It gets more and more irritating each day because it's a variation on the same old theme:  It's STILL All About Him.  Where will he live?  What happens if he gets a stroke?

Sorry, dude, but I felt for you for so long and with such a complete and utter lack of feeling on your part that it's hard to muster up any sympathy for you now, especially since it's the fear talking.  You've only been feeling like crap for 3 weeks, but you put me through feeling like crap for 20 YEARS.  I'd say I probably felt bad for maybe the first week, but ever since I actually filed, life has been so beautiful and I feel so much at peace, just knowing that there's going to be an end to this one day.

Can you believe he asked me if we would date after the divorce???  When anybody who reminds me of him automatically gets a thumbs down from me???  I don't think he understands that this is not about him, or even about revenge.  The divorce is, for once, about ME, about what I want to accomplish in MY LIFE, and which I will never be able to accomplish with HIM in it.

So hearing about how he needs me/family to accomplish the things he wants to do just gets him a deep sigh and an uncomfortable pause before I remove myself from his presence.

Because for many years it was all about him to himself, and it was all about him to me.  Now that I've removed myself as a prop, he's floundering --- not out of any great love for me, but out of concern for himself.

What does the future hold for you, boo?  Whatever you want it to.  Divorce means that I don't have to give a damn.

... and I can honestly say that I am so through with this man and this marriage that I wish I had a big fast forward button so that I could make the time go quicker!  He makes it so.  I can't stand the begging, and the pleading and the utter bullshit that comes out of him.  20 years together, and do you think this man will give me the truth?  Not even if his life depended on it.  The truth is really the only thing that would make me reconsider divorce, and it would have to be a pretty darned impressive truth, complete with names, dates, times.  Even so, I might be so disgusted that I run away, but the truth of the matter is, I'm tired.  I'm just so tired of dealing with him that it's not even funny.  I haven't looked at his face head-on in a couple of years, he disgusts me that much.  Hearing that he actually did fuck The Troll just sent that disgust into downright revulsion.

I think he's finally getting that there's no turning back, and there's not going to be a miraculous reconciliation.  I look forward to splitting our assets down the middle.  I can't wait to get my great big chunk of change and go back to school.  I'm not looking forward to dating -- ugh!  Having been with one man my entire life, however, I am curious.

Ah well.  Time to clean off my desk and get ready for some fish tacos and my dee-vorce 'do!

It's all very, very sad.  I finally ousted PIC, and I was okay, I really was.  I felt really, really good.

Then I arrived home and Ian burst past me, not saying anything.  So I followed him to his room.

He was crying, very quietly.  I have not seen my grown child cry since he was maybe 6 or 7.

It's difficult for people who have not been here to understand.  I don't care how much of a dickhead PIC has been to me or the children; he is still their father and they love him.  Not just in an abstract kind of way, but they love him.

Ian doesn't want to talk about it, but he did ask me how and when my father's father died.  I guess that's the connection that he's making, that's it's kind of a death, and that's how he's going to grieve for it.

Jamie was just kind of quiet and shuffled and sniffled all night.

By 10 pm, everyone was in bed and asleep.  It was a very quiet house both tonight and this morning.

Bleah.

I survived the weekend, but barely.  I have been struggling against insomnia since I was a kid, and it only seems to have gotten worse now that I am older.

I can go to sleep (sometimes) but I sleep in fight-or-flight mode.  I heard a noise at 3 am Sunday morning and woke up with my heart pounding out of my chest.

It has become painfully clear to me that I will never have a peaceful night's rest.  I wonder if I'll even have one after the kids are gone, that I'll be so conditioned to listening for bumps in the night that I won't be able to actually rest.

And since my doctor says, "Eat better and exercise" (which is a crock, btw; I was discussing it with a co-worker who not only bikes to school on sunny days and teaches 4 classes -- pump, cycling, medicine ball, and weight-lifting -- and also suffers with insomnia), I'm doomed to either not go to sleep, hear something in the night, or just wake up because I'm having troubling dreams.

I would blame it on the very, very hostile environment I live in, but in speaking with other people in the family, they have the same problems too.  Of course, they don't have all the rules to observe in bed that I do; pretty much, all I can do is either sleep or have sex.  No sleeping if he wants to have sex.  No reading, no playing with any anything because that's rude.  This rule, of course, only applies to me as PIC falls asleep with the iPhone in his hand and checks Twitter compulsively through the night when he's not looking at porn on the laptop.

And did I mention that the fan gives me allergies?  And adult swim gives me the heebie jeebies?  I loathe, detest, and despise Family Guy especially, although it's the second most intelligent out of a batch of really horrible cartoons.  I mean, really, if Family Guy was not a cartoon, who would watch it?  Try to picture all of these characters as real live people -- you'd find them repulsive and disgusting.  King of the Hill is a welcome addition to Adult Swim, but it's only 2 hours out of 9.  Yuck

So starting tonight, I will have to make peace with my insomnia.  I will have to somehow time feeling ready to go to bed enough to actually be able to sleep and not just stare wide-eyed into the darkness for hours.  I'm tired of the 3 am tantrums and ultimatums.  I just want to get some rest.

Jamie has a stomach flu so I kept him home.  I'm not feeling too hot myself, but I am psychosomatic, so I tend to ignore my own symptoms until they get really bad.  If he starts to run fever or throw up I will take him to the doctor.  With 5 confirmed cases of swine flu in Lafayette Parish, we can't be too cautious.  ESPECIALLY with Our Bunny.  I guess I will be going home to disinfect the house and check on him.  I just bought a new bottle of bleach yesterday...

Our Bunny will be attending school during the summer.  Her teacher is very pleased with her progress.  Our Bunny is the shining star of the classroom.  Of course, she is a little overzealous and knows all the answers and wants to share them so the teacher has to hold her back, but she said that the positive effect of this is that some of the more complacent students in the class are now getting competitive and wanting to participate more.  So it's all good for everybody.

... and I am pondering a great many things this morning.  Like, my teeny weeny bladder.  I seem to have been cursed with the family tiny one.  I'd better become a Kegeling fool, especially since Jamie has started to get up in the morning at the same time that I do -- and he fools around in the bathroom for FAR TOO LONG.

And why, if I have Friday afternoons off, do I feel like I have just rushed, rushed, rushed around and accomplished nothing?  Especially on therapy Fridays like today is.

And why did I get off to such a fabulous start with walking only to peter out this week?  I haven't really walked ANY.

I'm contemplating taking Lola to the Children's Museum this weekend.  PIC wants to take her to the circus, and he is more than welcome to take her.  There's only one reason why he wants to go.  You know it, and I know it, so I'm not even going to say it.  And I know this because I have already been to the circus with my children and PIC has not.  The kids are only interested in the souvenirs, and it's so long that they get bored.  The only part she might be halfway interested in is the petting zoo.  So if he takes her to the circus, we can wait on the Children's museum.

Well, I must off.  Take care!  Of Yourselves!  And Each Other!

I have just the worst "face-ache."  My whole T-Zone feels fuzzy, right down to my throat.  I would say swine flu, or psychosomatic response to swine flu, but really, I think it's just lack of sleep.

I've started journaling by hand which makes things both better and worse.  On one hand, the boils need to be lanced.  On the other hand, go over them too much and they trigger my PTSD, which I really believe I have.  I may just start counseling again, although the last time I went, they told me it was pretty useless because it was situational.  Once I leave the situation, I will be a much happier person like *snap!* that.

PIC is going to therapy, but it sounds like his counselor is giving him textbook activities.  I am a little surprised -- this woman is supposed to have all this experience and knowledge, but she's holding his hand like he's in kindergarten.  Ian wrote an analysis of PIC in his biography that he had to turn in, and it was much more on the money.  I fear that all counseling will do is give PIC an excuse to behave badly.  Anybody can behave themselves for an hour, and if the session is anything like the session I had with PIC, he's lying to the counselor as well.  Oh well.  Not *my* concern what mindgames he wants to play with himself.

Off I go... paper work abounds... i WILL  take my desk back...

I tried to learn some life lessons out of last night, but I really could not come up with any.  I didn't learn anything new; it was merely regurgitation of the same old crap.

So what to do on nights like that?

Our Bunny is a sweet baby doll.  She came home yesterday in her extra outfit.  She said, "Mama, I pooped in my pants.  DIRTY LOLA!  So I am wearing my shorts."

She actually didn't really poop in her pants; she tinkled on herself while she was using the potty.  She's like an endearing version of Ian and Jamie mushed together.

Our Bunny has turned 3 -- imagine!  It has been 3 years since she first came into the world.  She had her first audience at 3 days old:  Dr. Accousti, Sam, Dr. DeIulio, and all the nurses at the NICU stopped what they were doing to come by her bedside.  Since then, she thrives on charm.  Everybody who knows our Bunny loves her.  The PT evaluation describes her as an "adorable, almost 36 month old."  I don't believe adorable is a technical term.  Her note from the teacher on the first day says she is "cute and cooperative."  Same for cute.  Both the orthotists told me that Lola is one of their favorites.  Her old PT cried and took us dancing at Vermilionville.
Jamie was like that, too, although he was more love-me-or-hate-me.  I remember going to pick him up and there was always a crowd of kids saying, "Bye Jamie!  Bye Jamie!"  He would turn to look at them and sort of growl because he was always ready to go.
Ian was an old man from the day he was born.  His nickname at the first day care he attended was Paw Paw Ian.

My blog from yesterday has disappeared.  Since I don't know what that means, I won't even try to recap.
Me-Lola went to school yesterday.  She came back and told the people at day care, "I went to big school today -- rowr!"  She's such a funny girl.
She was very tired, however, probably from the stress of a new environment.  She immediately wanted to go to bed, but I convinced her to eat first.  She scarfed down 2 servings of "tatos" without even asking for juice, and it only took 30 minutes for her eyes to close for the evening.
The teacher's log book said that she was "cute and cooperative."  So I guess it was a good day.

Friday the 13th, no less.  Of course, other people's bad luck day should be my good luck day, right?  So that's the happy I am going to focus on.
Tomorrow is Valentine's Day, which is also my father's birthday.  Happy birthday, Papi!
I am currently cleaning off my desk and am amazed at the obvious detritus that I just leave in my wake.  A bottle cap.  3 packs of tartar sauce.  3 or 4 kleenexes.  Numerous paper clips.  Rubber bands.  A plastic fork.  When did I become so oblivious to stuff?
Hopefully, that will end.  My desk will be clean by COB today and I will try to keep it up and be more focused on the litter I leave in my wake.
I'm debating whether to go shopping or to the doctor.  I have had a cold for a week now; the time to get a cortisone shot is now.  I don't "feel bad" except in the evenings, but my cough is getting harder and harder.  I need somebody not afraid to administer drugs.  I don't need many; I just need SOMETHING to give this cold in a kick in the keester and knock it out.
For those of you with valentines, have a lovely Valentine's Day!  May your day be fabulous and filled with love!  Take care!  Of yourselves!  And Each Other!

com⋅part⋅men⋅tal⋅ize

 [kuhm-pahrt-men-tl-ahyz, kom-pahrt-] 
–verb (used with object), -ized, -iz⋅ing. to divide into categories or compartments.

Okay.  That's what I said I was going to do here, and that's what I am going to do.

Our Bunny had two day trips to the park, and on both of them, she had to be dragged away from the park equipment kicking and screaming.  She absolutely LOVED it.

On the first day, she met two older friends who offered her help walking across the bridge and upstairs.  This was a good thing on the bigger park equipment; it was not such a good thing on the smaller equipment as they followed her there and basically got in the way.  So I didn't really object when one of the other parents chased them off.

On one of our trips to the swings, I met up with a child who gave me a flashback to my childhood.  She was a pretty girl, just sitting there in the swings, when she told me imperiously to come here.  Having been trained by Lola, I went.  She then reached out her arm and spun me around.  She then let loose some gibberish.  I had PIC as an interpreter, who offered that maybe she wanted me to swing her.  So I pushed her until Lola became jealous, at which point it was clear that she could do it on her own.  She was much bigger and obviously more capable than Lola, heck, moreso than any other 3 year old.

And it was then that I had the flashback.  There was a girl on our bus who was constantly picked on.  She was a pretty child, but nothing coming out of her mouth seemed to make much sense.  Nonetheless, I was for some reason her champion so long as she was on the bus.  I couldn't stop making people pick on her, but I sat with her and shared the jeers with her.  Now I know that she was probably autistic, and it makes me sad because I know people with Lola's illness as few as 30 years ago were told to put their children in institutions and forget about them.

Fast forward to Sunday.  I decide to take Lola to Neyland Park, which means that we aren't driving; we're getting there by my own steam power.  We spend about an hour and a half there and someone asks me about Lola's braces.  Lo and behold, their child had clubfoot AND the clubfoot surgery and is now running rings around Lola.  I'm doing a lot of heavy lifting because Lola isn't content with the little slides; NOOOO, she must go on the big ones.  So I take Lola home when I am confident that I have the power to still push her stroller home.  Which means that while I'm flagging, she's STILL kicking and screaming.

While we were there, she didn't pay the women too much attention.  The minute a man showed up around the slides, however, she said, "HEY!  Watch me!"  Then she slid down the slide and got to the bottom.  Once there, she kind of ducked her eyes and said, "See?"

Flirt!

This one is going to be the death of me.  Oy!

... and I am a little bummed.  I can't file our tax return until PIC's SUSTA one comes in, and I have to file it by Wednesday or Thursday to get it the next Friday.  So even though everybody else is copacetic, and I've gotten all of the crap and kinks worked out (we had about 11k "extra income" that we didn't pay taxes on).  Add that to PIC's reluctance to check his mailbox because it's not on the way home and his outright refusal to give me a key and you've got a very ticked off woman, here.  Whatever secrets he's hiding in that box he can keep.  *I* just want the 1099, which is already going to be small because of the extra money.
I went to Blue Moon briefly on Wednesday night, both to see my nephew play and to get my feet wet with regard to going out by myself.  It was a nice time.  I like to go to places where I can dress up really nice, but I also like to go places where I can sit down, have a drink and smoke a few cigs without worrying if my eyeliner hasn't faded away.  It would be nice if I could dance, but I fear that's never going to happen.  I'm not a good follower, except with a really strong partner.
Duty calls!  Must go and it's just as well -- I have so much to do today.  Even after work, it's meetings and therapy.
 
Have a great weekend!

I'm so excited, boys and girls!  I am going to the Blue Moon Saloon on a school night to see my nephew play and to support a worthy cause -- homegrown Grammy nominees!
Now I'll have to cook a really fabulous dinner to make up for it... plus I don't have much long-sleeved sexy, so I'll be all bundled up...
But it'll be worth it to go out on a school night... out on a school night!

I'm going to put something negative (well, sort of) in today's blog.  My son has been working on a group project that was due today since Friday.
Friday:  5:45 - 10:45 am Saturday (17 hours - 9 for sleep = 8)
Sunday:  5:30 - 9 pm (3.5 hours)
Monday:  4:30 - 8:15 (3.75 hours)
After a whopping 15.25 hours of working together, are they ready for this project?
HELL NO.  There's still typing to be done.
They were supposed to type Sunday night.  They were at a teacher's house Friday, Saturday, and Sunday, and at a SAHM house Monday.
So what did they do with their time?  They played around a lot with sand, water, and a pump.
They ate a lot of sugar cubes (part of their project).
If they didn't do any typing, I doubt if they had note cards like the paper said.
Next time, I'll invite them to meet at the lowly secretary's house.  Dealing with 14-year-old boys is like herding cats, something that I have experience with.  I've already herded a few cats just this morning.