cindy's world

Wilco had said over the weekend, “He has a calming effect on you.”

Everything’s right again when I’m in his arms. What shouldn’t matter, doesn’t.

I think I hurt my mother very badly. I just realized why they simply turned and left today. How could I have let him make me do it? This is madness. He is cancer.

Oh my God, am I crying for the fourth time in a 13-hour period?!

My chest and my head hurt.

It makes me sad that he hates me so much for leaving what I felt was an irreparable situation. The first year together broke me, made me leave. I think he forgave me for leaving then because he eventually understood all my pain, and paddled hard uphill to show me that if I came back to him, he’d be a better man. I was so hurt from the first year that I wanted never to come back, but despite my starting to date another man, he still won me over because my heart hadn’t left him. We had a couple of decent months, and then I had to know before continuing whether everything I had suspected and that he had denied had been true, because I could not go back into the same relationship it was the first time. My answer was affirmative and for a few stunned weeks, I didn’t know what to do with that. The anger, however, deepened as the level of betrayal and lies over the course of months became clearer, and I could not overcome the anger. He tolerated the anger for a few more weeks, and then I left to save my sanity. What else was there to do? We were killing each other. I had begged him two days after my finding out the truth, to please put my mind at ease about her and show me confirmation that this is still not going on. He refused. I was bewildered that he wanted me to move forward with him on blind trust when the trust was already shattered. I am grateful today that he had refused. He did the right thing; the relationship was over the moment he cheated, and no amount of present proof would change that. It would’ve stalled things, but it would never erase the doubt forever, and there was no way he was willing to pay the price of cheating by giving continual affirmation of his trustworthiness. I probably wouldn’t have believed him for long anyway. Most women never do again. If he had given me that confirmation, I probably would’ve married him and my God, if being betrayed by a boyfriend almost killed me, being betrayed by my husband would definitely have. And what if there were a child involved?

Nevertheless, it makes me sad that what I felt was the “right thing,” no matter how painful it was to do, brings him to such anger for so long. It makes me sad that he is unable to find peace. It makes me sad that he is so enraged that it created an obsession to violate me, to find new ways to cross the line, to “beat me” in some battle existing only in his reality such that he can’t see what he doesn’t want to see.

But, Jaime, all I did was leave.

All I did was leave.

Me: *lying in bed at 11am, a complete mess, crying, angry and bewildered*
Mr. W: (via phone) I wish you wouldn’t have done anything when I wasn’t there.
Me: What, I’m supposed to have done this while you were here?
Mr. W: At least I could’ve helped you through it.

That means the world to me.

I have tentative lunch plans today with my godbrother. He didn’t pick up his cell. Godbro, hello? I need you! I’m still torn on what to do today.

Touch a cold door
What’s behind is more
Of the same chill
Abyss where no will
Can add substance
Apply resistance
You’ll see
What’s done to me
No heart nor soul
No well-intentioned pull
Can alter
The cancer
With its tentacled reach
It’s death in life
It bleeds hope dry
It violates like a whore
I touched the cold door.

There’s my impromptu little ditty. Strange, it reads more like a rap than anything else. That’s the way it plays in my head, anyway. Strangely, Missy Elliot’s voice is reciting it in my head.

There are some people who are SO blind to the obvious that I’m just shocked and dismayed, and I want to smack them upside the head with the weight of their own stupidity. A chicken waddles up to these people and clucks, “I’m not a chicken, SHE is,” and points with his wing toward a cat. These people nod like drones and say, “Yes, yes, you’re not a chicken, you’re a cat. THAT thing you’re pointing at sure is a chicken!” WTF! Match the words to the actions, people! SMELL the hypocrisy! Don’t feed the obsession, do the damn chicken a favor and help him end it!

That being said, I’m still torn between what I should do for the sake of responsibility and morality and plain respect, and my own anger at having to do these things for someone who clearly did not respect me. Karen’s advice was to sleep on it and hear her out. But I may be too offended to take the high road. Except for the guilt that this may kill her since she has been ailing.

I HATE how maturity does not come with age! People out there, grow up! And if you can’t, just leave me the hell alone, seriously!

Well, if it ain’t PMS then I don’t know how else to explain it.

I was trying to get back into the old Cindy this weekend, slept in till almost noon, then I got up and got dressed to go to the gym for a couple of hours. Going downstairs in itself was depressing. The house was in disarray, and there’s nothing I can do about much without a vacuum cleaner. I’m not going to fight the “black Friday” shopping crowd, so I’ll have go to w/o a vacuum for a few more days. There are papers on the dining table of things that needed something to be done — opening an ING account online, ordering additional checks, calling my retirement plan and asking why they show me under Plan E when I clearly switched over to Plan D 6 years ago… There was cat hair on my couch so the cat has been taking advantage of my being home less by doing what he knows he’s not allowed to. I felt like I’d let everything slide and get away from me and I’m completely overwhelmed. The neighbor across the driveway from me again had their friend park on the driveway instead of on the street despite all the tow-away signs posted, and I’m blocked from being able to back my car out of my garage. My fat percentage is as high as it’s ever been, I need to vacuum the cat area, the cat’s all sheddy and I need to brush him, I wish I could cure his corneal ulcer problem and finally get him out of his cone, there’s a huge black spider up over the fireplace that I can’t reach without a vacuum cleaner extension hose, there are paid bills that need to be sorted through and filed away and laundry to be done… It was overwhelming me until I was interrupted by the beeping of my cell phone, signalling that I’ve just received a text message.

I eagerly went to check it, and I didn’t realize how much I miss Mr. W until the disappointment of seeing it’s not from him nearly made me want to drop to the floor in exhaustion — if the carpet weren’t so dirty from cat hairs. Then I thought, there’s nothing wrong with my calling him. It’s not like he’s out in Vegas partying with the guys and doing things I’m not supposed to know about so that I can’t call him cuz he wouldn’t pick up and would only accuse me of “checking up” on him. Mr. W doesn’t do crap like that. So I called. He picked up and upon hearing his voice, I almost cried.

***
I remember how hard first grade was. Strange new country, mean racist kids, language barrier, different rules. I’d thought I was doing pretty well, holding it together. The class was walked over to another classroom in a portable building for an hour of games and crafts. Like sheep or lemming, we allowed ourselves to be herded into the classroom where different tables were set up with a parent volunteer at each station, each teaching a different activity. To my absolute shock, my mother was at one of these tables and she waved happily at me. She had never looked so beautiful. All my control evaporated and I started bawling. She walked over toward me as I yelled, “Ma!”, broke from the line of kids and threw my little arms around her waist and I just sobbed and sobbed, like a shipwrecked passenger who had been clinging to driftwood for days, listless and hopeless, when a sudden rescue snaps the passenger out of a state of shock. I remember a part of me skeptically saying to myself, “What’s your problem? Why’re you clinging to your mom like that? Why’re you crying? There’s nothing wrong. You’re embarrassing yourself.” But I didn’t care, I told the voice. Everything was so hard, and this is the one thing I knew. My mother.
***

Wow, I’ve th0ught of that event before, but it never made me cry like I just did. So anyway, Mr. W is with his parents and his daughter, his dad driving them to a pizzeria that Mr. W had been craving forever, where they supposedly make authentic Chicago-style pizza because the Chicago-based chain ships ingredients out to the Vegas branch. (Mr. W grew up in Chicago.) After that they’re going to see an enclosed residential community that turns its frozen lake into an ice skating rink and the European style villas do an artificial snow show. I’m glad he’s enjoying himself. He needs to see his parents more often, and they’re only in the next state. He told me yesterday that his dad asked him to convince me to go, and he’d told his dad he already tried. Today, I asked him to tell everyone hello for me and sorry I couldn’t make it.

*Sigh* I’m gonna have to get over my retarded emotions and make a dent in the crap downstairs. Good grief, what is wrong with me? Just because this is the first weekend we’re going to spend apart since we started dating? It’s only been a few months!

I made it in to work. The office didn’t even have our courtroom scheduled as “dark” (no judge), so they’re unofficially letting me sit in my own courtroom to do with the day as I see fit. I’m divorcing people.

I don’t know what’s wrong with me lately. I’m bummed a lot, but I can’t put my finger on a reason. Let’s check my pillars.
1. Work? It’s fine, it runs itself. I get along with my coworkers.
2. Family? Mom and Dad are the same as usual.
3. Friends? No drama there. They’re all around, busy doing their own things but generally responsive when I initiate contact, if they don’t already initiate it with me first.
4. Boyfriend? He’s Mr. Wonderful, what else can I ask for?
5. Health? I haven’t had a need to visit Kaiser again in a couple of months, so that’s good. I can be more proactive about the workouts and jujitsu, but it’s not a life-or-death thing and there’s really no consequence to my taking it easy, except for the slower progress in weight loss, and it’s cosmetic weight right now anyway; I’m not in danger of having a heart attack.
6. Cat? Dodo’s been the same as always, sometimes pesky, always good company. I do feel guilty for not being around more, tho, since he likes to be underfoot and hang out with me.
7. Finances? Same as always. No problems paying off the bills, mortgage, insurance, and I have enough fat to play with for frivolities.
8. Am I bored? I don’t think so. Every weekend and weekday evening is filled with something; if anything, I’ve been doing more stuff than usual what with all the not being home and traveling.

The heck is wrong with me?! Am I burned out? What the heck am I burned out on? The guilt of being anchored by pittily tasks and not being productive, probably.

Ya know, I think I just hit the nail on the head. Cuz I feel better and more inspired already.

Maybe I should stop blogging now and divorce more people. =P

I am sooo sleepy. I had lunch with some coworkers instead of doing a 3-mile run. They were going to a new Italian restaurant and it’s hard for me to resist Italian. I had a great manicotti. My coworker Andy advised me before we got there to not drink the water provided by the restaurant because, apparently, “it can choke a horse.” He’d brought this to the attention of the restaurant staff before, and their response was “Yeah, we know, the water in Santa Fe Springs is a bit heavy on the metal.” “Heavy on the metal?! You can float a spoon in there!” was the response. The food was not at all greasy or overly heavy, but golly, I hit food coma anyway.

I need enough energy to hit the grocery store after work to buy ingredients for what I am in charge of bringing to a Thanksgiving dinner hosted by a friend: lowfat, low-cal chocolate cheesecake. I know, sounds fishy, but I can do it, darn it! Since i have jujitsu Wednesday, I should make the cheesecake tonite and let it just gel in the fridge. Otherwise, I suppose I can make it Thursday morning. Yeah, Thursday morning sounds good.

I should really clean the house, too. Gawd, the cat can sure spew fur.

Meanwhile, must…force…self…to divorce…more…people…

And then there’s the packing required to go with Mr. W to Vegas for the long weekend, and it can’t just be any sloppy ol’ comfy clothes, cuz it’s meet-the-‘rents weekend. *sob*

I need a maid! And a clothing-packer! And a shaved cat! And a chef!

I went to dinner last nite with my parents and my godbro’s parents. As soon as I walked into the restaurant where I was meeting them, the conversation turned to my recent weight gain. My godbro’s mother had lost some weight recently by simply cutting out white rice from her diet, and she said she was like me. My mom said no, not like me, because I gained weight recently. “Did she?” godbro’s mom said looking at me skeptically. I admitted to the 15-lb weight gain. My dad said his theory on my weight gain is that it has to do with my present emotional well-being. He then turned to me and said, “You’re happy, aren’t you?” I said I am. The weight gain did coincide rather suspiciously with my dating Mr. W. “I’d rather have you like this and happy than skinny and miserable,” he said. The godbro’s parents agreed, saying that I’m fine the way I am so the elevated mood is well worth the weight gain, altho my mom interrupted by saying that I should still watch the pounds for health reasons and I should make more effort to lose the weight.

So the moral of the dinner is that my dad’s happy for me and my mom still thinks I’m fat. I’m not really sure what to do with that. I guess liposuction is the answer to everything.

Things always have a funny way of lining up for me on a theme. The theme this week for me was “character.” I’d said a few times to a few people in the last couple days that someone may look good on paper, but his character almost killed me. And then there may be someone whose “dating resume” doesn’t look good on paper, but I’d never been so comfortable or happy. And then out of nowhere, the plaintiff’s attorney throws this into his closing argument right now on a car accident case:

“I don’t have time to talk about character very long but I will just mention a book that I read about ten years ago. There is a book on who to marry. What kind of person should you marry, should you marry somebody beautiful? Should you marry somebody tall, dark and handsome? Whom should you marry, somebody rich? Should you marry somebody who has all the hobbies you have? The book says don’t look after any of those issues, those are false. The issues you need to look at in the person you’re going to marry are honesty, if they treat you well, if they are hardworking, if they are religious. And if they’re loyal. Because the person you want to marry is the woman that you want who will stay you for 30 years if you become disabled. Or if you’re a girl you want a man that will stay with you for 30 years if you become disabled. All these other issues are not good. You can get a guy that’s tall dark and handsome and he can cheat on you every day and lie to you and be a drunkard and go gambling every day and leave you for another woman at the first chance he gets.
So character is very important in life.”

My court reporter turned to me and winked.