Exhibit A, the dentist's chair: My back teeth, says the dentist, look 70 years old. (I am 44.) I take good care of them, and brush and floss and brush some more, but apparently, I also grind them to a pulp in my sleep. Asks the dentist: Are you under stress?
Exhibit B, the gastrointestinal specialist's office: I am here because I have way too many stomach problems for a 44-year-old woman, and my regular Dr. thinks it's time for an endoscopy. But first I must stop here and spend a little extra money on a bonus office visit. The nurse practitioner thinks I might have a slow-bleeding ulcer, which would tidily explain both my anemia and my after-breakfast nausea. She sweetly asks: Are you, by any chance, under stress?
Exhibit C, lunch with a friend: C has suffered migraines for years. I mention to her that I've been getting days-long headaches lately, too. No shit, she says: Stress will do that.
Ding. Helll-ooo!
Whadya know: I'm thinking I might be stressed. Not just irritated, but stressed to the point of actual physical harm.
Certainly I realize that I can't control what people do to me, or how people treat me; I can control only how I react.
But I need a little positive-reaction reminder. I think I'll look into yoga. Last night, I did some deep breathing before falling asleep (this used to me my favorite time of the day, but now I lie in bed -- likely clenching my teeth -- and listen for the telltale mistress honk), and it helped for a while. But then I woke up in a panic when I heard a door squeak. Plus, one little extra intake of oxygen ain't a-gonna fix my teeth, my guts and my noggin. Would drugs? Would divorce?
Could be.
(PS: Unrelated adendum: I tried to see Barack Obama at a campaign appearance this week, but I couldn't get in because it was absolutely, totally packed. So just let me say: Even if this man does not win, he has already changed the heart and soul and face of American politics. There were thousands and thousands of people there -- not just to get on TV like the literal rejects on "American Idol" -- but to participate. They are eager to believe, determined to make a difference and longing to belong. So thanks for that, hunky presidential dude. And to those who think we can't say he's hunky and admire his inspirational brand of politics: Yes, we can. )
Saturday, February 9, 2008
Monday, February 4, 2008
The Supporting Cast: Adulterous Mistress
This was a tough one. I couldn't decide whether to kick off with this chick ... or my equally perplexing, complex mother-in-law. But Mistress wins because she is more on my mind today. Last night, when she pulled up to the end of our driveway and honked for Big Boy, our faithful dog barked. Then stopped. Which made me realize: When she picks up T and drives him off for adulterous fun and frivolity, she is also taking my dog. Which is infinitely worse than taking my husband.
Then ... today, as we were watching the morning news for snow-delay info, a Dr. Phil commercial came on. The topic: Wife's lover DRIVES UP TO HER HOUSE AND HONKS FOR HER TO COME OUT. Out of respect, she says. You're sick, Phil says. I am not a Phil fan, but damn straight I am taping his show today.
So here's what I know about my husband's adulterous mistress. T has told me nothing. But as a journalist, I have some pretty sweet access to public records. I also know the one and only solid defense for libel: the truth. So I feel pretty secure on both counts.
1) She has very poor judgment. Exhibit A: When she and T began their affair, T was her boss. Exhibit B: Of all the cheating men in the world, she chose T as her adulterous lover.
2) She divorced her husband last year, sold their house and moved (as I have mentioned before) to within 15 minutes of our house. She is a mother.
3) In the process of her year-long divorce, someone filed a restraining order against someone. That means a) she is a lunatic; b) the order was against T, which would be a juciy nugget of knowledge; or c) her husband found out about T and made, as they say, a scary stink.
4) She thinks it's OK to honk at the end of our driveway every night. And call and hang up. And befriend my dog.
5) She is 42, 5-foot-2 and 120 pounds. Which means I could take her -- especially with my dog on my side.
But I am afraid of her. Even if I hadn't seen "Fatal Attraction." She is getting more and more brazen. And I am in her way. And the best way to hurt me is through my son.
I slept maybe 2 hours last night. I hear creaks in the floor, and think it's her. I see a shadow outside the door, and think it's the hit man she has hired. I get up during the night to check on my son, then double-check.
Two weeks ago, I was convinced I should call her (naturally, I have her cellphone number, since it showed up on our bill 8 billion times). Ask her whether she poses a real, physical threat to us. Talk to her mama-a-mama. I almost did it. Until my anchor of a counselor suggested it might not be such a bright idea. Yeah, yeah. She was right.
But what can I do? Hide in the woods and scare her when she honks? Drive to her house & honk in her driveway? Train my dog to lunge at her?
And is it delusional paranoia if they really are out to get you?
Then ... today, as we were watching the morning news for snow-delay info, a Dr. Phil commercial came on. The topic: Wife's lover DRIVES UP TO HER HOUSE AND HONKS FOR HER TO COME OUT. Out of respect, she says. You're sick, Phil says. I am not a Phil fan, but damn straight I am taping his show today.
So here's what I know about my husband's adulterous mistress. T has told me nothing. But as a journalist, I have some pretty sweet access to public records. I also know the one and only solid defense for libel: the truth. So I feel pretty secure on both counts.
1) She has very poor judgment. Exhibit A: When she and T began their affair, T was her boss. Exhibit B: Of all the cheating men in the world, she chose T as her adulterous lover.
2) She divorced her husband last year, sold their house and moved (as I have mentioned before) to within 15 minutes of our house. She is a mother.
3) In the process of her year-long divorce, someone filed a restraining order against someone. That means a) she is a lunatic; b) the order was against T, which would be a juciy nugget of knowledge; or c) her husband found out about T and made, as they say, a scary stink.
4) She thinks it's OK to honk at the end of our driveway every night. And call and hang up. And befriend my dog.
5) She is 42, 5-foot-2 and 120 pounds. Which means I could take her -- especially with my dog on my side.
But I am afraid of her. Even if I hadn't seen "Fatal Attraction." She is getting more and more brazen. And I am in her way. And the best way to hurt me is through my son.
I slept maybe 2 hours last night. I hear creaks in the floor, and think it's her. I see a shadow outside the door, and think it's the hit man she has hired. I get up during the night to check on my son, then double-check.
Two weeks ago, I was convinced I should call her (naturally, I have her cellphone number, since it showed up on our bill 8 billion times). Ask her whether she poses a real, physical threat to us. Talk to her mama-a-mama. I almost did it. Until my anchor of a counselor suggested it might not be such a bright idea. Yeah, yeah. She was right.
But what can I do? Hide in the woods and scare her when she honks? Drive to her house & honk in her driveway? Train my dog to lunge at her?
And is it delusional paranoia if they really are out to get you?
Sunday, February 3, 2008
The Reality Check
So today it strikes me that I've been writing rather pretentiously -- self-consciously, maybe -- which is weird, because that never happens when I'm writing for the paper and it's a GIVEN that half-a-million people could read it. Wonder why that is.
At any rate, I will now stop doing that. :)
Today is One Of Those Days. An orbiting headache just waiting to burst thru my own personal atmosphere. An unsettled "whateverness." Too many clouds, and I can't even win a stupid game of Spider Cell solitaire. All that, and it's Super Bowl Sunday. Whoo-fucking-hoo.
Today is also One Of Those Days when I just know it's time to scuttle the sinking S.S. Marriage ship. So, being the proactive blob that I am, I just looked up houses, and jobs, and now I feel even worse. If I were to actually BE proactive, and move out, I could look forward to middle age in a lovely 2-bedroom shithole with moldy carpet and bleached-wood cabinets, which is all I could afford "on my own." (T, the errant husband, has vowed never to pay spousal support -- as I have mentioned, money is His Issue.) And now, apparently, it is mine.
On Days Like These, I try to remind myself that at least, at one point, I did have A Life. I have been deeply, madly, passionately In Love -- twice. I just forgot to marry either one of them.
I thought I was acting very grown-up when I married T. We were buddies. Drinking buddies, bonging buddies, OK-but-not-great sex buddies. What a solid foundation! What a mature decision! I would never once have to worry about intense passion melting away.
Yeah, that was a good idea.
These days, sex is like accepting an Oscar -- it's just one of those things that other people do.
Thank God, I have other habits to occupy my time. On a Day Like Today, it's moping. Sigh.
At any rate, I will now stop doing that. :)
Today is One Of Those Days. An orbiting headache just waiting to burst thru my own personal atmosphere. An unsettled "whateverness." Too many clouds, and I can't even win a stupid game of Spider Cell solitaire. All that, and it's Super Bowl Sunday. Whoo-fucking-hoo.
Today is also One Of Those Days when I just know it's time to scuttle the sinking S.S. Marriage ship. So, being the proactive blob that I am, I just looked up houses, and jobs, and now I feel even worse. If I were to actually BE proactive, and move out, I could look forward to middle age in a lovely 2-bedroom shithole with moldy carpet and bleached-wood cabinets, which is all I could afford "on my own." (T, the errant husband, has vowed never to pay spousal support -- as I have mentioned, money is His Issue.) And now, apparently, it is mine.
On Days Like These, I try to remind myself that at least, at one point, I did have A Life. I have been deeply, madly, passionately In Love -- twice. I just forgot to marry either one of them.
I thought I was acting very grown-up when I married T. We were buddies. Drinking buddies, bonging buddies, OK-but-not-great sex buddies. What a solid foundation! What a mature decision! I would never once have to worry about intense passion melting away.
Yeah, that was a good idea.
These days, sex is like accepting an Oscar -- it's just one of those things that other people do.
Thank God, I have other habits to occupy my time. On a Day Like Today, it's moping. Sigh.
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