Laura sees her dad when he comes into town. She has told me she doesn't like it when I ask questions about her dad or her time with him. She doesn't like being in the middle. She doesn't like talking to either one of us about the divorce. This week she had dinner with Bill and I restrained myself from asking her anything about it. I did, however, ask her is she had mentioned the cell phone bill to him. She said no. But that's okay because he will be getting a letter about it from my lawyer.
This evening while Kyle and Haley were fetching our greasy taco dinner from Tito's (hands down the best greasy tacos in the world), and Laura and I were alone in the house, she started talking about her dinner with Bill. It caught me by surprise. I wanted her to keep going so I sat down and listened, keeping my questions to a minimum. She said he got a new attorney. Who knows if this is good news or not???....She also said he and Kyle are both very angry with each other. Recounting her conversation with him, I could see how he is doing his 'projecting' again. He said he is going to write Kyle a letter about the 'one-way' conversation the two of them had on the phone when Kyle made Bill listen and wouldn't let him talk. ("Really, Dad?" she said. "You don't like it when someone talks and doesn't let you respond?"). Kyle had reamed Bill saying, amongst other things, he had never provided for his family. Bill was going to write to Kyle and tell him he is doing the same thing. Laura talked him out of it, but it took some time. Kyle's education won't be paid for if he gets a job. He has talked about getting work and Laura has talked him out of it. Then their conversation somehow turned to our divorce. He still maintains that I am the one who asked for it. Laura said, "Dad, why are you getting divorced? Because I know it isn't because you have cancer. There's a bigger reason. It's because you are gambling. I know the whole story." He said, "Your mother wasn't upset about the gambling." "I was with Mom when you texted her about your gambling. I KNOW how upset she was." "Well, maybe she was a little upset. But she didn't give me any choice." "Dad, she gave you Option A, and Option B was divorce. You only saw Option B. If you had really wanted to save your marriage you would have talked it out, fought for it. And if this whole divorce was a misunderstanding. Why didn't either one of you clear it up? Mom went through enough crap with you to have to put up with more."
And let's remember what Option A was: Do something to protect me from any fallout from your gambling.
What a kid.
Earlier this week I had complained to my therapist. Why do most husbands, when given the news that they have horrid cancer, want to make sure their families are provided for after their passing? And why did the one I had choose to indulge in his addiction and, not only did he NOT want to provide for me, but he is going after half of everything I have? She reminded me of what I cannot let myself forget: this is about his shortcomings, not mine.
Friday, July 29, 2011
Monday, July 11, 2011
Tribute to Julie
Julie died today. I knew it was coming. Guess what? That didn't help much. It still slammed me hard.
When I saw her last month she seemed okay. Her brain was functioning with its usual incredible speed. From her chair in the living room, she was ruling over her two teenagers. She talked to her son about his grades and grounded her daughter for not calling when her babysitting job went overtime. She was still in charge. Her cousin had come from Australia to help out. Julie had banished all cooking to the driveway since odors made her nauseous. When her cousin accidentally started preparing something on the stove, Julie lit up her electronic cigarette, waited for smoke to whirl around in the chamber and then took a puff, holding it in her mouth, sucking it in deeply and then exhaled into a toilet paper tube filled with a dryer sheet. She said it was the only thing that helped her curb nausea when she was suddenly faced with an unpleasant odor.
She wanted to know what the latest gossip was at work. I was not the right person to ask. I was a disappointment to her in that area. I couldn't tell her anything she didn't already know. In fact, she knew more than I and embellished what little I could offer up. She still had her hair then, her ankles and belly weren't swollen. She looked young, her skin was the wrinkle-free, milky-white it had always been, and she seemed rested. I told her she looked beautiful. She told me, "Great. I'll be a beautiful corpse."
I asked what the latest news was from her doctors. She said two to four weeks. Looking at her that afternoon, sitting, chatting, bantering, it seemed unbelievable to me. I thought the doctors must have been talking about someone else. They couldn't have been talking about this person sitting next to me, this avid SC fan, outspoken coworker, this woman who at times had been a thorn in my side and a pain in my butt. This woman couldn't be dying in two to four weeks.
The last time I saw Julie was at school a couple of days before my birthday. This was now exactly two weeks after the afternoon at her house. She had lost her hair, she was using a walker, her feet and belly were swollen and she looked frail and bilious. She was cleaning out her classroom with some family members. Her cousin is going into teaching and Julie was giving her the best of her teaching materials. I invited her to my party. She was, after all, one of the women who has somehow made an impact on my life. We had known each other for twenty-two years, we had been through a lot together, and we had truly grown to love and respect each other.
On Saturday Julie took a turn for the worse. By that time she was diapered, on oxygen, vomiting strange liquids and in a constant morphine-induced sleep. Katherine went and sat with her for two hours. And for two hours Katherine sobbed. Katherine will take the role of surrogate mother now. Katherine will help Julie's daughter shop for bras and prom dresses. Katherine will try to do what she can. She is an extremely good woman and will do her best to fulfill this obligation to Julie.
Today I found out the change that had occurred over the weekend with Julie. And when I could, I prayed that God would take my friend out of her pain and deliver her from this earth. My prayer was answered.
When I saw her last month she seemed okay. Her brain was functioning with its usual incredible speed. From her chair in the living room, she was ruling over her two teenagers. She talked to her son about his grades and grounded her daughter for not calling when her babysitting job went overtime. She was still in charge. Her cousin had come from Australia to help out. Julie had banished all cooking to the driveway since odors made her nauseous. When her cousin accidentally started preparing something on the stove, Julie lit up her electronic cigarette, waited for smoke to whirl around in the chamber and then took a puff, holding it in her mouth, sucking it in deeply and then exhaled into a toilet paper tube filled with a dryer sheet. She said it was the only thing that helped her curb nausea when she was suddenly faced with an unpleasant odor.
She wanted to know what the latest gossip was at work. I was not the right person to ask. I was a disappointment to her in that area. I couldn't tell her anything she didn't already know. In fact, she knew more than I and embellished what little I could offer up. She still had her hair then, her ankles and belly weren't swollen. She looked young, her skin was the wrinkle-free, milky-white it had always been, and she seemed rested. I told her she looked beautiful. She told me, "Great. I'll be a beautiful corpse."
I asked what the latest news was from her doctors. She said two to four weeks. Looking at her that afternoon, sitting, chatting, bantering, it seemed unbelievable to me. I thought the doctors must have been talking about someone else. They couldn't have been talking about this person sitting next to me, this avid SC fan, outspoken coworker, this woman who at times had been a thorn in my side and a pain in my butt. This woman couldn't be dying in two to four weeks.
The last time I saw Julie was at school a couple of days before my birthday. This was now exactly two weeks after the afternoon at her house. She had lost her hair, she was using a walker, her feet and belly were swollen and she looked frail and bilious. She was cleaning out her classroom with some family members. Her cousin is going into teaching and Julie was giving her the best of her teaching materials. I invited her to my party. She was, after all, one of the women who has somehow made an impact on my life. We had known each other for twenty-two years, we had been through a lot together, and we had truly grown to love and respect each other.
On Saturday Julie took a turn for the worse. By that time she was diapered, on oxygen, vomiting strange liquids and in a constant morphine-induced sleep. Katherine went and sat with her for two hours. And for two hours Katherine sobbed. Katherine will take the role of surrogate mother now. Katherine will help Julie's daughter shop for bras and prom dresses. Katherine will try to do what she can. She is an extremely good woman and will do her best to fulfill this obligation to Julie.
Today I found out the change that had occurred over the weekend with Julie. And when I could, I prayed that God would take my friend out of her pain and deliver her from this earth. My prayer was answered.
Friday, July 8, 2011
That River in Egypt
In discussions with my counselor, denial seems to be popping up as a bad habit of mine. Maybe I have mistaken some issues as things to let slide when in fact they were issues I should have addressed or met head-on. This puts me in a quandary. In the moment that something happens, something that should be addressed, something I would find unacceptable, I tend ---or have tended----to blow it off. Why do I do that? And, now here's the hard part, why don't I recognize in the moment that this is not okay? I don't react in 'real time'. I don't see the ugly issue in the moment. I wonder if I am even capable of seeing the issue in the moment. And, if I am to change this behavior that has led me to this place in relationships where I am not happy, where I wake up one day to discover I am leading not only a life I don't want for myself, but have allowed another person to craft an existence for them but not for me, how do I do it? What's the first warning sign? How do I see it when it comes? And what's the proper reaction in the moment? What's that ladylike way that tells your husband his action or request is not okay without getting into a tiff? That's a good one. Food for thought.
My parents' generation --or maybe it was the subsection of society from which they came-- avoided confrontation at all costs. Yes, at all costs. They raised me to stuff it down, look the other way, let it go, not to react when unpleasantries jumped into my path. There was much shushing. Arguing, even disagreeing, was not okay. I learned to sidestep; I learned to pretend it wasn't there and to move on as if it had never happened. I now see this was not good. When I didn't tell one of my spouses that what they were doing was unacceptable, then I, in essence, told them their actions were okay. How were they to know I didn't like what they were saying or doing if I didn't tell them? I didn't tell them because I didn't want to argue or fight, and with Bill, I never knew what kind of passive/aggressive thing he would do next. If I confronted Bill and he was pissed, one of two things would happen: 1) he would disappear, usually to gamble or 2)he would 'reward' himself for my "bitchy" behavior by buying something on my credit card. And I have a lot of credit cards......living with someone who is passive/aggressive is a no-win situation. I feel terribly sorry for anyone who has to endure that. And his definition of 'bitchy' was pretty all-encompassing. It was used to describe any behavior of mine that didn't please him. What an ass he was; what an idiot I was.
So back to the river. What is my first step? How do I go about this change where I name and claim the unacceptable in the moment? Good question. More will follow, I'm sure.
My parents' generation --or maybe it was the subsection of society from which they came-- avoided confrontation at all costs. Yes, at all costs. They raised me to stuff it down, look the other way, let it go, not to react when unpleasantries jumped into my path. There was much shushing. Arguing, even disagreeing, was not okay. I learned to sidestep; I learned to pretend it wasn't there and to move on as if it had never happened. I now see this was not good. When I didn't tell one of my spouses that what they were doing was unacceptable, then I, in essence, told them their actions were okay. How were they to know I didn't like what they were saying or doing if I didn't tell them? I didn't tell them because I didn't want to argue or fight, and with Bill, I never knew what kind of passive/aggressive thing he would do next. If I confronted Bill and he was pissed, one of two things would happen: 1) he would disappear, usually to gamble or 2)he would 'reward' himself for my "bitchy" behavior by buying something on my credit card. And I have a lot of credit cards......living with someone who is passive/aggressive is a no-win situation. I feel terribly sorry for anyone who has to endure that. And his definition of 'bitchy' was pretty all-encompassing. It was used to describe any behavior of mine that didn't please him. What an ass he was; what an idiot I was.
So back to the river. What is my first step? How do I go about this change where I name and claim the unacceptable in the moment? Good question. More will follow, I'm sure.
Monday, July 4, 2011
Sweet Sixtee
Can I tell you how hard it is to be getting a divorce and turning sixty? It's a head trip of epic proportions. It's an ugly number from this vantage point. I didn't want to be on my own at this age but honestly, I always felt Bill wouldn't be around for me in my sixties. Of course, I thought he'd be dead, not living in the desert and taking me to the cleaners.
Here's the kicker, though. I look and feel better than I have in decades. My sister says leaving Bill has taken fifteen years off my face. She and Dad were looking at family pictures this week and for each one she'd say, "Cindy looks better now than she did in that one. She looks better now than she did in THAT one. She looks better now than in THAT one." And so it went. I hadn't thought how one could look better at sixty than at forty or fifty---or thirty, for that matter---but after thinking about it, I tend to agree. So, that's a dilemma in a way. I like myself more now than I ever have. I accept myself, warts and all, more now than ever before. I accept and am happy with the person I've become. I'm even beginning to accept the two failed marriages and my part in their demise. I think I'm smart, funny, pretty and fun. But turning sixty, having that number tacked on my head, is a trip. The other part is the ongoing battle with the voices in my head, and turning sixty gives them ammo. I still don't want to really date. My counselor says my descriptions of my attitude toward the dating issue still say I'm not ready. No, she says, I'm not emotionally damaged. I'm exhausted from being Bill's wife and not ready to jump back in. Ah, but the voices say, "For crying out loud! You're sixty!! Get on it before your face and your boobs hit the floor!!" But the little quiet and stubborn me says, "I don't want to." "Well, when, then? Give me a date! When are you going to get on it?" "I don't know, and I don't like thinking of how having a man in my life might impact my spontaneity and my sense of freedom." The unrelenting voice tells me to get on with it or I might fall of the face of the earth---because it's apparently flat----- while the stubbornly emerging me refuses to commit to giving an answer. It's a neverending argument. Tough. Deal with it.
I hadn't celebrated my birthday with a party since I was 43. After such a long time I was ready to do something. I had trouble focusing on what kind of party to have and when. My birthday was on the Thursday before the Fourth of July weekend. I knew that weekend was out. Oddly enough though, some neighbors decided to get married in their newly-remodeled backyard and have a three-day wedding celebration complete with band, catered food, and valet parking----another reason why it was good I stayed away from the weekend. I decided having it on the actual birth day was best. Then I had to decide who to invite. Friends? Couples? A potpourri of everyone I know and work with? I finally honed in on women. I wanted the women in my life, my coterie of friends, to celebrate the occasion with me. And so it was. I invited twenty-some women who in one way or another, have impacted my life. I tossed around the idea of standing up and telling each one why she had had an impact on me but in the end I made a decision to give a blanket speech that would cover the reasons in general without putting anyone on the spot.
Laura and I bought party decorations. We decided on a Sweet Sixteen theme and took the final 'n' off everything. I wanted to mimic a traditional Sweet Sixteen party as much as I could so the colors were mainly pink and white---but we threw in some black; it seemed fitting. We had pink plastic martini glasses, pink plates, black napkins, white tablecloths, pink, black and white streamers and banners, pink shot glasses and 'silver' utensils. I had four tables and we got chairs from church. We started with veggie and cheese plates, then for dinner we had grilled chicken, green bean bake (not that stuff with the onion rings but from a great recipe I learned from a little Armenian lady who passed down her recipes to me because she had no daughters or grandchildren), Caesar salad, and garlic mashed potatoes. For dessert I got a half-sheet 'princess' birthday cake from Costco with 'Happy Sweet Sixtee, Cindy' on it. Did you know they serve 48 and only cost $17.99? It was a white cake with buttercream frosting and cream cheese filling. We also had toothpick candles that spelled out 'Sweet Sixtee' It's been sitting on the counter for five days now and it's still incredible---and I don't really like cake all that much.
It all started at 6:00. Twenty three women came. It was a collection of some of the finest females on the planet. It went so smoothly I can't remember much of the evening, only that everyone had plenty to eat and drink and it was, for me, delightful. We played a game Jessica likes and led where everyone introduces themselves, tells how they know me, and what they like best about me. It was a sweet idea on her part but I did get a little uncomfortable. Beth later brought up the recurring themes, and I had noticed them too. The words most used to describe me were 'kind, non-judgmental, good listener, positive, good attitude, bubbly, thoughtful'. At least that's how I heard them. And there were the comments about my memory, of course, because it can erroneously lead someone to believe I'm wicked smart,(but I'm not). Hearing all this was actually very good for me; it helped me learn how others see me. But I was a little uncomfortable. If I had run the game, I would have also asked them to say what they thought was my worst quality. I need to know that too. Then we played a game where you draw a card, read the question on it, and answer. It could get slightly off-color but my girls handled it well. Finally I opened gifts, and by 11:00 we were done. My sister, Beth, came down but my sister, Sue, couldn't get off of her work. Two friends were ill and couldn't make it. Otherwise most people were able to make it.
The gifts were all great, beautiful, in fact. I am a lucky woman to have such incredible friends. I have male friends, too, some of whom are outrageously wonderful, but I will just have to find another way to celebrate with them. This one was for the girls. They deserved it in more ways than they will ever know.
Here's the kicker, though. I look and feel better than I have in decades. My sister says leaving Bill has taken fifteen years off my face. She and Dad were looking at family pictures this week and for each one she'd say, "Cindy looks better now than she did in that one. She looks better now than she did in THAT one. She looks better now than in THAT one." And so it went. I hadn't thought how one could look better at sixty than at forty or fifty---or thirty, for that matter---but after thinking about it, I tend to agree. So, that's a dilemma in a way. I like myself more now than I ever have. I accept myself, warts and all, more now than ever before. I accept and am happy with the person I've become. I'm even beginning to accept the two failed marriages and my part in their demise. I think I'm smart, funny, pretty and fun. But turning sixty, having that number tacked on my head, is a trip. The other part is the ongoing battle with the voices in my head, and turning sixty gives them ammo. I still don't want to really date. My counselor says my descriptions of my attitude toward the dating issue still say I'm not ready. No, she says, I'm not emotionally damaged. I'm exhausted from being Bill's wife and not ready to jump back in. Ah, but the voices say, "For crying out loud! You're sixty!! Get on it before your face and your boobs hit the floor!!" But the little quiet and stubborn me says, "I don't want to." "Well, when, then? Give me a date! When are you going to get on it?" "I don't know, and I don't like thinking of how having a man in my life might impact my spontaneity and my sense of freedom." The unrelenting voice tells me to get on with it or I might fall of the face of the earth---because it's apparently flat----- while the stubbornly emerging me refuses to commit to giving an answer. It's a neverending argument. Tough. Deal with it.
I hadn't celebrated my birthday with a party since I was 43. After such a long time I was ready to do something. I had trouble focusing on what kind of party to have and when. My birthday was on the Thursday before the Fourth of July weekend. I knew that weekend was out. Oddly enough though, some neighbors decided to get married in their newly-remodeled backyard and have a three-day wedding celebration complete with band, catered food, and valet parking----another reason why it was good I stayed away from the weekend. I decided having it on the actual birth day was best. Then I had to decide who to invite. Friends? Couples? A potpourri of everyone I know and work with? I finally honed in on women. I wanted the women in my life, my coterie of friends, to celebrate the occasion with me. And so it was. I invited twenty-some women who in one way or another, have impacted my life. I tossed around the idea of standing up and telling each one why she had had an impact on me but in the end I made a decision to give a blanket speech that would cover the reasons in general without putting anyone on the spot.
Laura and I bought party decorations. We decided on a Sweet Sixteen theme and took the final 'n' off everything. I wanted to mimic a traditional Sweet Sixteen party as much as I could so the colors were mainly pink and white---but we threw in some black; it seemed fitting. We had pink plastic martini glasses, pink plates, black napkins, white tablecloths, pink, black and white streamers and banners, pink shot glasses and 'silver' utensils. I had four tables and we got chairs from church. We started with veggie and cheese plates, then for dinner we had grilled chicken, green bean bake (not that stuff with the onion rings but from a great recipe I learned from a little Armenian lady who passed down her recipes to me because she had no daughters or grandchildren), Caesar salad, and garlic mashed potatoes. For dessert I got a half-sheet 'princess' birthday cake from Costco with 'Happy Sweet Sixtee, Cindy' on it. Did you know they serve 48 and only cost $17.99? It was a white cake with buttercream frosting and cream cheese filling. We also had toothpick candles that spelled out 'Sweet Sixtee' It's been sitting on the counter for five days now and it's still incredible---and I don't really like cake all that much.
It all started at 6:00. Twenty three women came. It was a collection of some of the finest females on the planet. It went so smoothly I can't remember much of the evening, only that everyone had plenty to eat and drink and it was, for me, delightful. We played a game Jessica likes and led where everyone introduces themselves, tells how they know me, and what they like best about me. It was a sweet idea on her part but I did get a little uncomfortable. Beth later brought up the recurring themes, and I had noticed them too. The words most used to describe me were 'kind, non-judgmental, good listener, positive, good attitude, bubbly, thoughtful'. At least that's how I heard them. And there were the comments about my memory, of course, because it can erroneously lead someone to believe I'm wicked smart,(but I'm not). Hearing all this was actually very good for me; it helped me learn how others see me. But I was a little uncomfortable. If I had run the game, I would have also asked them to say what they thought was my worst quality. I need to know that too. Then we played a game where you draw a card, read the question on it, and answer. It could get slightly off-color but my girls handled it well. Finally I opened gifts, and by 11:00 we were done. My sister, Beth, came down but my sister, Sue, couldn't get off of her work. Two friends were ill and couldn't make it. Otherwise most people were able to make it.
The gifts were all great, beautiful, in fact. I am a lucky woman to have such incredible friends. I have male friends, too, some of whom are outrageously wonderful, but I will just have to find another way to celebrate with them. This one was for the girls. They deserved it in more ways than they will ever know.
Disconcerting
As we move more deeply into summer, I feel overwhelmed at times with my lack of financial preparedness for this season of restricted income. This tends to come from promises I made to myself on the heels of living with my mother and stepfather. I never wanted to be in a position like they had been. And they had been in that position almost constantly. When was the next paycheck coming? Would there be enough to pay the bills? I promised myself that I would never live in such monetary limbo. I wouldn't take risks like taking a job that was commission only. I never wanted to own my own business and have to be responsible for generating income from that kind of unknown. Yet, the insecurity pops in from time to time. And now is one of those times.
Working tandem with that is the most recent request from Bill to up his spousal support 60%. It's tough now but it will be much tougher if a court orders me to pay any more support, even just a couple hundred dollars. I just squeaked through this school year as it was, and that was when I was getting paid twice a month. During the summer I get a paycheck on July 5 and then not again until September 20. I get one summer school check that will look like three weeks of a regular one. Then I have to get creative until that September check comes. I have one tutoring student and we are getting a yard sale together. But I will need a lot more than those will provide. What should I do? I don't have super skills but I have ideas: 1) street walk, 2) sell a kidney, 3) fake my own death, or 4) try to get the heart and cancer policies to pay up on Bill's hospital stays. Which one would you try?
Today I had a chance to look carefully at the Income and Expenses Report Bill filed with the court. He says his total monthly income is $3,242 and his expenses are $6,529. He says his rent is $1,350; I happen to know it's $875. He says his monthly out-of-pocket medical expenses are $1200; I have serious doubts. The costs could be the marijuana he smokes. But $1200? He also has $13,250 in loans against the Acura. I guess I won't be getting that thing back. It can't be worth much more than $13,250 at this point. He has a 'personal loan' for $7,500 for living expenses (is gambling a living expense?). He says he has run up $8,500 in attorney's fees. That's funny because I've paid his attorney $5,000. Hmmmm.... He says he's 'disabled'. That would be cool but for as long as we were together, he didn't get that classification. If he's disabled, does that entitle him to more money from Social Security? From me? Is he really technically now a card-carrying disabled person? Would have helped if he could have had the courtesy to do that while we were together....I know he's not above lying, and definitely comfortable with fibbing, but this stuff was filed in court. Is he aware of that? You do a little fibbing on a court document and there will be consequences. That's called perjury. But that didn't stop him last year. He also says he has about $175,000 in assets and all other property. What's he counting here? This stuff can be fleshed-out in a deposition, and that will be our next step. Maybe he should stop gambling.
Thirdly, today I had a glimpse into a side of someone that worried me. Fighting fair is a skill. It's a maturity skill. It's a refined art that involves some humility and a lot of self-control. Carmi had the week off last week. Kyle took care of Dad and did a very good job. We had some discoveries, though. Dad takes what he thinks are 'stool softeners'. (If you have a delicate mind and don't like poop-talk, you might want to skip this part.....) It turns out they're not just stool softeners, they're laxatives, and I think his taking them is a form of bulimia---or as my sister calls it-----southern bulimia. He takes these pills twice a day and expects to empty his colon three times a day. If he doesn't go three times a day, he starts perseverating on it. He starts drinking milk of magnesia and asking for enemas---and worse, he asks to have someone put on two pairs of exam gloves and get in to loosen things. The weird thing was that he was going at least once a day during the week. Apparently that wasn't enough. I hear this about the elderly, especially older men. We reduced his 'softeners' and tried to supplant with natural 'softeners' such as stewed prunes, prune juice, lots of fruits, and wheat grass. Dad sensed the change and soon was making the requests for additional 'fire power'. We said no enemas, no milk of magnesia. I talked with him about it on Saturday. I told him I was concerned he was obsessing about eliminating and asked him what he would say as a professional if one of his patients had come to him and told him they were taking two laxatives a day and expecting to 'go' three times a day. I got him to agree to take the stool softeners---if we can find only a stool softener----once every other day. Carmi came back today and I discussed this with her. Dad was already asking her for an enema which she was refusing to do. She said the cardiologist prescribed the stool softeners because many heart patients go into atrial fibrilation if they have to exert a lot of force to eliminate. So, pooping can kill you. Kyle, on the other hand, wasn't happy with that news. It was as if he had lost a battle and had been vanquished. He was in a bad mood to boot. He argued, refusing to let Laura get a word in edgewise, and it was shades of Bill. I felt both uncomfortable and sorry for Laura. This one-way ranting becomes no one. Inappropriately displaced anger is a no-no. It was disconcerting. But Kyle has an excuse: He's still new at this stuff, and he's still young. In essence, he's still trainable. I trust that Laura will work with him on this. She's too smart, too outspoken, too self-confident, and too conditioned against Bill's behavior to let this one slide.
Carmi has now informed me that Dad's impacted. Yep, that good woman has had her hand up there and she said it's balled up, the merchandise won't move, it's a stone in the middle of the road. Oy! Back to the milk of magnesia. Tomorrow I will call his docs. There's gotta be a better way.
We got to a point with Bill's dog where we were exhausted and feeling we'd have to keep him forever. While he was here, I couldn't let Quincy into the house at night like I usually did. Matt would bark all night long. We tried to cage Matt, but he pawed at the sides all night long. In the morning the giant metal dog cage was bent like crazy. Kyle had a high school counselor with whom he is working again. She lives on a two-acre ranch right by the high school up along the coast. She has horses and large dogs. She fosters and rescues dogs over five years old and over fifty pounds. Her husband just lost his dog two weeks ago and was considering a bloodhound for a new dog. He's also a retired sheriff's detective and has gone back to working cold cases and wants to start working on searches (obviously not for cold cases) with a dog. (The sheriff's search and rescue teams are all volunteers). Matt was the PERFECT fit for this guy. We took him out to visit the ranch. They came to our house with a dog trainer one morning. Then, on Saturday, they picked him up for good. This was all done, thankfully, with Bill's knowledge and approval. Bill had finally realized he is not going to be able to work Matt anytime in the near future. These people said he could visit Matt whenever. So, Matt is now gone. I told them how intelligent and inquisitive he is. I told them not to leave any food out. I told them he can open refrigerators. I guess they didn't fully understand. On the first day, he relieved them of a lot of food. If you do it right, he makes a decent Doggy-Dishwasher. If you don't, then you just have a nuisance.
Was it hard to give the dog away? Yes. I wish I had the space for the number of dogs I have here. I'm a dog-lover but something had to give. The people also wanted Quincy, but I'm too in love with him to let him go. Last night I finally got to bring Quincy back into the house after over three months. It was nice. Too bad he's in the throes of some major shedding. I guess it's time for his summer coat.
Is there a ranch along the coast that adopts or fosters sixty-year-old divorcees who need more space?
Working tandem with that is the most recent request from Bill to up his spousal support 60%. It's tough now but it will be much tougher if a court orders me to pay any more support, even just a couple hundred dollars. I just squeaked through this school year as it was, and that was when I was getting paid twice a month. During the summer I get a paycheck on July 5 and then not again until September 20. I get one summer school check that will look like three weeks of a regular one. Then I have to get creative until that September check comes. I have one tutoring student and we are getting a yard sale together. But I will need a lot more than those will provide. What should I do? I don't have super skills but I have ideas: 1) street walk, 2) sell a kidney, 3) fake my own death, or 4) try to get the heart and cancer policies to pay up on Bill's hospital stays. Which one would you try?
Today I had a chance to look carefully at the Income and Expenses Report Bill filed with the court. He says his total monthly income is $3,242 and his expenses are $6,529. He says his rent is $1,350; I happen to know it's $875. He says his monthly out-of-pocket medical expenses are $1200; I have serious doubts. The costs could be the marijuana he smokes. But $1200? He also has $13,250 in loans against the Acura. I guess I won't be getting that thing back. It can't be worth much more than $13,250 at this point. He has a 'personal loan' for $7,500 for living expenses (is gambling a living expense?). He says he has run up $8,500 in attorney's fees. That's funny because I've paid his attorney $5,000. Hmmmm.... He says he's 'disabled'. That would be cool but for as long as we were together, he didn't get that classification. If he's disabled, does that entitle him to more money from Social Security? From me? Is he really technically now a card-carrying disabled person? Would have helped if he could have had the courtesy to do that while we were together....I know he's not above lying, and definitely comfortable with fibbing, but this stuff was filed in court. Is he aware of that? You do a little fibbing on a court document and there will be consequences. That's called perjury. But that didn't stop him last year. He also says he has about $175,000 in assets and all other property. What's he counting here? This stuff can be fleshed-out in a deposition, and that will be our next step. Maybe he should stop gambling.
Thirdly, today I had a glimpse into a side of someone that worried me. Fighting fair is a skill. It's a maturity skill. It's a refined art that involves some humility and a lot of self-control. Carmi had the week off last week. Kyle took care of Dad and did a very good job. We had some discoveries, though. Dad takes what he thinks are 'stool softeners'. (If you have a delicate mind and don't like poop-talk, you might want to skip this part.....) It turns out they're not just stool softeners, they're laxatives, and I think his taking them is a form of bulimia---or as my sister calls it-----southern bulimia. He takes these pills twice a day and expects to empty his colon three times a day. If he doesn't go three times a day, he starts perseverating on it. He starts drinking milk of magnesia and asking for enemas---and worse, he asks to have someone put on two pairs of exam gloves and get in to loosen things. The weird thing was that he was going at least once a day during the week. Apparently that wasn't enough. I hear this about the elderly, especially older men. We reduced his 'softeners' and tried to supplant with natural 'softeners' such as stewed prunes, prune juice, lots of fruits, and wheat grass. Dad sensed the change and soon was making the requests for additional 'fire power'. We said no enemas, no milk of magnesia. I talked with him about it on Saturday. I told him I was concerned he was obsessing about eliminating and asked him what he would say as a professional if one of his patients had come to him and told him they were taking two laxatives a day and expecting to 'go' three times a day. I got him to agree to take the stool softeners---if we can find only a stool softener----once every other day. Carmi came back today and I discussed this with her. Dad was already asking her for an enema which she was refusing to do. She said the cardiologist prescribed the stool softeners because many heart patients go into atrial fibrilation if they have to exert a lot of force to eliminate. So, pooping can kill you. Kyle, on the other hand, wasn't happy with that news. It was as if he had lost a battle and had been vanquished. He was in a bad mood to boot. He argued, refusing to let Laura get a word in edgewise, and it was shades of Bill. I felt both uncomfortable and sorry for Laura. This one-way ranting becomes no one. Inappropriately displaced anger is a no-no. It was disconcerting. But Kyle has an excuse: He's still new at this stuff, and he's still young. In essence, he's still trainable. I trust that Laura will work with him on this. She's too smart, too outspoken, too self-confident, and too conditioned against Bill's behavior to let this one slide.
Carmi has now informed me that Dad's impacted. Yep, that good woman has had her hand up there and she said it's balled up, the merchandise won't move, it's a stone in the middle of the road. Oy! Back to the milk of magnesia. Tomorrow I will call his docs. There's gotta be a better way.
We got to a point with Bill's dog where we were exhausted and feeling we'd have to keep him forever. While he was here, I couldn't let Quincy into the house at night like I usually did. Matt would bark all night long. We tried to cage Matt, but he pawed at the sides all night long. In the morning the giant metal dog cage was bent like crazy. Kyle had a high school counselor with whom he is working again. She lives on a two-acre ranch right by the high school up along the coast. She has horses and large dogs. She fosters and rescues dogs over five years old and over fifty pounds. Her husband just lost his dog two weeks ago and was considering a bloodhound for a new dog. He's also a retired sheriff's detective and has gone back to working cold cases and wants to start working on searches (obviously not for cold cases) with a dog. (The sheriff's search and rescue teams are all volunteers). Matt was the PERFECT fit for this guy. We took him out to visit the ranch. They came to our house with a dog trainer one morning. Then, on Saturday, they picked him up for good. This was all done, thankfully, with Bill's knowledge and approval. Bill had finally realized he is not going to be able to work Matt anytime in the near future. These people said he could visit Matt whenever. So, Matt is now gone. I told them how intelligent and inquisitive he is. I told them not to leave any food out. I told them he can open refrigerators. I guess they didn't fully understand. On the first day, he relieved them of a lot of food. If you do it right, he makes a decent Doggy-Dishwasher. If you don't, then you just have a nuisance.
Was it hard to give the dog away? Yes. I wish I had the space for the number of dogs I have here. I'm a dog-lover but something had to give. The people also wanted Quincy, but I'm too in love with him to let him go. Last night I finally got to bring Quincy back into the house after over three months. It was nice. Too bad he's in the throes of some major shedding. I guess it's time for his summer coat.
Is there a ranch along the coast that adopts or fosters sixty-year-old divorcees who need more space?
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