I need to try to figure out the law suit thing, not sure how. Plus received notification that my house payment went up $77/month yesterday. That makes a $225/mo increase since June. I do have an ARM, but in 4 years, it's only gone from 4% to 5.85%, so the increases are all in the tax appraisals. I do not understand how property values can drop and my appraisal goes up. Repeatedly.
I feel whipped.
I did see Ted last Wednesday night and he's finally decided he's ready for sex (I was on the rag and opted out then), the concept of which completely stopped me in my tracks. For once, though, thank goodness for the rag, huh? Too much pressure. Why now? I feel such weight about it. I swore to myself that I would find a way to talk about it with him before THE day, tomorrow, but I haven't.
We sorta got the argument of the previous Saturday taken care of: he feels that my ADHD gave me a false self-observation/self-monitoring (an ADHD characteristic about which I was unaware) when I sassily told him to feed the meter per (my take...) our prearranged agreement and the tone we often use with each other. He also said he didn't yell, then he said he didn't yell much, then he conceded that perhaps his ADHD induced some false self-observation/self-monitoring of his own.
When I finally said (although I'd thought it for 24 hours) that I was meeting him half way in the argument, but he wasn't meeting me, that he finally broke through. I think us coming out of the argument made him feel stronger for us. While I like and enjoy him, I think it served to do the opposite for me. I do not like to be yelled at.
While I don't know if it's too late to be friends again, we did have a good time with my son on Saturday. We all met at a train show, went to a darts store to buy a replacement for a broken piece on my darts, went to Low.e's to 'borrow' their tools because my dart had a broken piece stuck in a piece I needed, went to a bar/restaurant to play pool and darts, went to two pet stores to look at dogs and cats, and went to J's favorite diner. Total: 13 hours. I'll admit to not feeling it the first couple hours, but I was pretty much fine with him after that.
Okay, if you must and because I have to provide a laugh in here someplace and because I a dying for some advice from someone with experience in the matter, I must confess: Ted wears a hair.piece. He's short and it adds a couple inches to his height. He also has a small head and it makes it look bigger. He has a ring of natural hair around the edges.
The more I see it, the more I hate it. When he yelled at me a week ago, all I could see was that hair.piece; it gave him a measure of the absurd that I cannot shake. Since then, I have felt like I am the woman with the guy with the hair.piece, a hypersensitivity I didn't have before. I am conscious of people looking at him, then his hair. Or laughing behind him when he doesn't see. Surely he must sense? I think it is another case of ADHD self-observation/self-monitoring gone awry.
I'll admit that the sides and back look alright, it's mostly where it meets his forehead that it looks fake. I remember telling my therapist two months ago that I think he wears a hair.piece, that there's something funky, and she relied, "If you think it is, then it definitely is." Okay, then. She thinks it is funny and is useless in helping me try to tactfully bring up the subject.
Now I wonder if I could sleep with a guy in a hair.piece, so I feel like I need to tackle both subjects by tomorrow. As it is, I feel like there's a pink elephant in the room, a third entity in the bed - his head is essentially off limits. Imagine kissing a man (or doing anything else) and the man has a wiry, bristly, yucky, synthetic rug. I've brushed it by accident, certainly never run my fingers through it. I like touching a guy's head, bald or not. I don't care about bald and I've said so many times to him, for example, with Jack Nickl.eson at the Oscars.
Whatever. Thing is, he's pretty good in bed so far and I really enjoy talking to him. He's gotten to where he calls more routinely now. Some things are good. He's good with my son. He likes the sense of belonging with us. I need to figure out if the yelling that turned me can get turned back.
Moving on, the following tribute is not finished, but I need to get it off my chest. It covers my adulthood and my cat.
I love my cat. She is in my freezer awaiting me getting the nerve to get ex to pony up on the taxidermy money. I found a guy who will do it for $400.
My son wants another cat, but he's not understanding that shopping is just shopping for now. God knows, I don't have a couple hundred dollars for replacement(s) considering I spent $360 on Sad!e this month. Yeah, if I got another, I'd actually want two that are already pair-bonded or at least could be.
My Sexy Sad!e: With Me Night and Day
She was there for my adult life, my Sexy Sad!e.
He's got a good ol' friend name o' "Texas Ben"
Tells him all the spots to play
And a sweet little lady, he calls her "Sexy Sad!e"
She's a' with the boy night and day
Brand New Country Star
By: Jimmy Buffe.tt
She was there for me when I moved to this state all alone in August 1988 a few months ahead of my husband so he could end his job and I could start mine.
She was there in the pound only five weeks old. She sat sanely in the kitten cage amongst the melee, calm with her head cocked slightly to her right, huge lavender ears tilted askew, her watching me back with a tiny smudge of kitten goo on her forehead.
She was still there two days later when I decided to pursue the adoption, the smudge gone and her amongst the melee of all the other kittens. I knew the calm wisdom she was capable of, though.
She was there for Jell0 the 5+ yo stray I'd just moved up with me, in his transition to being an affectionate stray to being the sweet, wheezy purr you could hear throughout the house.
She was there on my shoulders quickly after I went to answer the door. I'd scooped her up in my hands to keep her from going outside, but I learned the hard way she did not like to be held, so she clawed her way up to pace around my neck. I learned. Do not pick up the Sad!e.
She was there for me as I worked third shift. Floppy, I could position my tiny pair bond how and where I wanted, she was always so easy. Her favorite place was curled up behind my knees as I slept on my side.
She was there on the stairs on the weekends, eyes swollen with tiredness as she tried to persuade me to go up to sleep my customary daytime shift and provide her the 24/7 bedtime co-sleeping company she enjoyed so much.
She was there with Jell.o as we bought our house the next year and they could go outdoors on the more quiet street.
She was there with me in the shower, making me buy clear shower curtains so she could sit on the edge of the tub inside the cotton curtain and watch.
She was there two years later in my deep, lonely sorrow as my husband left for what we thought was a one year tour to Korea in 1991, but painfully lasted 26 months until 1993, negative ground our marriage could never make up.
She was there when precious Jell.o was hit by a car days later and I was otherwise alone to deal with this added layer of sorrow.
She was there on my lap always. She didn't mind the ugly recliner that my husband insisted upon, then Sad!e and I commandeered.
She was there, jealous as many other cats and dogs filtered through our lives, yet retaining her status as Queen.
She was there sneaking in the living room where I spontaneously decided to store the foyer's oriental rug in there last thing before I left for Korea in 1993, still there when I closed tight the French doors.
She was there and alive, somehow, two weeks later.
She was there as I was ill with endo and depression, working full time and going to graduate school, stretched and stretched beyond my means.
She was there as I gardened, by my side and intensely interested. She always thought I did the neatest things.
She was there as I walked outside down the sidewalk, her crying and only following so far, fearful I was going to fall off the edge of the Earth.
She was there as my ex-SIL commented that Sad!e liked to play rough. Sad!e didn't mind a vigorous rubbing, even enjoyed hanging by her tail. [Note to self: sure wish I had videos of Sad!e swinging by her tail and purring, wanting to do it again.]
She was there as my husband left for a new job in Germ.any or Bos.nia in January 1997, there when I learned the next day that I was pregnant after eleven years of marriage.
She was there on that same recliner as I suffered otherwise alone, ill and gestating for the duration.
She was there, my runt of a cat larger than my runt of a baby, although they weighed virtually the same. [Note to self: find the pictures.]
She was there making room on my lap for the new addition, her nine years old by then.
She was there only four months later when we moved and I could only bring one cat, leaving four beloved kitties to be cared for by our friend-renter.
She was there and quite scared with the new digs, but she came to love it and how she could sneak out on the balcony and hop off to go for adventures - and to freak out the dog downstairs.
She was there as a pet for my son, him constantly lectured that other cats aren't so nice, so don't play hard with them.
She was there for me when we moved here in 2002, me heartbroken from my failed marriage and spending too much time in bed.
She was there in the sliding glass door, sunning herself and watching the birds.
She was there on the warm cable box; thank goodness replacing them is free.
She was there, hogging the desk.
She was there minding her own business, not able to hear conversation any longer, but able to hear if I shouted her name.
She was there, following the beam of the flashlight and comforted by it when she could not hear me.
She was there, waiting on me to finish a yummy food so that she could like the plate of microwave dish. Her most recent favorite was TGIFriday's spinach and artichoke dip.
She was there at the entry door glass, staring at the world and entranced with the notion of the outside.
She was there under the lawn chair, secured by a shiny fuchsia ribbon as a leash.
She was there prowling behind the fences, enjoying both her freedom and her escorts.
She was there in the middle of the game board just last week, like a proper cat.
She was there talking, purring, and responding to me for almost two decades.
She was there by her water up on the bathroom sink, waking me up with her collar tag, drinking the day she died.
She was there by her food, wanting to eat, but couldn't.
She was there downstairs when I left, but climbed upstairs and onto the bed while I was gone on the day she died.
She was there as the daughter I never had.
She was there with such a big heart and wanting so much to live.
She was there peeing on my pillow as an extra, strangely appreciated gift.
She was there laying parallel with me on the bed and sharing my pillow. That's how I remember her the best.