Rants and Raves: An Update

In trying to figure out what to write about tonight, I was reminded of a "rant and rave" post I'd done before. You know, you "rave" about all the great stuff going on and you "rant" about what sucks. Anyway, I went back and found it ... turns out it's for "Rant and Rave Wednesday", but I figured that Monday is an even better time.

So, here are my Rants and Raves for the past week.

RAVE: Pythagorus ended up in the hospital for the usual reason (although, as always, there's an interesting twist to it). Anyway, he's out of the hospital now and is recuperating with relatives. Also, he seems to have not been drinking since he got out of the hospital.

RANT: Somebody that I care deeply about told me today that I'm a lot like my mother. It was meant in most uncomplimentary terms.

RAVE: Had a great day at the Boston Museum of Science yesterday. I did not get electrified this time, but it was still a lot of fun.

RANT: My BlackBerry continues to need physical abuse in order to function properly. It's kind of embarrassing to be slapping my phone in public.

RAVE: My cousins are helping out with transporting Belle to and from camp since I'm on a crazy work schedule this summer. Yeah, whoever said teachers had summers easy is completely nuts ...

RANT: My dog is even more scared of thunderstorms than I am, and we had a bad one today. She was shaking all over and just scared to death--her heart was beating so fast I was afraid she was going to have a heart attack or something. It was horrible not being able to comfort her as well as I could have because I was so scared myself.

RAVE: My mother, who's in Italy for another week, left Addie a list of chores ... and Addie is actually doing them! She's also been making some amazing strides with her piano.

And I guess that's about it, in a nutshell. It's kind of a neat way to put things into perspective. Give it a try on your blog :-)

The More Things Change, the More They Stay the Same

So Pythagorus fell off the wagon yet again. Hard.

I don't feel guilty writing that here, by the way. No, I think in the great scheme of things, I took the highest of the high roads this evening. And it's not like it's the first time this has happened (okay, I feel a little bit bad for writing that here).

So basically, he wanted to see Belle for dinner. He knows I don't get out of work until three and started texting at about 3:30 wanting to know where I was since he'd been waiting for two hours. That pretty much gave me an indication, and talking to him on the phone made it even more clear. Once I saw him, there wasn't a doubt in my mind, but I already had Belle so I decided to just try to get through dinner, get Belle home, then bring him back (an hour and a half drive, by the way) to his parents' house.

He picked a fight with me all during dinner, kept making cracks at how I always accused him of drinking when he wasn't, swore up and down he hadn't been drinking, staggered across a parking lot holding Belle (and I could kill him for that, I swear to God), and thought that chewing on cough drops and a wad of gum bigger than Pamela Anderson's boob would overpower the stench of wine. However, he passed out in the car when I was bringing Belle home, so I figured at least it would be safe to bring him home.

I was quite wrong there. I'm not getting into it, but suffice it to say that my arm hurts and has a bruise on it, that I was tormented emotionally (which hurt even worse), and that he further proved that he is the most insensitive human being on the planet. When somebody knows some of your dirty and horrendous secrets, what does it say about him that he brings them up and basically rubs your nose in the worst thing that's ever happened to you?

And you know what I did? Nothing. I didn't take him to the hospital to be admitted or to the police station to be arrested, although either would have documented his blood alcohol level when he was having visitation with Belle and would certainly have solidified my position that he not be allowed unsupervised visits with her. Nope, I didn't want him to get in trouble, so I let him take it out on me instead. I am such an idiot.

Divorce is a foregone conclusion now. However, I can't help but notice that the behavior he is exhibiting now is EXACTLY what he was doing last year when this whole alcoholism thing reared its ugly head. He blamed his job, he blamed me, he blamed a lot of things for his problem, but the truth is, he makes his own issues. He has had more fresh starts and second chances than you can imagine, and he's pissed Sutter Home chardonnay all over them.

So why has it taken me this long to figure that out? Why do I always end up feeling sorry for him? I realize that alcoholism is a disease, but this is beyond what I've ever seen. This was the last time I expect to see him--someone else can supervise his visitations with Belle, and sad as it is to say, I'm not sure how much longer he'll be around for. His liver must look like swiss cheese by now :( Anyway, I think he's finally driven the point home for good: the more things change, the more they stay the same.

I'm a slow learner, but I'm not a complete idiot. I've got it, Pythagorus. I've got it.

And now I've got my life back, too.

Of Pancreases and Pinot Grigio

On my "hot date" with Belle last night, I ate fried chicken. I know better, but I did it anyway. Yeah, fried chicken. Dipped in blue cheese dressing. It was freaking amazing.

It also wreaked havoc on my pancreas to the point where I was biting belts and stuff to keep from screaming. No fun, but again--my own damn fault. I don't get a pancreatitis attack every time I eat fried chicken (or cheese or french fries or pizza or whatever might have a high fat content), but I'm aware that the potential is there. It's like playing Russian Roulette with a taser. I'll be really good for awhile and not have trouble, so I'll forget just how awful the pain is (multiply childbirth by maybe fifty--yes, I'm serious).

I feel bad for my Facebook friends--I posted asking for advice on whether to go to the ER for pain meds (my Darvocet was all gone :()or not since I usually end up being admitted (IV pain meds controlled through a hospital environment are far better for my situation)and I just don't have time for that. Anyway, my friends are wonderful--they kept me focused on their input while the pain was at its worst (I was also in the parking lot of Addie's school waiting for her to get back from a competition) and I went home and took a lot more Advil (and Valium and Ambien) and went to bed.

Not a pleasant experience, but it almost certainly wouldn't have happened if I'd been smart and avoided the fried chicken (and the blue cheese). I have to take ownership of that--sometimes I don't treat my body well, and there can be consequences.

Part of me wanted to go directly to the ER, get some fentanyl action going or a morphine drip, demoral mixed with the anti-nausea stuff that would have solved all of my physical problems. Bam, I'd be floating in lala land. I wouldn't have to worry about what I'm teaching tomorrow (emergency sub plans, and I'd be so out of it I wouldn't realize how much I was shafting my students). I wouldn't have to figure out how to get Addie and Belle to and from school--if I'm in the hospital, someone else (my mother, maybe my father and stepmother, aunts, uncles), but it wouldn't have to be me. Laying out clothes, driving to work, taking the dogs out, all the issues big and small belong to someone else while you're in the hospital. And most importantly, no pain.

Well, I decided that the hospital wasn't an option no matter how much it hurt (unless I lost consciousness, which has happened before). That was that. I told myself I could hold on until Monday when I can get some more Darvocet through my regular doctor (who understands the particular struggles with being my regular doctor), and I've managed to do it. I had chicken broth for dinner and a really great bottle of water for lunch, and I'm still in quite a bit of pain, but I did it. I balanced the pros and cons of the situation, and I realized that taking care of my girls and going to work was more important than feeling no pain.

So that's the pancreas part of the post. Now, onto the Pinot Grigio (have some for me--the pancreas is rather fussy about alcohol, too).

So, after going several days without a coherent conversation and three days with no contact at all, Pythagorus calls. He promised Belle a week ago that we would meet at the bowling alley today--didn't happen, along with more than half the phone calls he was supposed to make to her. Well, not to worry; Pythagorus has figured out what he needs. He needs--drum roll--to be hospitalized for all the stress and anxiety in his life.

The stress and anxiety in HIS life? I mean, is he shitting me? I know this might sound insensitive, but when you're over thirty and you've basically destroyed your relationship with your children and all you have to do--and I mean ALL--is go to work and not drink, wouldn't you think this would be doable? The truth is, Pythagorus' stress and anxiety come from two places: first, the fact that he screwed up badly, and he cannot handle the fact that he made a mistake. Second, he was raised by a family that belongs on Jerry Springer and, instead of going to counseling and dealing with it, he drinks and berates (and/or avoids) me when I hold him accountable for anything.

Yeah, so Pythagorus can't handle his own failures, so he wants to go to the hospital to hide. If the hospital saw my amylase and lipase levels right now, they'd force me in. And yet, I refuse to let that happen.

It occurs to me that this is an interesting metaphor--and in a way, the crucifixion-reminiscent stabbing pain in my stomach is like a scream of triumph, like Mel Gibson's William Wallace screaming, "Freedom!!!!" as he is literally pulled to pieces.

I wonder what Pythagorus sees when he looks in the mirror sometimes. He was not a lying, sneaky coward when I married him ... but somehow I don't think "hospitalization for stress and anxiety" is going to bring back the man I once loved.

Damn, I think my pancreas is laughing ;)

Procrastination Friday

I have so much to do that I don't even know where to begin. (I know, I know, at the beginning ... but what if you're not sure where that is?)

I even had goals. Yeah, seriously--a home goal (get all my clothes put away finally) and a work goal (finish typing meeting minutes for a committee I'm co-chairing). What happened? Well, isn't it obvious? I had a quiet evening at home with no one but Belle, and she was so exhausted from staying up late last night that she fell asleep watching television.

To be fair, I paid a bunch of bills. That was pretty big. I also wrote a long and difficult e-mail to Pythagorus (the gist being that he needs to take responsibility for his actions, not blame his problems on other people, and that I really want to support him in his sobriety endeavour, but it's hard to do that when he takes everything I say completely wrong and then doesn't call for several days--I'm guessing it wasn't well-received since, true to form, he hasn't called despite a promise to do so. Jesus, the whole situation could almost be comical if it didn't hurt so damn much.

After that, I went on Wikipedia and read details about characters in "The Godfather" (yes, I know Wikipedia's an unreliable source--I'm an English teacher, after all--but it was mindless and interesting and, most importantly, relaxing.

I had to wake a rather annoyed Belle up so we could pick Addie up after the football game at her school, so we all just got home from that little jaunt. She's asleep again, and shock of shocks, Addie went to bed as well.

I have to go let the dogs out again and make sure the light's on for my mom (she gave a party at the beach house tonight and will be home late.

I just wanted to share my contemplations on procrastination. Basically, why is it so easy to complain incessantly that you don't have the time to get things done that are important yet, when the opportunity to accomplish something useful arises, you do stupid things like research the complex relationship between Don Vito Corleone and Luca Brasi--and on freaking Wikipedia, no less?

It Takes a Lot to Render me Speechless ...

I'm appalled. There's no other word for it.

Anyone who reads this blog with any regularity knows that I take pains to keep references to my personal life rooted in philosophy, in thinking. Most are also probably aware that, despite my best efforts to work things out, I'm doing the divorce thang.

What I'm throwing up here now is an informal log of the past four nights, nights when Pythagoros was supposed to call Belle at seven and didn't. What this means, of course, is that he's drinking again. Either that or he's found some other substance ti send him off the deep end.

How do I know that? The man I love(d) would never, ever disappoint his precious Belle. Not one night, never four nights.

And yet ...

Friday, 9/4: No call, no explanation from Pythagorus beyond, "I fell asleep". Belle left a good night message at my insistence, cried afterwards as I killed myself trying to help her process, wanted to know why Daddy didn't call, was he okay, maybe I should call the police because he might have been hit by a car, and so it goes.

Saturday, 9/5: Pythagorus did not respond to various calls/e-mails so did not get the message that Belle would be at a rehearsal dinner for a wedding (she was a flower girl in my cousin's wedding). He did call at seven but was acting confused, defensive, and argumentative when I spoke with him. Did not answer when Belle called upon returning home. Belle did not want to leave a message and, as she was exhausted and quite upset, I did not force her as I usually do when this happens. We both fell asleep crying.

Sunday, 9/6: Called Pythagorus from my cousin's wedding reception at seven. No answer. I forced Belle to leave a good-night message despite her lack of enthusiasm (to say the least). I also sent some pictures of Belle in flower girl glory and encouraged Pythagorus to view others on Facebook. No reply at all. In fact, he never looked at them (as of a Monday afternoon conversation between he and I).

Monday, 9/7: No call. Forced Belle to leave a good-night message for Pythagorus. She asked why, since he never seems to get her messages or he wouldn't keep "forgetting"--kid's got a logical point. I also had to explain to Belle why we didn't go to Friendly's for lunch as "Daddy promised" a few days ago that he would be visiting Monday and taking her to Friendly's.

Am I crazy to be appalled? Am I crazy to think this whole mess is just ... crazy?

Am I crazy to wish that Pythagorus would just be a douchetard like this all the time since he'd been so solidly himself for weeks before this transgression that I (and more importantly Belle) was starting to believe in him again and since I know he'll go back to being himself in a few days.

What do you do when you love Dr. Jekyll dearly ... but truly want to kill Mr. Hyde?

And does it really matter anyway when your kids are suffering the way mine are right now?

Charlie Brown's Football

You know the scene from Peanuts where Lucy is always trying to get Charlie Brown to try to kick the football she's holding? The football she always yanks away at the last second? The football she always swears up and down to Poor Old Chuck that she is not going to yank away this time, that he just needs to believe her?

What does it say about Charlie Brown that he is able to be talked into believing that she will hold the football in place? Is he stupid? Gullible? Or just someone who thinks that kicking the football is worth the pain and humiliation? That feels strongly about giving someone else the benefit of the doubt, even when betrayed and hurt every time?

And how about Lucy? What sort of person would again and again convince someone to give them a second (and third ... and fourth ... and infinite) chance knowing the whole time they're going to just yank it away?

Photographs

Have you ever noticed that photographs show up at the strangest of times? The messages that photographs send change over the passage of time, even as the picture itself remains unchanged. Capturing an individual moment, a snapshot of a person or a place or a thing, is magical, really.

Pictures of Addie and Belle bring me uninhibited joy. I have reveled in every age they've been, loved every second of their lives (even if I might not have thought so at the time). Photos of my children are treasures, reminders not just of how beautiful and photogenic my daughters are but of trips and concerts, the Halloween Belle was a clam (photographic evidence of this--obviously homemade--costume is more valuable than gold), Addie on stage in a blue dress during her starring role as Gertrude McFuzz in Seussical: The Musical, a lifetime's worth of Christmas trees with various people sitting underneath them.

I found in a closet today some pictures of Pythagorus and I shortly after we started dating. The camera caught the kindness in his eyes, and I'm so glad it did. His eyes were so kind once upon a time, so kind.

The toughest one, though, the one that's kept me crying all day, was a picture of me taken in Montreal. It was the first vacation Pythagorus and I ever took together--the first parentally-sanctioned vacation I'd ever been on with a boyfriend, in fact--and I will never forget what an amazing time we had. That's obvious from the look on my face--smiling, bright-eyed, relaxed, and happy, for once.

I had been brought low by numerous boyfriends in the past, hurt and scarred and jaded. I had sworn off ever having a boyfriend again when I met Pythagorus in a math class that he started tutoring me in. His kind eyes, his gentle demeanor, the "I've got everything under control, so don't worry one bit" aura that he sent out ... that's what changed my mind about giving the boyfriend thing one last chance.

The girl in the picture, the young woman in Montreal, the one that was me, was twenty-three years old. That picture says, "I cannot believe that, in the depths of my despair, I found this wonderful, kind person who thinks I deserve a vacation here in this amazing city. I cannot believe that a nice guy, a good and dependable and smart and interesting guy, wants to be with me." My almost tangible happiness, of course, seems like a slap in the face from where I sit today.

I will never be sorry. Belle is the best thing Pythagorus ever gave me, of course, but there are a hundred--no, a million stories, adventures, laughing fits, stories, camping trips, jaunts to Montreal, hikes in the woods, and so on and so forth that were gifts from Pythagorus every day for a long time. No matter how hurt and angry and confused I am tonight, as much as I want to rip up that picture of the stupid girl in Montreal because she really should be aware of what's going to end up happening and the unspeakable pain it will cause, I have to honor the love that Pythagorus and I shared for well over five years of marriage. It was there, it was real, and I will miss it forever.

Stupid photographs ...

When People Change, it's not Always for the Better

Everybody changes. It's the one universal fact of human nature. Although many hold onto certain personalities traits they've always possessed, there is still a level of changing, of molding, of growing that takes place.

Although I've changed in some pretty awful ways over the course of my life, I can proudly say that I've changed for the better in the past year. I have found courage I never knew existed within me, learned how to balance my less than praiseworthy traits such as a quick temper and impulsiveness with the nobler parts of myself, and reaffirmed that my children are the center of my universe. I love my job and feel very fortunate to have found success and daily joy there. Without some small but vital kinks worked out of my psyche, this would never have happened.

What I don't understand, though, is what could bring about the change from a kindhearted, honest, hardworking, overall decent human being to a sneaky, nasty, lying, manipulative guy who stays in bed all day instead of getting up to go to work. I have tried desperately to figure out what role I played in bringing out Pythagorus' Mr. Hyde, but I'm not successful. I truly feel that I've done everything I could do, tried desperately to stop the changes back in December when they were just starting to heat up, begged Pythagorus to go to marriage counseling, worked hard to find out the root cause of his misery ... but I just couldn't reach him, couldn't get him to reach out his hand and meet me halfway, wasn't able to lift him up when he fell despite my greatest efforts--I just don't possess the strength to carry him, I guess.

I know this is probably rather enigmatic, but I do not want to be accused of "talking trash" about Pythagorus, so it kind of has to be that way.

I filed for divorce this morning. I am devastated, distraught, and destroyed, but it was the right thing to do for the girls, myself, and even Pythagorus if it means he will get help.

Even if you can't be married to someone, you can still care about them. That part of me wants more than anything for Pythagorus to face down his demons, to become once more a man of integrity, honor, and courage.

I wish I could say I truly believe that will happen ...

In the Blink of an Eye ...

It's utterly amazing how the events of a single moment in time can have repercussions that resonate far beyond.

Pythagorus was in a car accident yesterday (don't worry, he's okay). He was taking his car to the mechanic during his lunch break (I swear this is true) and he was stopped at a traffic light when a woman in the car behind him evidently didn't notice that the light was red and slammed into him going pretty fast. His car knocked into a curb then ricocheted into oncoming traffic (which fortunately managed not to hit him).

He called 911 and was told that they didn't have anyone available to send to the scene of the accident. Pythagorus pointed out that he could see a police officer sitting in his cruiser right in the parking lot of the pharmacy this happened right in front of. He was informed that "that officer is on speeding duty ... but I can try to find someone if you think it's really necessary." Yeah, surreal.

Anyway, it was clearly the other driver's fault, she had car insurance (believe it or not, this is often a problem with automobile accidents in New Hampshire--our state motto isn't "Live free or die" for nothing), and honestly the VW could use an overhaul (or a replacement, if it's considered totaled). Also, we have a PT Cruiser rental car for the duration, so that's a little bit of fun.

Pythagorus was a bit shaken up yesterday, but he didn't seem to be hurt (I suggested he go to the doctor anyway just to be safe, but I'm evidently not that smart). He woke up this morning with his neck so sore he could barely turn his head. Like a lot of men (overly generalized, I know, but it's still true based on my experience), Pythagorus is kind of a baby when he's sick and/or injured. When I have a cold, for example, I manage to make it through a day of work without the benefit of orange juice and chicken soup : ). In his defense, though, the doctor said it was a pretty bad case of whiplash, and they did a bunch of x-rays just in case (everything looked fine) and gave him muscle relaxants and vicodin and the usual happy drugs they give to people in pain (the down side of all this at the moment is that he has fallen quite deeply asleep diagonally, so I think I'll be couching it or sleeping on the floor tonight).

What I can't stop thinking about, though, is how much worse it could have been. Nobody plans to be in a car accident, but in the blink of an eye, there you are. One minute you're driving along in the safety of your car (because I further realized that I tend to think of cars as safe zones--I think this is connected to my fear of thunderstorms ...) and the next, your car is no longer drivable. One split second, when you take your eye off the road because you're reading a text message or you dropped your cell phone under the brake (I manage to do this more than you might imagine possible) or the ketchup in your cheeseburger drips onto your pants or you're rummaging in the glove compartment for a tissue, or ... well, you get the idea.

It's scary to think of the potential of "in the blink of an eye" moments. Pythagorus was very lucky ... but a lot of people aren't.

A Surprise Adventure: Spring in a New Hampshire State Park

Do you ever have those amazing days you aren't expecting? Just, true pleasure from an adventure that came out of the clear blue sky (or a husband saying, "Want to go for a ride, see what happens?)?



Pythagorus and I took Belle to one of the state parks at Lake Winnapasaukee and had a great day. Belle, naturally, wanted to take off her shoes to "see how cold the water was"



Well, you can probably see where this headed. The next thing we knew, she'd discovered a "stick"



And then felt inclined to raise it like a flagpole



Next, of course, was when she "accidentally" fell into the water and got her clothes totally soaked. Do you believe that look on her face for a second? Totally. Staged.



But Belle was a trooper. Dripping wet or not, she continued down the hiking trails (minus her sneakers, which felt "funny" because of the sand inside them ... I love five-year-olds).



Addie is on an adventure of her own which I will expound upon tomorrow, but today was a very special, very necessary bonding day for Pythagorus, Belle, and me.

Question for you: Write about one of those surprise gift days (or gift couple of hours ... I know whole days can be a stretch :-)) that came up when you were least expecting it. Leave it as a comment here so that readers can experience your joy--fleeting as it might have been--with you. Oh, and of course so you can relive it yourself : )

Have fun : )

Blackberry Post to Occupy my Thoughts

Before leaving for a business trip down south, Pythagorus bought me a Blackberry. I've since been informed that the nickname 'crackberry' is not all that far off.

What I want to know, though, is if he bought me this hi-tech gadget to keep me occupied while he's away. I mean, is his departure related to this gift in any way?

Men are weird :)

And now I've done my first Blackberry post!

PS. Miss you, Pythagorus!!!!

Local Politicians

Pythagorus is watching the school board meeting on the local access channel. He's also a city council junkie, but that's a different night. Since our internet is having a nervous breakdown and only one of our computers has internet access (except for Addie's laptop, and I'm not going there) and since Pythagorus isn't willing to move to one of the other seven televisions in the house, here I am. Sigh ...

But still, it's kind of interesting, and certainly a lot to think about ...

Do you think the meetings were different before they were televised? Is there more or less truth? Transparency? Is there something comical about the facade some (not all, but some) of these local politicians put on when they know the cameras are running?

Or am I just strange? (Wait, don't answer that :0) )