Yesterday I got the idea to rearrange my living room. I’ve had the same configuration for two years, mainly because of my big-ass couch. It’s a sectional, in three pieces, including a chaise. My main room consists of the living room, kitchen and eating area, and the couch either has to go against one wall or the other. So last night, in about 35 minutes, I moved my book case, wine rack, TV and assorted components, desk, CD/DVD rack, cat tree and the couch. I was without TV or internet until this afternoon, as I had to buy a long cable (only one active cable outlet in the room) but that wasn’t a big deal. At first I wasn’t sure that I liked the set-up but it’s growing on me. I can see my large windows that previously were to my back. The cats seem pleased with the new placement of their tree and when they are happy, I’m happy, because they leave me alone. 
I’m still having problems sleeping, which is ironic, considering how tired I was for the past few weeks. But yesterday my energy was way up and I was feeling sassy. I worked out for an hour and then did all that stuff at home. I read for a while and ended up staying up past 11. I tossed and turned until 1 and then finally took a sleeping pill. Gah. I go back to the doctor on Monday for a follow-up so that’s one more thing to mention to him.
I am getting really excited about seeing my family in a few weeks. It’s amazing how my relationship with my parents has improved since I’ve been more open with them the past few years. In turn, they have been more open with me. We’re not a touchy-feely group by any stretch of the imagination but it’s definitely better than in years past. My crazy-ass ex-therapist would be so proud.
My new phone is so thin that I can’t tell when it’s vibrating — so I was surprised when I had a missed call while I was at the grocery store.
I was sitting in traffic, listening to the message, my hand over my mouth in shock.
It was my ex-therapist. AGAIN. (Read the awkward last conversation here.)
Oh my God. She left me this long-ass message, like two minutes, the gist of it being that if I don’t want to continue on with therapy — uh, no thanks — that she’s really like the opportunity to sit down with me one last time, blah blah blah.
I can see her point. But it’s really not worth my $40 co-pay to rehash my personal growth.
Gah.
I was watching “Dancing with the Stars” tonight when my phone rang. The number looked vaguely familiar, so I answered.
It was my THERAPIST.
I’m still not really sure why she called. When I ended the relationship, she suggested we start meeting again in the fall to go “deeper.” I definitely didn’t commit to anything, and I was even thinking the other day how nice it was to not have to explain every little thing in my life.
The conversation was very bizarre and caught me off guard. She pressed me for an answer, but I told her that I’d give it some thought this weekend and call her next week.
I already know what my answer will be …
By 9 a.m. today, I already had bid adieu to my overnight guest, gone for a walk, showered and dropped the cats off at the vet. I thought it was going to be a positive, productive day. And it was. Just not in the way that I expected.
As I’ve mentioned, my finances have been somewhat tenuous as of late. I had some debt from my marriage and more that I incurred on my own. With the ex’s bonuses and two salaries, the household income when I was married was close to, if not into, six figures. I lost about 60% of that income when I left. It wasn’t an easy transition for me to learn to live on one income.
Anyway.
I dropped my cats off at the vet this morning for their comprehensive exam. When I went to pick them up this afternoon, the bill said that I owed something like $700. I was like, ummm, yeah. Not so much. But because I was transferring from the vet at one PetSmart to another, I had to extend my insurance plan for the cats b/c the new “year” started today, even though I paid in October. After a few phone calls, the girl finally determined I owed $290. I had anticipated paying half of that. I had the money in my checking account, but that basically blew any and all discretionary $$ I had.
By the time I dragged the two cat carriers to my car, I was in tears. I was tired. I was frustrated. I was just like, fuck it. I knew I only had one option — and that was what was making me cry: I had to call my parents for money.
The last time I asked my parents for money, aside for birthday or Christmas, was when I got married. That was in 1998.
Of course, when I called today, my mother thought I had been in a car accident, I was crying so much. I told her I was in over my head. I told her I had three credit cards. I told her how much I owed. I told her about everything.
To my surprise, she didn’t yell. She didn’t judge. I only got one, “Oh, Monique” out of her.
Then I had to tell my dad.
Disappointing my father is the biggest issue of mine left over from childhood. He was the type of dad who seriously didn’t think a B+ was good enough, even in math. I never got all As, except for one semester in college, so I had plenty of chances to not meet his unrealistic standards. It all goes back to being “enough,” as I talked about a few days ago. Even though it’s not rational, the belief sticks with me.
Anyway.
I was just going to ask them to borrow like $1,000, so I could have extra money for a few months while I figured out what I was going to do. To my surprise, he offered to pay the cards off. To his surprise, I said I wanted to pay him back. He called me back to tell me he left a message for his “guy” at Fidelity — I was like, you have a “guy” at Fidelity? All I have is a toll-free number — and will let me know on Monday when he can get me the money.
I’m in tears right now at the thought that I had to ask for help. I have always wanted to be able to do things on my own. Always, always, always. But, as my former therapist would say, “How’s that way of thinking working out for you?” Not too damn well. I guess it’s about time I let my parents be my parents. I guess it’s also about time that I finally did away with the idea that I have to be “perfect.” Nothing like admitting to family and strangers alike that you’re a mess. Too bad I couldn’t have learned this shit 10 years ago.
As I’ve mentioned before, I’ve seen a therapist on and off for a little over two years. I first went to her in the depths of my misery, knowing I wanted, I needed to leave my marriage, but still not sure how. I continued seeing her for support during the divorce process and while I adjusted to being single and dating again. There have been times I’ve wanted to stop seeing her, but I felt like the reason I wanted to stop was because I was avoiding an issue that I needed to deal with. I don’t feel like that anymore. It’s just time. For the past several weeks, I’ve felt like I’ve been talking about the same things over and over again, and that isn’t a good use of my time (or money, frankly). I want to take the summer off and not think so damn much.
I felt oddly conflicted yesterday during our wrap-up session, maybe because I’m so used to her being in my life. I got emotional, which surprised me. We talked about how I’ve changed over the past two years; she commented that I’ve “softened,” in both my appearance and demeanor.
Talking to her yesterday, I was reminded of something that Mark repeatedly said to me while we were dating. He told me that he thought that it was impossible to hide anything if you were naked. If you were vulnerable physically, then you were also vulnerable emotionally. It struck me that every single time he said that to me, he was naked and I was usually clothed, at least I was never naked. Remembering that got me to thinking about him and why that relationship ended. It wasn’t working, it wasn’t going to work, we didn’t even have that much in common, but the ending always seemed so false to me. I still sometimes wondered what happened over the course of a week or so for the relationship to go from “eh there’s still some good here” to a total disaster, but I don’t care enough to call him up and ask him!
Anyway, as I told my therapist yesterday, I’ve been feeling self-centered lately and I like it. I don’t want to meet anyone, I don’t want to go out on another first date, I don’t want to deal with someone else’s crap. I think Mark and Scott wore me out this year, and the thought of meeting yet another emotionally stunted, arrogant jackass makes my stomach turn. Plus, there’s the worry of running into a guy with (a) Pastor Carl’s small dick, (b) Mark’s unimpressive technique or (c) Scott’s over-the-top freakiness (I still can’t get over him wanting to fuck me while I wore my wedding dress. Regardless of the fact that he wouldn’t fuck me, that was one of the most distasteful and disrespectful propositions I’ve received.)
Given all that, I am much better off as I am: Alone.
Doesn’t that sound like a country song?
Anyway, it’s my dinner or whatever one calls food eaten at 11:30 p.m. I wanted a glass of wine after I got home from my p-t job but then thought hmm, shouldn’t drink on an empty stomach (I ate a few fig newtons at 5, otherwise nothing since lunch) so I dished up some peanut-butter cup ice cream by parents left during their hellacious visit.
Yum.
I’m still making my way through the bottles of wine Scott the jackass left me. The riesling tastes even better ’cause it was free!
Speaking of jackasses, Ryan, after denying me last weekend, was after some boo-tay tonight. Ha. I’m not that horny so I can afford to be spiteful.
I’ve also decided the time has come to cut ties with my therapist. The final straw came yesterday, when she said, after hearing my story about meeting Ryan’s dad (two minutes to tell, 20 to discuss) and my decision to not return Scott’s $$, she said, “Well, maybe respect isn’t all that important to you.” What. The. Fuck. Talk about fucking passive-aggressive. I was like, fuck this shit. I’m not paying her hourly rate for her to sit in judgment of me.
