Archive for August, 2009

At least, this is where you come in if you live near me and own a camera. Or can use a camera.

I need a new picture for the (^&%#$%&^) profile. All the ones I have now are very out of date–either me when I weighed 15 lbs more before the divorce or me with much shorter hair or whatever. Anything recent is out of focus, over-exposed, or has me reaching new lows of un-photogenicity.


I can repay the favour with food, if anyone wouldn’t mind the extremely goofy photo date.


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This is absurd.

And I would like to state, in advance, that I know it’s absurd.

I have no explanation or justification for this.

However. The Trader is definitely flirting with me by email today.

I’ve been single for 48 hours.

I hadn’t even got around to reposting my profile yet.

I wasn’t planning on posting it for at least a week or two, just because there’s so much else going on and I wasn’t particularly feeling like it.

And as far as I can tell, this started when he reminded me that I promised to take a new photo for his dating profile. And I said that he should tell me when he has time, presumably after his son moves across the pond next week. Which you would not think would be pretext for flirting.

And yet. There it is. Definitely flirting.

(You can say it, Jane. Because I already know you’re thinking it.)

Is there something I’m doing wrong?

Because this is not the experience I was taught to expect as a thirty-something single mom.

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And then there was the therapist. Whose theory is that I can’t stop being angry at my parents because I can’t really allow myself to feel or express that anger in the first place. As in: I can, easily and clearly, publicly state that I hate my mother. And I do.

What I can’t say out loud, no matter who is listening, is “I hate you.” Directed at her in absentia. My voice chokes out.

It’s like there’s this one little thread left connecting me to this person. She’s let go of me; I’ve all but let go of her. And the one thing that keeps any semblance of a relationship going is my refusal to give up on her; saying “I hate you,” even when she’s not there to hear it, is like taking a pair of scissors and snipping that last little thread. No more mother.

It’s giving up that last bit of hope. But what am I even hoping for? That she’ll come to her senses and apologize? She won’t.

I’ve been assigned another Letter I Won’t Send, in which I am to tell her what I think of her. I’m skeptical since writing it out here hasn’t done much, but hell, the last one worked the way it was supposed to, so I’ll be a good sport and do it again.


Since apparently I don’t have any plans this weekend (sigh), I think I’ll go shopping. I was planning on holding off until PP was back in school, but now I think getting out of the apartment is the higher priority. I’ll go shopping and work on some crafty projects and write. And feel sorry for myself. And go for some runs. And sort through what PP needs for school. And scrub the tub. And get my hair cut and repost my freaking profile, goddammit. Again.

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the third thing

The third thing was not the article rewrite. The third thing was breaking up with ED, tonight. This is what I thought the third thing would be, back when I originally asked the internet the question.

And for all of the reasons I keep blathering on about, it’s the right thing. He’s not sure he wants a long-term serious relationship. I do. And so.

But fucking hell. I’m just not sure I can do this again. Over and over again. How many times? I don’t know if I have the stomach for this.

I did a tarot reading two weeks ago, asking if I would fall in love this year. The answer was, “definitely, but not with ED.” Believe it or not. I didn’t, and asked again, and got the same answer. (Meaning that a person-card with ED’s near-exact characteristics came up in the “crosses” or obstacle position.) So you heard it here first, Dear Readers. The “not with ED” part was bang-on, and in pretty well the way I thought; how about the other part?

We did have a great summer.

And he was a perfect gentleman this evening. It’s a blow to my ego, of course, but not an unexpected one.

Mostly I’m dreading the coming PP-free weekend without plans. Oh god. At least it’s the last one of the summer.

And dreading the next relationship. And the one after that and the one after that. I think I am nearing my lifetime quota of failed relationships.

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I love the magic 8 ball

Today, it is telling me everything I want to hear.

The first three questions are between me, God and the flat-screen monitor, but let’s see how this one shakes out:

Will I be a famous writer?

Says the Magic 8 Ball: “Yes. Definitely.”

Hurray! I’ll start clearing a place on the mantel of the house I don’t own yet for the trophies that are sure to come my way any day now.

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I am seriously considering telling my parents that they cannot have a relationship with both the Ex and me, and they need to make a choice. There is of course no point to having such a conversation with my mother and she has already made her choice in any case, so for my “parents” read “father.”

I am seeing the Shrink tomorrow (I’d made the appointment in advance of any of this because I find myself getting stuck on anger at my parents to the point where it sometimes interferes with other things, and I wanted to deal with that–that I already have that appointment made when this blows up in my face is convenient), and I plan to ask her then about it. Given what’s been happening with my parents lately it would be kind of a hollow threat; I suppose more than anything it would just make it official. But then maybe I could stop thinking about it, move on, and concentrate on other things.

I don’t know, though. It feels like I am always burning bridges, as if that is my first and easiest response–“fine! I don’t need you anyway!” I hate it. What am I missing? What should I be doing instead?


I have to deal with this person for the next thirteen years, and how many more times in that span is he going to hit the nuclear button over some silly, trivial thing when he is clearly in the wrong?

I find myself wondering if this is enough grounds to ask to have sole custody, with the Ex having access to PP, instead of our current arrangement. He’s proven to me that he’s incapable of communicating with me about her, but would a judge be convinced?

If it doesn’t go to court, then I won’t–but if it does …. And if it doesn’t go to court this time but he does this again… then why not?

Also, if we end up going to court, I might press for a psych evaluation for the Ex. I’d like to know if he’s just an arrogant asshole or if he meets the clinical criteria for NPD. I mean, I look at the list and think he’s a match for it, but I’m not a professional; and if he is a pathological narcissist, this affects his ability to parent and put PP’s needs first, and is relevant in the context of custody and access decisions.

So. If we do go to court, maybe I can get something positive out of this. Maybe it won’t just be me defending myself as a mother and a person against his ridiculous attacks (which is what my imagination is presenting me with). Maybe I can win not only the amendments but also some additional distance and support with dealing with this crazy person. For the next thirteen years. At least.

God help me.


I keep looking at the pictures of PP beside my monitor, especially the one of her wee self bouncing up and down in her crib with a huge grin during what was supposed to be her naptime, back in the old house, when her little world was still all in one piece. What a beautiful, happy child she is. How sweet and lovely. How kind and good. And I keep asking myself, what does she need from me?

She needs stability, love, kindness, the freedom to know and love both of her parents, and the space to be a child, without worrying about her parents’ lives or needs. She needs us not to be in conflict, but this can’t mean me just rolling over and taking whatever the Ex chooses to dish out.

How do I give this to her?

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