06/26/00 THE WEEKEND UPDATE...(cont'd)
"...I got lost on my wedding day...typical..."
So Saturday night I took Martha down to my parents' house to play with their dog, the 102-lb mammoth beast. I love that dog. He is the sweetest, most good-natured, sissy dog I've ever met. I've tried to get my other dogs to play with him, but Noodle and George beat him up. Martha's the only one who will actually play with him, and they are good friends.
My mom was en route from some "women in worship" conference in Omaha. Yes, it's true, I'm the child of a CHRISTIAN WOMAN. A SOUTHERN BAPTIST, to boot. And it gets better...my mom is a CHURCH SECRETARY! Eeeeeek! It's okay, though, now that I'm closer to sane, the irony--that my good Christian mother was the wicked bitch of the east, west, north AND south when I was a kid--actually really amuses me. Mostly because I'm no longer the object of her rants, but also because time and distance and months of therapy have prevailed and I am now strong enough to tell her to go fuck herself when she needs to be told by someone. So these visits are no longer the torturous hell they used to be. And if they become as much, I leave. It's beautiful to be a grown-up.
Anyway, me and the father hung out waiting for her to get home so we could go eat, and finally the old man says "screw her, let's go get beer and hot wings." Yes, I am soooo my father's daughter. I was a bit paranoid by this suggestion, because I'm thinking, okay, me and Big Daddy have spoken maybe 30 words to each other since I was born, what the fuck are we going to discuss over dinner? But it turns out that we had a very good time. We sat at the bar at Applebee's and managed to pick apart every single person in the restaurant over a few beers and dinner. My brother showed up about halfway through to get his daily serving of cash (I'm wondering why this system wasn't in place when I was 17?) and I was just praying that his little girlfriend wouldn't ask "are these your parents?" and force me to take her into the parking lot to kick her ass. ("I'll show you mother, you little tramp...")
She didn't. Thank God. I just hope now that people didn't think we were like, on a date or something. Eeeww, ick. But then, the old dude and I look very, very much alike, except one of us wears makeup...
So it was really a pretty entertaining day. The old woman came home about a half hour after we got back from dinner. We chatted for an hour or so and then I packed up my doggie and headed for home.
Apparently my sister and her high-school-wife-beater-boy don't get around much. My mom said that no one really hears much from her "because she works all the time." Yeah, I'll bet. And explain to me why when she moved out, she took only clothes...and not even all of them...left behind almost all of her stuff, including her prized Wizard of Oz collection and Harrison Ford pin-ups? (The girl is wierd, what can I say?) Dad said that Wife Beater "didn't want her to take them with her." Hmmm...can we say "isolation attempt?" Isn't that like the crowning sign of a wife beater? Remove them from all of the things they enjoy, remove them from their family, their friends, etc. Then knock the shit out of them and tell them "I only do it 'cuz ya make me may-ud..." What the fuck ever. My dad told her she had one chance to come home if he hits her, and if she goes back and gets hit again, it's "her own damn fault." I have to say that, while I absolutely don't think ANYONE deserves to be abused, I have to agree with him on that one. I find it hard to believe that there's a woman out there who truly believes in that "I can change him" bullshit. Okay, yes, I've spent my whole life in relationships in which I wasn't exactly treated like royalty, but (The Asshole not included) only one of them ever hit me...and I never spoke to him again after he did. Yeah, I know, hooray for me. I'm nobody's savior. And as I've said before, I don't even pretend to speak for the masses. But my sister has had her sisters, her brother, her mother, her father and who knows how many of her friends tell her that this dickhead is bad news, and moreso, we've told her WHY. Specifically. If she chooses to ignore that for "love," then hell, I'LL slap her.
But, as my dad pointed out to me, my sister does have about 50 pounds on the little fucker. As mean as she is, if he ever did hit her, she'd probably use his head for a toilet brush.
Maybe my sister should date ALL the abusive men in the world, and show them the error of their ways.
I will be wrapping up my therapy at the end of July. With mixed feelings. Elated that I've come this far, that I've made it to this brand new day...I mean, I only wish I could explain how different the world looks to me now. I'm not afraid of my own shadow anymore. There are still times, when I'm alone mostly, when I start to panic. But I'm better able now to actually ground myself and logically think of "how bad can it possibly be?" before I freak out or go to bed for a few weeks like I used to. Most importantly, in my opinion, is that I'm no longer willing to settle for whatever bullshit I'm offered. I deserve better, goddammit, and because I think so doesn't make me willful, or selfish, or greedy (well, not "greedy" in that sense, hahaha) or anything else. I know there are changes needed in my life and I'm making them. I still have a lot of trouble trusting my judgment (as is readily apparent in my hesitation to totally break off my relationship with Megan) but I'm getting better at that. Nothing ventured, nothing gained, right?
Absolutely.
What's scary is the thought that I will eventually return to the place I was in January. But I don't think that will happen. I'm too different now, I think differently, I have other options. I have ways out. I'm not trapped anymore. I have this, my true "grounding point," where I can lay it all on the line and re-read and assess and evaluate and all that happy horseshit. I'm not the girl I was at the dawn of the year. I am, at long last, a grown-up.
Eeewww!
Four days left of this job and COUNTING DOWN...
Tonight I'll be alone again, as Megan's going to the school lab to type up her notes. I'm growing more and more comfortable in being with myself. I think it helps to have dogs around. They're much more communicative than cats. Even moreso than some people I know. I will most likely walk the dogs with Zak at our usual time. I had a dream about him last night...only semi-erotic, but intriguing in that it was a lot less intimate than my typical "someone loves me" dreams. This was a much more comfortable dream...not angst-ridden...not melodramatic...and I didn't feel ridiculous in the morning. I can't wait to see how this plot turns out.
Gonna be a chips'n'salsa night, I can tell--one of those where I eat an entire can of Rotel in like, half an hour, and then feel like a fat ass ick-ster all night. Ugh. Damn spicy food obsession!
But wait, there's more...