Lately I've noticed a pattern of being reminded of things I've agreed to. Mind, I have no recollection whatsoever of these things, but Didgeridoo Boy insists I agreed to this, that, or the other. I'll say he's full of it to the brim and suggest he try out the dominant form of reality for a spell, and he'll say I need to do something about my forgetfulness - once, he even suggested gingko biloba. I won't tell you what I suggested for him in return.
Truth is, we're both right. I have honed my disassociation skills to the proverbial "nth". Overwhelm me, and DING! I'm gone. And while I'm away, I will uh-huh and okay my way into allowing things like nuclear reactors in the back yard, blissfully unaware of a lick of it. Shutting off when I've not had peace and/or quiet for quite some time is my norm - - it's a defense mechanism that I treasure, and can switch on and off at will.
Didgeridoo Boy moving in meant a greatly increased level of hellaciously manic activity; he likes the television on, he needs help with creative projects, he clowns for cardio. Everything is of his will and happens according to his timing. Hell, since his arrival in September of 2009, for the most part I've not even heard music of my choosing. Sometimes, I get a break - when he decides upon it. (He was traumatized when the woman he was seeing before he and I got together played John Mayer, evidently, so now he must have *complete* control of musical selections. At least that's what he says.) The only time he is still and quiet is when he is sound asleep; once he wakes, it is on. And when things peak and become too much, I do precisely what I have done since childhood: I tune out, and hard.
But I think I'm tuning out too hard. I never knew I told him it was okay to snip the speaker wires to one of my stereos completely off - - the last I recall, I told him he could use the speakers. Evidently, I said several things about the awful ugly Manly Wall of Entertania (its new name) that meant he could make it just as sky high horrific as he desired. I don't recall refusing to travel to certain concerts - in my memory, it was his decision - but somehow, I made the call and it's my fault he missed something. Evidently I walk around "functioning" in this state, because things have been messed up that I don't even remember touching. I do, however, remember that I did housework. I think.
So what is this thing I have figured out that Didgeridoo Boy is doing? He's figured out how to trigger a disassociative state in order to get me to agree to anything and everything he wants. That we don't have heavy military equipment in the driveway and an amusement park in the woods behind our house is surprising - - and I have a bad feeling I might have uh-huh'd my way into allowing the living room to be nothing but a giant display space for his dream diorama of Star Trek meets World War II. I almost know for a fact, as paranoid as I might sound, that he thinks something along the lines of, "I'm going to drive my wife so nuts that she tunes me out and says this is cool!" That has to be it. Has to be.
Evidently, I have married something akin to a mad scientist. He knows how to induce a form of assimilation similar to that of the Borg, but without the cables and latex clothing.
And if that's not the case, I really am going completely senile.
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