190719, but a few weeks earlier: “Do you like living here?” should have been my first and only clue. Had I simply stood up at that moment and started packing and begun the tedious process of teasing comic books apart, rather than agonizing over it for the last two years, this trauma would be all over by now and I may well be gainfully employed at the QuikkStopp-by-the-Interstate® somewhere in Texas instead. But I remain trapped by my own optimism, as I keep giving people time to come to their senses.
about 24 months past 19 July 2019: I will not be moving in with my beloveds (formerly known as “Ojuxit” and “Klint”) after this house is sold. They no longer wish to be thought of as my beloveds, and I remain unable to pretend that I don’t still love them and that I am not still heartbroken. Lately, Ojuxit has been starting conversations with “What are your plans?” and she sweetly offers suggestions of employment nearer their new home where I am only intermittently welcome now. Apparently, they don’t want me or my opinions too close (and grabby?) but still desire enough proximity that I can help out with the heavy lifting now and then.
Texas keeps looking better all the time.
Plus, my Best Girl lives there now.
31 March 2002 Letting It Be Over vs “Getting Over It”
(or “How can we get past this if you won’t dwell on it?”)
I guess I’m not the adversary that Drama Queen craves.
When things are pleasant, I want them to remain pleasant. And when things are unpleasant, I want them to stop being unpleasant. So, when I am upset, I want to be less upset, but “talking it out” just tends to aggravate the mood. I want it to be distant and past, but “discussing issues” keeps it near and present.
Diva Dearest had spent most of the afternoon laying it on, or “getting it off her chest.” She was fine afterwards, but all she got “off her chest” was dumped all over me and I’m still dripping with it. Nevertheless, after L’Historienne got home from school, we shelved it and I pouted. Or sulked. I’m often not certain. At dinner, I was still not yet recovered, so rather than risking bringing it up during dinner, I simply remained cordial and polite and mostly quiet. I thought that by not saying the wrong thing, I couldn’t get any flack for it.
How little I know. My reserve became the new problem.
“Will you lighten up? Why the fuck can’t you just get over it?”
“I was trying to. I thought you had, but it seems we’re back in it now.”
“That’s because YOU won’t get over it!”
“I’m sorry I brought it up again.”
Then she storms off, leaving me and L’Historienne to awkwardly finish our meals, whereupon the young one quietly asks to be excused, leaving me to clean up. But probably not well. Or at least not “good enough.” After all, if I’m cleaning the kitchen, I’m not scrubbing the toilet or folding the laundry. I expect my new crimes will be revealed in the morning.
update 210715: correspondent RD offers up the best relationship advice, id est, “Make sure you’re the crazy one.”
That’s clearly where I screwed up.
Earlie Riser left me for Jesus,
Diva Dearest for a successful lawyer,
and Ojuxit for the masked.
But I’m still the common factor and therefore the likeliest suspect.
And not a flattering trend, either.
update 210716: Okeh… so they never got the generator for Themyscira, but at least they’re getting a new water heater for the Northern Exclave. That’s gotta count for something, doesn’t it?
update 221009: Silly optimist! Forgiveness is for kids!
210928 — additional post mortem
“Silly” may be a necessary condition, but it is not a sufficient one.
210929 — unassailable logistics
Insofar as Ojuxit is old, and tired, and sick to death of taking care of everybody else, she only has the energy anymore to tend to one of us, and it’s certainly less complicated to shed Lethargy Lad than Klint. How could I quibble? I’ve always respected practicality and I have little trouble understanding arithmetic.
220707 — probable logistics: Ceteris parabis, post-menopause, reliable sex-toys (living or otherwise) are apt to be less interesting.
211001 — The Bullies’ Rewards — There wasn’t a whole lot I could do to prevent the regular beatings, beyond struggling to keep my “smart mouth” shut. Even then, my eyes might betray my contempt. What I could control a little more reliably were my own tears. Realizing that tears and cries of anguish are the rewards most craved by cowards and bullies and sadists, I would deny them that. During beatings (both actual and metaphorical) I retreat to my peaceful interior and let the body or outer mind absorb the buffeting. “I can’t tell if you’re devastated or relieved.” Which is the point. It boils down to basic economics.
If you reward something, you get more of it.
If you reward something, you get more of it.
If you reward something, you get more of it.