Where?

We're rearranging the house.

We're also decorating for the holidays.

The chaos has clogged my little brains.

Why I oughtta.....

So here's the deal with yesterday:

Didge slept. Boy, did Didge ever sleep. He had the day off, and said he'd head to Mom's with me since I had work to do there, and then? We were going to run some errands. As I started to get ready yesterday morning, he said he was going to catch a power nap. I called Mom and pushed things back a bit, deciding on 1pm.

At six minutes till one, I tried to wake Didge for about the tenth time. No go. Nuh-uh, not having it, not budging. He was becoming frustrated, and would hurl himself into a flip to face either the back or the front of the couch with every "are you going to wake up" query. After the flip, he would sniffle and jerk hell out of the blanket. I finally asked if he was coming, and somehow, he managed a *smartass* tone to his negative grunt. I said, "Fine. I'm going without you. See if I take YOU anywhere." A few steps down the hall, I added, "D@ckhead!"

I came home about an hour later to a still-sleeping Didge. Told him what time it was, and that I'd like to get the errands run so I could clean the yard. "Gimme a minute!" was all I got from him. He performed another flip, moaned, sniffled, jerked his blanket, and went back to sleep. I informed the dog and cat that Daddy was some description of very unsavory life form.

Another hour. I told him it was three o'clock. No response. I decided to curl up next to him on the couch and snuggle him awake, which resulted in Didge becoming somewhat hysterical. "What the hell are you doing???? You almost flipped me off the couch!" I asked what I'd done. He said, "I'm in a bad mood. Can't I get into a bad mood? You get in bad moods, now I'm in one." Then, in keeping with his pattern, he flipped, sniffled, and jerked his blanket - only this time with a little more force. He *meant it*. I marched off to clean the yard. I also cleaned out my car. Rang the doorbell to annoy him while I was at it.

After taking out the trash, I decided to give poor Totsi the Dog a bath - my frustration had me ticking things off my to-do list in grand fashion by that point. Sleeping Beauty woke up in the middle of that, and came into the bathroom to watch me finish dousing the poor precious, grinning. For whatever reason, he couldn't understand why I was shooting him stiff glances. He also didn't understand why I didn't try harder to wake him up. When I explained things, he was a little surprised: "I WHAT??" He apologized profusely, explained that he had a bad headache, and offered maybe that was why he was being so difficult. I accepted all of that because he *is* devastatingly cute, and he *did* apologize over and over again.

He made up for it by being very tolerant while shopping, only becoming mildly impatient while I was trying to decide on the right nude lipstick. (And a total aside: Have you ever tried explaining that concept to a man?)

I am going to say it...

Livid.

I am livid.

I am so damned livid.

There, I said it. I don't necessarily feel better, but I said it.

Decorundo Boy...

I love Didgeridoo Boy, I do. But I had planned where to put the bed, and had a *thing* planned and it was going to be good.

He did not like where I wanted the bed. I have to regroup.

Hence his new name.

That's not saying his overall instincts and ideas aren't good. It's just that I had a *thing*, and that thing was not to his liking. So the bed's sideways along the wall. So there's open air over his sleeping head. Human beings didn't always sleep with walls behind their heads, so I kind of think he could get over it. But he can't sleep that way, so I moved to his idea of putting the bed in the corner.

Admittedly, it looks better there. I've done that before. I liked it. A lot. But this was going to be something new, and the room was going to be so pretty.

And, yes, I realize the pillows tumbled off the end of the bed. I know this. And it *is* frustrating when that happens. Plus, I fully get that having the bed in the corner means making the bed is much easier. Just chuck on the duvet and all the pillows and cushions, and you're done. No top sheet needed.

I know this is better.

Okay, I've just written myself into a corner - no pun intended.

How is this supposed to work?

Didge and I are supposed to clean house today - go out to grab a round of cleaning supplies (we're out of everything at once), and get down and dirty in preparation for moving furniture tomorrow.

How in blazes is that supposed to work when he stays up 'till 7am and sleeps into the afternoon? Can someone explain this to me?

Abject rebellion...

I know, I know, the only reason Didge wanted me to settle down for a week is because I am totally overtaxed and honestly needed to simmer down and get my chill on for a few days. But now it is bothering me. The house is a total wreck. He had good intentions, he really did, but Didge has had an article to work on, and then his computer fouled up (requiring marathon troubleshooting sessions), and then? Well, he discovered some new games and found episodes of the animated "Planet of the Apes" series. So for all his good intentions, the housework he said he would do hasn't been done. He's simply not domestic. Adorable, but not domestic. And that's likely not going to change, so I'm not going to sweat it.

Point blank: I am over the house being the way the house is being. I am going to do something about it. I cannot relax in a war zone. Something in the refrigerator shouted at me a moment ago, for heaven's sake. It scared me.

I will maintain my side of the agreement to not work on anything pertaining to the wedding until Monday. However, I need a clean space in order to generate a good, steady flow of creativity for said event, so in a way, today's cleaning frenzy is kind of about that.

Snuff it. I'm going in.

Whoa, lordies...

I have no earthly idea what I am doing. Didge has informed me that I am to relax this week - no wedding planning, no fretting over the fact that the house isn't finished, no plotting and scheming for how to fix up the yard, nada. Nothing. Maybe I could read a book, he suggested. I have let my yoga practice fall by the wayside again, I realized. So, okay. I agreed to try this.

I have no idea what I am doing, other than nothing, even mentally. No scouring or researching, just....nothing, other than light housework and keeping my usually zippy mind unusually uncluttered.

It's disconcerting as hell, but nice.

Greatly exhausted...

Yesterday was great, I got a lot of great photos, had a lot of great food, and got to be smooshed up against Didge on rides which was also great.

Are you sensing a trend? I am so exhausted that I can't think of anything to say beyond "great", so I'm just going to chill and not write about it until later.

But it really was great.

Fairly...

Didgeridoo Boy and I are off to the fair today - yes, again, although this time there will be no Zipper for him to convince me to "ride". (One does not ride The Zipper. One gets half killed by it.) We have to be there when it opens, and apparently I'm to take as many photos of some particular rides as possible. Can do - although this makes me wish I'd gone ahead and gotten my LOMO stuff back in ....when was that..... when I had the LOMO/Bento idea. July? June? Whenever. My phone will have to suffice - luckily, it's got a great camera.

I'm too excited - Didge is strangely in his element around carnival rides, so it'll be a whole day of messed up hair, "bad" food, and not being able to get enough of being around him. (With image upon image upon image to capture.)



(Didgeridoo Boy in a blurry, on-the-sly shot that gives me butterflies.)

Freedom...

Ramble warning light: On. I'm not planning to do a lot of editing. This might get a bit too serious for some people's tastes - but when I woke up today and realized that I marry Didge in exactly three months, I knew I had to write this.

I need to say this, and then I will never mention it (or him) in this blog again: My ex husband is an emotionally abusive internet predator who charms women into a very sticky web of deceit so that he can use them to secure a place to live and the utilities to keep it comfortable. You see, when you have a completely decimated credit rating due to perpetually scooty habits and child support evasion, you can't get these things for yourself. Although happily free and clear of this monster, he did forge my name on his tax returns (in spite of a court order not to do so), making me accountable for said back child support debt should something happen to him. Contempt actions? Of no use, he simply skipped state again. How this sorry sack of sh@t continues to win, time and time again, and manages to get away with what he repeatedly does to people (abandoned kids, lies, singles profiles while married, more lies...) is beyond me. In the end, because he's such a successfully evasive soul (practice makes perfect), I've had to give up money I am owed and having my name removed from his tax documents - luckily, this matter will be resolved automatically once he files again. *If* he files again, I should say. I would put nothing past him. (Actually, things are now in place to make sure the system is alerted to this matter, so should he do his norm and dash off, a quick check of some things that have been filed would free me from what he's so obviously trying to do. But I would have to endure a couple of weeks of headaches while they check everything.)

He is a skilled cover-up artist. I have never met such a master craftsman of falsehoods, and I have never encountered anyone who refuses to accept blame or fault to the point of seeming naive. He is not bumbling and cute - he is skilled, cold, and calculating. I have seen him do something, and then refuse to admit he's done it seconds later. He will say something, and days later completely change his story - you must have heard him wrong, he will say. It's all about his very twisted truth, there is nothing beyond his version. In his mind, there simply cannot be - it's complicated, but very simplistic. (Look up "narcissist".)

When the lies begin to uncover themselves, he will launch a series of abusive tactics meant to undermine his partner's self esteem and isolate them from anything and everything they took comfort in. He went so far as to take my favorite pillow and blanket. (Everything is his. He simply appropriates.) The insidious controls start to go into place, too - over time, I had to make sure the knobs in the bathtub were turned to just the right position every night before going to bed, for example, because he could not think to turn them from any other position so early in the morning. (His is a subtle process, so by the time it got to that point I simply complied - you learn to swallow your anger in order to win approval again.)

It took months for me to recover. In the beginning, I would literally argue with myself over simple things like purchasing the brand of tea or soap I prefer. I walked around my own, empty, house on tiptoe, because he always said I walked like an ox. I kept myself shut in the bedroom so my keying would not disturb anyone - again, when I was at home alone. My mindset went to one of having no self worth OTHER than cleaning up after someone. None of my decisions were ever right - even about which day I would do my laundry. Once out and over the initial pain inflicted by that situation, I realized that I questioned everyone's motives - even the cashier at Kroger certainly didn't really mean it when she told me to have a nice day, for instance. She had to have been thinking I was a loser or a freak as she said it, right? (Chances are, that was never the case - and if it was, who gives a crap?) This list could easily continue into a one hundred page blog entry. Recovery took time, and I will likely harbor anger towards this individual until the day I die. The important thing to remember through that anger, though, is that I'm free of that situation and have recovered from the psychological effects of the deceit and abuse he doled out in such a cavalier fashion.

So why am I putting all of this out here? A few reasons. It's the last stone in the wall I've built between myself and that nightmare - this finishes it, gives me closure. Yes, I do hope he reads it - like I said, I'm ticked, and while I know it won't affect him at all due to his lack of conscience, this is like me giving him the finger. Quite frankly, if feels good to finally do this. Primarily, though, my hope is should someone in a similar situation read this rambling mess, she (or he) will realize there is a way out, getting away from such a person is possible, and that the world will not end if that happens. (Here's a link to some good general info. I read this, dug further into Biderman's Chart of Coercion, and began digging myself out.)


And tied to that primary reason for writing this: Good, honest people are out there - seriously, they really do exist. Recovery, and the ability to let those people in, is completely possible. When I first began realizing what was happening to me, I would have never believed that I would say what I just said, but it's an amazing truth. Your life can be picked up and shaped into what you want, and finding someone to share that life with in a constructive, supportive, absolutely magical fashion is entirely possible. *Really*.

There. Finished. Done. Except for one, completely, utterly puerile touch that it will give me cartwheels to finally say:

"Rumor"? "F" you. Don't let the traffic cameras scare you too much, and don't take red lights so personally. And nobody gets worms that way.


DAMN, that felt good.

If you're in Columbia...

...and you want mind-blowingly awesome food, go to Zorba's. I had completely forgotten how great the place is; not surprising, given I hadn't been there since I was about fourteen. But, yeah, *go*. And save room for dessert.

Didge and I went up to Columbia, SC to have lunch with my aunt; being down with the monster cold for so long had us both reeling from cabin fever, so you could say the trip was necessary in order for us to survive. But our day trip escape wound up being something of a revelation: I realized my life is now linked to another one of *those* people. You know, the ones who know someone every single place they go. Mom's like that. We once made it through an entire trip to California when I was eleven with the miracle of seeing no one Mom knew, only to encounter a colleague on the same plane leaving San Francisco. Seated quite close to us, in fact.

But anyway, back to Didge. In the middle of a book store, we were approached by someone he knew. I can't remember the exact connection (suffering from bridal brain), but it was someone he hadn't seen in ages. On our way to meet my aunt for lunch, we talked about how random the encounter was, and he said it never failed - he would always see someone he knew anywhere he went, practically.

My aunt suggested we go to Zorba's. As I mentioned previously, it's a place I loved going "back in the day", and I was really excited about taking Didge to one of my COLA faves. I think the three of us were in the middle of a light political discussion (very bound to happen) when I noticed one of the staff approaching the table cautiously. He looked at Didge, and asked, "Hey, man, are you from Augusta?"

Didge used to do the BMX thing with his older brother. He went back to work, and then came back a few minutes later - turns out, he's very good friends with someone I've known for freakin' ever (well, since the mid-eighties) and someone I'm acquainted with from my stint in Savannah. Need to mention - my aunt is such a regular at Zorba's that *she and the guy* are very well acquainted, so it was beyond a small world moment - it was one in which small worlds collide. Add to this the fact that she's met one of the mutual friends several times.....bit of a mind blow, right?

All in all, it made for one of the most excellent lunches ever. I love it when such cosmic, out-there coolness happens.

Color of a busted gnome...

Wow. An entry! And one that's not related to wedding planning, even!

Friday morning: Doorbell. Gnomes (contractors, in case you're new or have forgotten my name for them). I say, "I didn't know you were coming today." Gnome-in-charge says, "I know that. We need to get in to install that fan in the upstairs bath." He had tried to call my mother. My mother, I explained, was in the hospital recovering from surgery (something she left in voice mails as we tried to contact him to tell him to hold off....getting angry....stopping....)

Now, mind you, it's been a while since the "next week" they were supposed to have returned. I'm sick of this. So sick, in fact, that I have come to fully appreciate the concept of releasing my princess status and learning to do some of this stuff myself. Spackle? Imagine that taking less than a week. No damage to irreplaceable vintage furniture? IMAGINE THAT! No stains on the carpet from a pressure washer being *dragged through the house*....I'll stop.

(Breathing.)

Okay. I started coughing a little more than I actually was, if you get my drift. Fearing H1N1, he and his assistant *donned masks* and came in to take a quick measurement. Then, El Capitan Gnome said he needed my phone number.

He had my phone number. My mother had given him my phone number so he could *let me know* when he would be coming and going.

Showing up unannounced isn't cool - the key he's been given was handed over with the understanding that I would know when he would be showing up. I'm going to set the danged alarm to teach him a lesson when I leave to run errands today - if you are working on something in *my* home, I need to know when I can expect you.


I'm going to stop before I chuck my coffee cup across the room.