Saturday, December 4, 2010

Hello world...

No one believes me, but then again, most of them have never seen my apartment or home when I lived alone: I used to have an extraordinarily clean and tidy living space. Not only did everything have a place to be, it have a specific order in which they were placed there. For example, not only did shirts go in the closet, by they were hung according to color (think white, then gray, then black, then rainbow...) and then still further from lightest to darkest (lightest red to darkest red, then lightest orange to darkest orange...). My closet hasn't looked like this for ten years now. Clothing in drawers was the same, from left to right, one pile per color. My kitchen was organized based on size and kind, then by color within proximity to the appliance with which it was most frequently used. Knick-knacks were spared this arrangement and were based solely on relative aesthetic pleasure to the eye and surrounding furniture and framed artwork...

Unfortunately, I've realized lately I have little to no control over anything anymore. This may be that mid-thirties mini-life-crisis I've heard so much about from everyone around the late thirties to mid-forties range. (All the while knowing that the big mid-life crisis doesn't appear to happen until the mid- to late-fifties...)

I've realized I will never again own a home with hardwood floors unless I also own a cleaning boy... Or lady... At this point I'm not too particular on the issue of the gender of said cleaning person. Carpeting was so much easier--whip out the vacuum and BANG! my room looked ten times better than it did fifteen minutes ago. With hardwood, it's a brooming, then a mopping, and the next day? Well, let's just say that the indigenous dust bunny populace has ways of avoiding any type of hardwood floor cleaning procedure or product.

I will also never again heat another dwelling of mine with coal. I used to find dusting mildly annoying before I'd ever encountered such a crude method of home-heating, but now? I think I'd rather have frost bite. After all, I can always hold out hope that someone in my vicinity throws away a magic hat that will bring me back to life, right? And it will require no dusting--probably just the removal of a few bunny droppings... Which is what the vacuum cleaner will be for. As well as a sanitizing product.

Then there is the husband himself. It may not be true--I've never really questioned too deeply, most likely due to fear of the truth--but I do believe his mother never made him clean anything. Ever. His idea of cleaning the kitchen floor is to grab a towel, dampen it, and then walk back and forth across the floor, towel beneath his shoes, until the floor resembles cleanliness (if you avoid looking at the corners or under the baker's rack or under the hutch) and the towel should be placed in a "hazardous materials" bag.

Then there's his idea of "filing," involving a series of piles labeled "must keep," "might need later," "can be ignored until it's 60 days late," and the ever popular "must be burned or shredded." At any one time there can be several piles of each category scattered throughout the living room, computer room, kitchen, bedroom, or dining room. And god forbid I shift one or condense these piles. I can't count the number of times I've been accused of "losing something important" since I fail to respect his filing system... Even though, nine times out of ten, it's still where it was as his notion of "looking for something" really involves a slight panic attack, a rifling through papers faster than superman, an accusation, a query, and then myself going through the same stack, finding said "important document," and a roll of the eyes--usually from me to him...

And don't get me started on laundry. Or dishes.

I used to have complete control of everything in my life, with the possible exception of being financially savvy (although, since I moved out of my parents home at the age of eighteen until now, I've learned a lot in that regard, as much as anyone would hope to, I suppose...) I've also grown old enough to know that not everything can or should be controlled--after all, there's something to be said for spontaneity as well as for just letting something go. But I've also learned that some things need to be controlled as the resulting chaos is just too much to bear, both physically and emotionally.

I know I'm ready for a change--have been preparing myself for change for at least a year and a half now--only to find I'm losing control of that as well. For the life of me, I can't figure out how it happened. (Well, that's not entirely true--I know what some of the factors were, but there's no accounting for the innate unpredictability of other human beings...)

You see, I've never been one to change my mind on the whims of emotion. When I decided to join the military after high school, off I went, charging through the fear and uncertainty to start a whole new realm of life and all the possible danger that entailed. College? The same (albeit with the possibility of losing my life greatly reduced...) Moving to a new city without knowing anyone or anything about it after college? Old hat. Granted, all of these decisions were fraught with some sleepless nights, with learning curves, with mistakes made and lessons learned. And while there are a few "regrets," they are only regrets in the sense that I wish I had been wiser and smarter sooner, but not regret in that they happened at all--otherwise I couldn't have learned said lessons.

The same cannot be said of the husband--he lives in fear. Uncertainty and emotion dominate his world view. He changes his mind more often than most of us change underwear. To peg him down to a decision of any kind means it will and does change daily, if not hourly. If I want something done, I have to make it happen, defend why I made it happen, listen to how "naive" I am, of "not knowing how the real world works," and then further listening to everything that will go wrong with said decision. This goes for anything from getting the puppy (who is now at the ripe old age of ten years old) to my choice of napkin color at a family get-together.

Sometimes, though rarely, I'll get an apology when everything turns out alright. Most times I get a "you were lucky." Does this mean I always make the "right" decision? Far from it! But it never ever has resulted in the end of the world, believe it or not.

But that's how it's always treated: as if the world is going to end, that we're going to end up homeless, or unemployed, or deadbeats all the way around...

I need to issue an ultimatum to him, I'm afraid. I'm tired of the way he lies to friends and family, plays mind games with everyone because he believes they play mind games with him, his ever-increasing paranoia about anyone and everyone, his art-form of procrastination. I'm tired of being told what to say before we see anyone, what not to say to anyone, what I meant by what I posted on facebook, who can see what on facebook, and how dare I post a picture of this and that... He tells me what I can talk about with this person, what not to say in front of that person, his twenty questions that come over innocuous comments from me and from others. I've recently been banned from mentioning his name at all on FB "because it's an invasion of his privacy." WTH?? I've been told I'm not allowed to talk to my parents about maybe/not maybe moving... Excuse me?? And that WHOLE fiasco when we had friends over here for game night--don't even get me started on the fight we had for three nights before game night even happened--when he refused to say IF we were selling our house... Hell, he won't even talk to me from cell to cell because he thinks people MIGHT be listening... and *I'm* accused of being "naive" and of "not knowing how the real world works."

Not that what he says I should do ever correlates to what I do do--after all, I am my own person with my own mind, and was long before he came into my life... But the having to fight about it all the time, the having to fight to keep what few friends I have left, and then having to defend myself against accusations of choosing them over him? I'm exhausted...

I don't think I know how to handle him anymore, and I slowly see myself reacting like his mother does to his father... I do NOT want to become his mother even as I slowly watch him become his father...

But I am determined to do the right thing. And that's the hardest part. Trying to not only figure out what the right thing to do is, but then to follow through either way. Which is where the ultimatum comes in... I think...

I'm trying--lord knows I'm trying. But every conversation devolves before I can make a point. Silence has taken up residence more times than I can count these past few months. Of course, a lot of it revolves around "money." (When doesn't it?) I could say it's not about money, but that's only true from my perspective when trying to get to the roots of the issue. However, from his perspective, it's all about money, security, and living in a world of fear. Fear is his king, and I no longer can reach past Fear to my husband.

Did you know his grandmother is a certified paranoid schizophrenic? (I know, I know--how could you?) I see similarities mostly in the paranoid sense, although I don't believe he's schizo... But who knows? He won't see a counselor because "that's what people do before they break up" and "we can't afford it anyway." As if a $25 co-payment for stability is too much to ask...

I also feel like a failure. I knew he had issues when we met, but then again, who doesn't? But over the last eleven years, I've only watched them get worse, not better. And what happens to him if I do leave? I'm not so much worried about me being perceived as "the bad guy" to him and his family--that's to be expected, after all. But I do fear how he would handle it... Not to mention it will seem as if these past eleven years have all been a huge mistake... The fucking house doesn't even have my name attached to it... So I will have lost everything I have put so much hard work into: him, the house, the landscaping... Everything... I'll have nothing to show for eleven years of life...

But I know I can't keep living like this... Currently, he's looking and applying for new jobs with the state... When I asked him why he was looking for a new job now if we were still planning on selling this house and moving to another state, he couldn't even answer my question. Eventually, he said it's to make his resume "look better."

Sigh...

Am I looking at things the wrong way? Admittedly, I *am* partially unemployed at the moment and therefore have no control over what hours I work or when I work or even what I do at work... And now on reflection it seems I have no control over my home, and haven't had any for quite some time. These past two years have been uber stressful, what with the state not paying the employees for those few months in 2009, the sewer going in, his accident and subsequent hospitalization for a few months, my gall bladder having to come out--all not necessarily in that order, but you get what I mean... Am I simply allowing my "control freakiness" to cloud my judgment?? I know, you don't live here so there's only so much you can *know* about any of this... But I needed someone to listen and/or offer advice...

I'm so lost at the moment...