I don't know why, but grocery shopping is emotional for me. It's hard to get used to not buying things that H likes, and because my appetite and motivation are low, I find myself buying this junk that I would never eat before. I get crappy frozen microwave meals, convenience foods, comfort foods. I am just barely maintaining my current weight and it's not good. I find I'm just trying to get fast calories in. Yes. I know I deserve better and I do cook for myself, it's just easier sometimes to nuke something and eat it mindlessly in front of the TV.
So I'm in the store, watching all these couples, young and old, shopping together, talking and laughing, and I'm feeling...sad. Sad that my partner doesn't want me anymore. And yes. Feeling sorry for myself.
Next I'm in the aisle to buy a card for my best friend who just became a grandmother. She is over the moon. So it's "Congrats on your Baby Girl" cards, all bright and happy about the future.
And here's me. Never adopted the kids I thought I might because H finally decided "NO KIDS". Not even a foster or fresh-air fun kid for the summer.
I am feeling cheated and discarded. And my eyes drift to the Anniversary cards... "To my Wife", "To My Husband"... then it's "Happy Thanksgiving!" and even "Merry Christmas"...and at this point I'm ready just to leave my cart and walk out of the store.
I am trying to keep from tearing up, doing all my silent affirmations, holding my head up, focusing on the bright side, and I manage to continue shopping without becoming a blubbering mess.
I get to the checkout counter and wonder where the clerk has gone to. --------------------------------------------------------------
She's in the adjacent aisle, helping a severely disabled man check out his items. He had limited use of most of his body; she had to get out his wallet to get his credit card, organize his groceries on his cart.
And I had a reality check. Here I am, Goat Gal, feeling sorry for myself when here is this man who can't even lift his arm to get out his wallet!
I was ashamed of myself.
I looked for him afterwards to see if he needed assistance getting his items into his vehicle and wondering how on earth he was going to do that alone.
Turns out, he has to ride his motorized wheelchair down a busy street with no shoulder or sidewalk, hoping he doesn't get run over, to his residence somewhere down the road.
Where's that "Gratitude Thread"? Because it's days like these when I realize that even those of us who are in the worst sitch EVER have it great compared to this person, who, as it turns out from a sticker on his chair, is a Veteran.
HE has my gratitude and I wish I could have told him.
Oh, and I am also grateful for all the women who came before me, the Suffragists and advocates for equal rights for women, because it is only because of their efforts that I had the right to vote today.
And vote I did.
---(G)GGG
Me 54 Him 63 M 23 T 29 0 Kids Funny Farm of Rescues 12/12 OW-- 5/13 ILYBINILWY: A denied 9/13 Proof OW: ENDED 2/14 Got D papers on my BD I kicked him out for my sanity 9/14 He wants to "talk"?
Hey GGG(G)! I know what you mean with them forgetting all the spew of "reasons" we are the devil and the cause for all suffering in the world! I was accused of all sorts of nefarious things that had NEVER crossed my mind, only to be dropped and replaced with "I can't stand the way you chew your food...it bothers me". I will tell you I became a different person with my W after her depression. I became much more "passive" and tried to let her make many more decisions than before only because I never knew how she would react. Sometimes we become the type of person who our S tells us they want, whether that is truly what they want or not!
I try to stay far away from the greeting card aisle myself. I got my W a card on her birthday last week and some of those Hallmark moment cards were brutal! Always good to think of all that you have to be grateful for. So, easy to let our rotten sitchs with our S's color our thoughts of what we DON'T have!
More Weirdness Down at the Barn, Y'all! (Warning: Long, Dramatized, Gruesome Post Ahead, Parts of Which Require Subtitles.)
Pull up your three legged stools here by the campfire, roll a smoke (or two), grab a plate of grub and maybe a jug of moonshine, make sure your pony is tied and fed, and settle in to listen to my tale... -------------------------------------------------------------- So H was here early this evening due to an appointment and we had a chance to chat a bit.
Sidenote: Still locking his truck, I see. I can only assume that's to prevent ME from snooping in there and finding---what, exactly? His Canadian Viagra?
I can't imagine why he'd be locking his truck up here during daylight hours when he's only here for 45 minutes if he didn't have something to hide... but I digress. -------------------------------------------------------------------
Today at the Triple GGG Ranch I have been dealing with farm chores and animals most of the day, except for getting out to vote.
(Thank you, Suffragettes!)
My oldest hen, from the first flock of chicks I ever raised and the only one still with us, has been showing her age. Poor old Hazel has been slowly declining and every day I've seen it. I thought I was prepared to "handle" it when the time came. I thought lots of things... about so many things since BD. I knew that she was sick this morning and knew I needed to make a decision about how to handle it. Instead, I procrastinated. In previous days, I would have acted. Now I am feeling detached from so many things. I wonder sometimes if that's healthy. I think it is not.
I have TRIED to put previous suffering chickens out of their misery. I *know* "how"... I just... can't. I can't cause harm like that. It's not in my nature. I want to alleviate suffering. I am willing to bear the grief of losing them, but I can't do it with my bare hands. I can't do the many things people do to slaughter animals or even put them out of their misery. It's a weakness.
To do it with my hands is--too personal. I can give them a shot, give them a pill, give them some anesthetic. But not with my hands, the hands who have cared for them. My hands are to help, not to kill.
(So much for surviving the Zombie Apocalypse, although I think I'd be much more effective dispatching the Undead! I have lots of BRAINS, which makes me very desirable.)
I usually end up taking the random chipmunk/mouse/chicken to the vet for humane euthanasia-- or at least making the appointment only to find them dead before I bring them in. To the tune of about $35. I have even "practiced" on dead hens (died naturally) and I just can't make myself do it. (Do a cervical dislocation. Google it.) ------------------------------------------------------------------
Anyway, Cowhands, Y'all might as well get good and comfy around the campfire. Use your trusty saddles and blankets to pillow your heads because this is gonna be a long story... and the coyotes will be a-howlin..."
(Mostly this will be "unedited" because H brought me a really nice bottle of Pinot Noir (my favorite) and I am drinking it here alone. Alone. Again. Hey--Let's not disrupt a winning streak! How many nights alone can I handle? UNLIMITED!!!!!) -------------------------------------------------------------------
So I texted H when I realized I wasn't going to be able to send old Hazel over the Rainbow Bridge as my conscience required.
I say: "I'll do it. I can do it. But bring a bottle of wine so I don't have to do it stone cold sober." (Pathetic. Really pathetic.)
He says:"Don't worry. If you can't do it, I will."
He comes. He brings the wine. We talk about Hazel. We talk about the ten thousand chickens who burned to death in a barn fire today, "Did you get the email link about it that incident that I sent you?" he asks. (Yes. Didn't open the attachment. Didn't need to see a video about chickens burning alive. Thank you.)
We open the wine. We talk about the farm animals. Coywolves. Coyotes. Bears. The Great Horned Owl I've heard in the woods behind our house. Snakes. Foxes.... Chihuahuas, BEWARE!
He thinks he saw a dead Coywolf on the side of the road last night. I tell him I think that was what was driving the dogs crazy last night in our dooryard. I saw something, not a fox, not a dog, not a wolf... skulking around my studio building and the dogs were barking their heads off.
This morning I found a dead squirrel. Well, not a whole squirrel. Just a tail with a foot. I think it's the Coywolf. He says"No, THAT (squirrel parts) was in the studio with the cats." What? Now those kitties are killing giant squirrels? Now there's a dead snake in the studio. Did the cats kill it? Maybe. Was it a Copperhead? Don't think so. Maybe a poor little Garter Snake. It was black. Isn't that a Rat Snake? Maybe. Maybe just a Garter Snake/Garden Snake... anyhow not poisonous, just sad that they killed it. He says:"No. I think they found it. (the giant dead squirrel parts) I think it was a Coywolf that killed it."
I am thinking:"Goat Gal is a pretty tough cookie as far as animals go--ripping the heads off my pets not withstanding---but maybe she should have a shotgun..."
I am thinking:"WTF am I doing living here like this all alone with freaking Copperheads, Black Widows, and Brown Recluse Spiders? Black Bears, Coywolves, and the crazy drunken rednecks that live down the road and know I'm here alone?" (No insult intended to people of Appalachian descent. These are proud Rednecks by CHOICE, not by BIRTH.)
"WTF am I DOING here, living in this crazy situation without a man or anyone who I can call upon to help me deal with the freaking Zombie Apocalypse and no giant machete/crossbow/sawed off shotgun?"
Then it's back to poor old Hazel. Turns out we are both wusses. He didn't even volunteer to "man up" and do the deed, although he talked a big game. To be honest, so did I.
So neither one of us is really cut out to be a farmer. Which is why this entire venture is such a huge mistake! ----------------------------------------------------------------------
We are stupid city kids struggling along without a clue. We both know it. We are both embarrassed by it, especially at the feed store. The locals know it too.
We are "Yuppie Farmers". But worse, because our farm MAKES NO MONEY. IT COSTS MONEY! How dumb is that?
Farming is not a lifestyle for vegetarian liberals... seriously. We can't kill it. And we won't eat it. If we "rescue" it, it costs us time, money, and physical labor. Bring on the farm animals!!!! ---------------------------------------------------------------------
Are you entertained yet? ----------------------------------------------------------------------
So here's the part you've all been waiting for, the DBing part:
I say "Hazel has mites...She must have been debilitated for some time to get loaded with parasites. But I know she's dying because the mites jumped onto me and I can feel them crawling on my face..."
He (60s) gets out his "readers" so he can look at my face to see these mites. Nope. He doesn't see anything. He makes fun of me for thinking there are bugs on me. But I finally get a Q-tip and some alcohol and swab some of those suckers to show him. Look! Those little black dots! That's THEM!!!!
At which point he is decisive when he says he does NOT want to dispatch poor old Hazel because the bugs might get on him. (They would.)
But here he is, looking closely at my face. Closer to me than he has been in a year, looking at me more intently than he has in longer than that. He can't see the bugs. He thinks I'm crazy...
But then... he sees one. And he understands that I am NOT crazy and that I DO have bugs crawling on my body! ------------------------------------------------------------------
Then I start looking at him. Closely. More closely than I have in a year.
It just comes out of my mouth: "Wow. Your face is so SMOOTH. Did you just shave?" He shakes his head. I repeat: "You look so....cleanly shaven... it looks GOOD...." and before I edited myself, I just tentatively reached out a finger and ran it along his jaw....
He didn't flinch, he just stood stock still. As I realized that was the first time I had touched him in a personal way since last fall, when he smelled so nice when he left for work that a brief embrace turned into me kissing his cheek---and he recoiled (in seeming disgust), and told me never to "do that to him again." I later said,"It just happened, you smelled so nice, I felt safe... But--No worries, I'll never make that mistake again." Little did I know that at that time last November he had already contacted a lawyer to discuss what it would take to divorce me...but I digress. Again.
Sorry, had to get another BIG glass of Pinot Noir....
So we're talking about Hazel, and the older Chihuahua, Prudence, who is going to the vet tomorrow to have a scary growth checked out... and the goats' hooves which need trimming again, and the fact that tomorrow I have to strip out and disinfect the entire chicken coop to treat for the mites that we now know have infested everything...
...and how H has finally convinced me that Poe, the handsome, black, young, vibrant, testosterone-driven rooster, (that he can't stand because he makes Bart, the older rooster, feel inadequate), has to go to a new home. (Okay. Whatever.)
I say I'll take him this weekend... and there's more talk about the animals, etc.
And then he calls me "Honey".
I don't recall what he said afterwards, only that he slipped and said it.
It is the only pet name that he has for me that I can share because of the G-rating.
I don't think he realized he said it.
The other night in his crazy text, he used my name.
"What happened to Goat Gal, did you eat her?"
This is all new and too much to digest.
There is still "something" there. I don't know what it is, but I guess I'm not ready to throw in the towel just yet. --------------------------------------------------------------------
Things are different. I can feel it. I don't know if he will ever be what I need him to be.
Yet---tonight he was talking about when we had ran a wild bird sanctuary and had various songbirds and raptors that we rescued and released back into the wild...how he thought that I was the softy who couldn't do the cervical dislocation (true). But it was the first time in a long time when he brought up our old life together, all the good things we did, the commitment to a shared goal....
So, yeah. Different.
I don't know where it will lead, if anywhere, but I definitely feel him warming to me as the wonderful woman he married. Whether or not that woman can compete with online fantasy remains to be seen.
Baby steps forward. We are taking baby steps and I have no expectations.
Time to go ask Cooky to check his five alarm chili and make sure he's added enough chili powder... and BEANS! I LOVE me some gosh-darned BEANS! Y'all roll you s'more tobaccy and settle down to hear the end of my tale.
And no worries if y'all are gassy. We can use the additional methane to power my "Off the Grid" iPad. ----------------------------------------------------------------------
I don't know if this is apparent, DBers. But I am, in fact, lonely.
It's an odd thing for me because it's rare that I am alone enough to notice it.
But I know myself well enough to see that the fact that I am on this board communicating with people with whom I would actually like to communicate in person, and that it's a poor substitute for real, human interaction...
I need to get out more. Seriously. I sent a text to H just now that Hazel is gone.
That I will disinfect the coop for mites, and will get the beautiful black rooster, Poe, to his new home this weekend.
That I will do all the dirty work which needs doing. That's my job, right?
Hope y'all get a good night's sleep around the campfire, with your bellies full and your heads full of yodeling dreams....
Tomorrow is another day. If you're not up early, we'll be burning daylight. We have D busting work to do!
H is gone.
Wine is gone.
All that's left is to get safely to bed once the fire is stoked.
A hell of a life.
----(G)GGG
Me 54 Him 63 M 23 T 29 0 Kids Funny Farm of Rescues 12/12 OW-- 5/13 ILYBINILWY: A denied 9/13 Proof OW: ENDED 2/14 Got D papers on my BD I kicked him out for my sanity 9/14 He wants to "talk"?
And if he doesn't start sprouting soon, I will outgrow him for sure.
Nods, sounds like you and I are twins. I feel exactly the same, expect mines not talking. Setting the lawyer on him will make him less inclined to talk to me tho, I'm now officially the enemy.
Last edited by Ggrass; 11/05/1401:53 AM.
M 46 h54 Both married before T 11y Bd 2/14 I must see where ow leads! Ms 18 hs 26
Me 54 Him 63 M 23 T 29 0 Kids Funny Farm of Rescues 12/12 OW-- 5/13 ILYBINILWY: A denied 9/13 Proof OW: ENDED 2/14 Got D papers on my BD I kicked him out for my sanity 9/14 He wants to "talk"?
National Novel Writing month. Look it up. Every November, people gather online and in coffee houses to write a 50,000 word novel in one month. No editing, no censoring.....just focus on spitting out 50k words and worry about whether it's any good later.
