don't have a lot of red safety flags or even red safety rags, alas. But I do have a red lace bra.

There is no way to tie a red lace bra onto a motorbike handlebar and have it look even vaguely like what it isn't. Response to my safety warning signal, as I drove up to Kala, was enthusiastic to say the very least.

Then I arrived the other end, only to have the SH tell me he couldn't believe I got it in there and that we would never get it out. I can't tell you how annoyed that made me. So I tried to lift it out by myself. Luckily, E' s boyfriend turned up just then and helped. We got it out but SH got pissed off at me (surprise!). God, I so resent men telling me that things are not possible. It really sets my back up and I feel compelled to prove them wrong.

All that trying to lift it in and out by myself has taken a bit of a toll. My back hurts a lot and I have bruises and pains all over my body.

But I proved it right, damnit and its all worth it!

How clever am I?!

I've just managed, after weeks of trying to work out how to use the webcam that came with my new laptop, to get it functional. For tech challenged people such as myself, this was a huge effort.

It turned out that the camera software hadn't been installed on the system at all and that had to be done and then got operational. It took so long to pull this all together and I was so proud of myself for completing one of my 'day off tasks' (Yes, I have a list. Yes, I am aware that makes me come across as sadly anal. Shut up.)

I immediately called up the guy to tell him that we could now have hot phone sex WITH PICTURES! That is, if he had  his own computer currently. (I bet my mum didn't think of that when she advised me to go on Skype). The library frowns upon that sort of behaviour and even the hippest of internet cafes would probably not allow it, even in LA. He'd better get his act into gear: new job=new apartment=new computer=enhanced sex life=very happy possum here.

In the meantime, I suppose in order not to waste the camera, I can recline back against my pillows, as I am doing right now, and langourously watch myself eat Nutrigrain out of a cup.

Things I've done

Am I awesome or what?

(By the way, you know that word? The 'A' one?

I just want to make the point that it was one of my favourite adjectives before it got popular and I still love it: so much so that I am continuing using it, regardless of the fact that it is now mainstream. )

1. Go to Centrelink

I did and took great pleasure in informing them that, although I was entitled to not work until September, I was currently working and thanks very much for the support beforehand. This plush office (very surprising for the suburb I had to go to) had cameras on a fixed location series and you could see yourself  every 90 seconds. God, my arse looked big in that queue. Once I worked out where the camera was, I amused myself by making weird faces, doing little hoppy dances and generally enjoying my on-screen time. Not so sure the rest of the clientele loved it, though. Single mothers, drug addicts and old age pensioners appear to have lost their sense of humour.

2.  Drop off birthday present to my brother.

Did so and had a five minute conversation with his shut in the house dog.

me: Pat!

Pat:  Woof!

me: Pat!

Pat: Woooofff!

me: Pat!

Pat: Wooooooooofffffffffffffff!

me: Pat!

Pat:  WooooooooooooooIamsogoingtobiteyourfuckingheadofffffffffffffff!

You get the idea.

3.  Check out laser hair removal for the downstairs. Because I get embarassed by how much I scream when I get waxed.

Oh, oh, oh! So expensive. Is it worth it? I have a consultation tomorrow to see if it will even work on my skin/hair combo. If I do go ahead they will let me pay it off gradually and I'll have to give up one of my expensive vices. Hmmm, hair products for the girls? That might well fund it.

4. Try and change 4 bike tyres. How pathetic is it that I can change a huge inner truck tyre and yet not a bicycle one?

Ducked out. There is a bike shop locally, I can borrow my brother's bike carrier that fits on a car without a tow bar. Change of tyres, service and hello! cycling around the lake!

5.  Washing.

Yeah, draped all over my unit as we speak. These days I never hang it out on the communal lines. I find that my spiral staircase works well as an airer/dryer and 24 hours is even enough time to dry it in winter. Plus, no sun fading.

6.  Buy new nipple rings.

Done. Haven't installed them yet. This time I've got actual rings. Previously I've had bars and horseshoes but the balls on the ends keep unwinding off the thread and falling off and then the shank is likely to slip out. Because nipples have a higher capillary action flow (very sensitive area so lots of blood vessels), the holes can close up in as little as 12 hours. Considering how much it hurt to have it done, I am hanging onto these babies.

For my birthday I am considering having my tragus done. Happy Birthday, Kitty! Let's stick a needle through your ear! And smile, you wannabe pathetic older person, who is obviously trying way too hard to be cool. And here's your Myspace and Facebook accounts while we're at it!

Things to do on my day off

1. Go to Centrelink

2.  drop off birthday present to my brother.

3.  Check out laser hair removal for the downstairs. Because I get embarassed by how much I scream when I get waxed.

4. Try and change 4 bike tyres. How pathetic is it that I can change a huge inner truck tyre and yet not a bicycle one?

5.  Washing.

6.  Buy new nipple rings.

I have an action packed day in front of me.

Weekend stuff

Seriously wet out there but Number 2 daughter and I had a very funfilled  day, in spite of getting drenched.

We started off our day by going into the city for a pancake breakfast. At that stage it was still fine and the only hassle was the amount of beggars approaching me to ask for 'a couple of bucks?'. There is a definite rationale for not dressing nicely: everything I was wearing was op shop purchased but the whole outfit looked kind of classy and obviously way too affluent. I had had a bad night, due to an encroaching flu, lack of sleep and other stuff, and I was not tolerant. By the third one I was wanting another beggar because I knew exactly what I would say to them, and with relish: "NO! Fuck off. I'm unemployed and poor too and I somehow manage to get by without hassling people for cash!" My throat hurt, my teeth hurt (isn't it weird how sinus infections cause toothache?) and I was bitchy as all hell; naturally another beggar didn't approach.

We detoured via a chemist for some cold and flu tablets before the pancake place and scarfing down a couple of those made me feel a lot better. Pancakes improved the situation even more and a small article in the local Saturday paper made my morning.

The headline was Hedgehog rap makes a fine point and it was about a New Zealand court case where a man was being held to justice over his use of a hedgehog as an assault weapon. 

The man picked up a hedgehog and hit a teenager with it, after first asking him if he "wanted to wear a hedgehog helmet". Then he mooned him.

According to the Const. in charge of the case "He admitted to having been in possession of of a hedgehog". It was this sentence that caused me to choke on my coffee and burst out laughing so loudly that everybody in the place turned around to stare.

The perpetrator pleaded not guilty to charges of common assault (original charge was assault with a weapon - the hedgehog, for which he could have got five years) but was found guilty and fined. I laughed and laughed. No wonder we make fun of NZers!

After a full carbohydrate loading for the day, we did the girlie shopping underwear bit. I hate shopping. I make a lousy girl. My daughters know this and put up with my grouchiness and speed shopping inclinations, which is good of them.

When we came out of the shops it was pouring so hard that the pavements were rivers. The choice was to wait and linger in the hope of it stopping or just to get wet.

We giggled our way soggily back to the carpark and my sunny mood lasted right up until the frigging carpark machine robbed me of 20 cents when giving me change. I informed everybody in the queue behind me that it was a thief, which made me feel better.

Driving home I actually had to stop because I couldn't see enough through the sheets of rain to drive. We dried off as we watched dvds and it counted as a good day for me.

Intermission

I'm in the middle of a very long political post, which I'm breaking up into a couple of posts, for ease of reading.

So, here's an ad break.

You're still a fuckwit.

If this applies to you (and there are a couple), please DO take it personally. Very personally. Please be insulted by it, because it was definitely meant to offend.

Lather, rinse and repeat.

I have appalling taste in men.

That is, if you go by my ex-boyfriend  and ex-husband. My judgement is obviously flawed and I can't believe I was so blinded for so long.

I've tried and tried to have an amicable relationship with my exhusband, agreeing to everything he's demanded, outlaying lots of money on my daughters for expenses, paying all divorce costs, even taking him out to lunch, on my income as opposed to his big salary, cooking meals for him, trying to still do the civil thing for the sake of our daughters. Persuading him to come out to dinner at a popular chain place, for my younger girl's sake, at her request (he eventually said he would if I paid for it all and drove him). Everything he's wanted he's got from me.

I do not deserve to be called up and abused for ruining his weekend plans because C wanted to stay up with him so that she could go to a party with her friends tomorrow. He couldn't have made it more obvious that he finds them a drag that interferes with his social life. They aren't stupid and they are starting to resent this attitude, try as he might to blame it all on me.

It's sad to realise that he can't even be bothered to at least pretend a veneer of friendship. Maybe it's true, and you can't be friends with somebody you've loved. But he never loved me like I loved him and he only resented the loss of me as the loss of a possession of his. Which seems to be a theme of my ex's. They as sure as hell don't want me to be happy or moving on.

He's actually making it easier for me, in some ways now. The nastier he is, the less inclined I am to consider his wishes and make huge concessions just to be nice. He's living in my house, in the suburb I grew up in, and he went deliberately out of his way to perform an action which ensured that I would never, ever be able to live in that suburb again, or to share a true joint custody agreement which meant that our daughters would have as stable a background as possible. He wasn't willing to put their own needs above his own petty spite and desire to hurt me.

It's amazing how incredibly far down I've sunk because of today. It shows me that when I think of my depression as a potentially terminal condition, I am right and that I am also right to believe I'm not out of the woods yet. And today there is nobody around to help me. It's sink or swim on my own and I'm hoping that my dogpaddling will keep me afloat until I outlast it. I am seriously considering trying to self medicate myself in the hope I might bring on another seizure. As I believe I've mentioned before, ECT is an excellent treatment for chronic severe non-drug responsive depression, and is simply a medically controlled seizure. The drugs have had the side effect of a seizure on me before and that's what enabled me to get up to this level of semifunctioning.

Sure, it's a risk. But maybe one worth the taking in trying to save my own life. And quite frankly, the other serious side effect doesn't look nearly that scary any more.