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Fairytales for a Practical Princess - 2008-11-30
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10:11 p.m. - 2004-05-11
I have to make the dreaded appointment tomorrow. I started taking puppy-uppers 3 weeks ago. Wellbutrin. My asshole doctor must be bribed every month with an office visit so I can get a refill. Thus my pills do not cost me $157.00, they cost me $242. And a day out of my life sitting in the waiting room with nothing to read. However, there is a TV. A TV which is up REALLY REALLY LOUD so everyone in the building can enjoy the witty repartee of Regis and Whatsherface. The evil receptionist is in charge of the remote and has gone power mad. I asked her to turn it down once. Not only did she refuse, but she moved me to the bottom of the list. The only reason I saw the doc at all was because she ran out of people to send in ahead of me. The process of acquiring anti-depressants depresses the shit out of me. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Wolf has been acting up at school. Snotty notes home. Vague promises of better behavior from off-spring. More snotty notes. So I decided I was going to get to the bottom of my child’s problem. I watched him for a while and deduced that he was not getting enough attention. The Wellbutrin must make me stupid. Today was not a good day. (I’ll get to why in a minute.) Operation Good Pals was still a go. I wasn’t going to shirk and disappoint my kid. He has seemed a little calmer and more cooperative since I’ve been spending every (&#^$%*) minute with him for the last week. I must have reeled my temper back in 100 times this afternoon. Wolf wasn’t being any more obnoxious than usual, I just didn’t have the patience for his idiosyncrasies today. The kid was on my last nerve. I thought I was doing a pretty good job. I only shouted once. And that was because he wouldn’t answer me when I called him. I went down to the cellar to move the laundry around and when I came up he was gone. By the time he bothered to reply my throat was stripped raw from calling him. So I yelled at him when he showed. Aside from that I was doing great. Games, jokes, the good snacks, did homework together, the whole deal. So what was the last thing he said to me at bedtime? “Good night, Mom. Maybe tomorrow you’ll be nice.” Yup, it’s good to be the Mom. You betcha, by golly. Wretched kid is going to spend tomorrow afternoon coloring quietly in his room. Alone. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Why was the day bad before Wolf even got off the bus? One guess. Oh yeah, I had the little discussion with Mike. It went swimmingly. Just fucking dandy. Uh huh. I did my part. Approached it carefully. After a nice long build-up too. I didn’t jump his shit. I tried to be reasonable. And the man shut me down. I mean the end credits of Get Smart. Slam! Slam! Slam! The gates came down and that was it. He wouldn’t discuss it. He refused to hear it. He didn’t want to admit I had a case. So he closed up on me. He just blinked. Wouldn’t say anything. Just keep making those long exaggerated blinks. His expression was exactly mid-way between he just found dog crap on his shoe and boredom. I was furious. I waited him out. Or tried to. But after a while I knew I was going to lose it and shout. Not a great idea anyhow, but since we were in the Chinese buffet having lunch…shouting was out of the question. I grabbed my bag and hissed that I’d wait for him in the truck. 15 minutes later he saunters out. Climbs in and drives us back to his client’s house without a word. Not one. Still hasn’t spoken. He’s waiting for me to get all hysterical so he can be rational and dismissive. This is what I live with. The fucking KING of the passive-aggressives. I’m not doing it this time. I’m not. He wants to be an asshole, I can be a bigger one. I’m so frustrated right now I’m strangling. I seriously want to go upstairs and hit him with a lamp. What the hell kind of marriage do I have when I can’t ever talk to my husband? When I can’t tell him my worries and trust him with my murky ouchie places? Is it so terrible that I want some reassurance from him that this Susan thing wasn’t another fucking coup where I was going to be expected to be nice about some other woman getting the run of my house? This wasn’t another low-life like the Stoners were and I’d have to suck it up while he ever and always sided with them, even when I was trying to look out for his interests? I wasn’t asking for his spleen on a plate. A simple, “Don’t sweat it, sweetie. I’m on your side.” That’s all. But he had to turn it into a goddamn war. Some kind of righteous pissing contest. I am so sick of his shit. I’m not crazy. I’m not irrational. And I’m not wrong. . *You guys don’t have to say anything. Mike would cut off his dick before agreeing to couples’ therapy. Basically, I just have to figure out whether the jail time is worth it. I’m thinking as angry as I am now, it’ll be a felony. Good night from a sad, mad and frustrated, ~LA
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