You know how you have one of those days when you wake up feeling already behind and beaten before you even start?

And you haven’t gotten enough sleep so you live the day on the verge of tears because when you haven’t gotten enough sleep, everything becomes too much.

And nothing really goes wrong, but nothing really goes right.

You make it through the day with no one catching you crying and you act like a grown up when all you want to do is curl up somewhere like a little girl and be loved.

But you suck it up and you put on your big girl pants and you do what you have to do – all day long.

Fortunately, the weather is lovely and the clouds are beautiful so you sit in your van with the door open for a few minutes and just breathe after doing forty-five minutes and three miles at level eleven on the elliptical trainer after work.  And for one brief moment in time, you think you might actually make it.

You survive the grocery shopping and you make it home to prepare your lunch for the next couple of days.

Before beginning food prep, you decide to open your bedroom window.  After all, there is all that lovely weather out there.

And just when you think that maybe you’ll make it through the day without going completely insane – after all, there is only lunch to make and a shower to take and then you can go sleep – you look out your bedroom window that you are opening…

…. and you see….

….  a very large, bright blue, rectangular, heavy plastic – PVC?, container-thing.

Seriously?  You have got to be kidding me?  Really?  REALLY?

I don’t even know how to describe this tub to you.  I don’t know what it was originally designed for but it is about four feet tall, four feet wide, and at least six feet long.  It used to be at his dad’s house, out in the yard, with all kinds of other stuff.

And it is not out by The Fort.  It is not by his storage shed.  It is not by the back corner of the house where it is not really visible from a window.  It is not even outside the window at the other end of the bedroom.  It is out my bedroom window.  Not that I actually look out my bedroom window much, but really?

I ask him what he is going to do with it and he tells me that it is his swimming pool.  I ask him where he is going to put it.  (These questions are asked very calmly.  Of course, I am screaming and screaming and screaming inside, but I am asking the questions calmly.)  He says he doesn’t know where he is going to put it.  I don’t ask any more questions.


I’m breathing again now.

And I will finish making my lunch for tomorrow.  And I will take my shower.  And I will go to sleep.

This entry was posted in covert abuse, divorce, emotional abuse, family, marriage, passive aggressive, passive aggressive behavior, relationships and tagged , , . Bookmark the permalink.

6 Responses to really?

  1. marsocmom says:

    In a trusting, healthy marriage something like that could be discussed, maybe argued about, and then laughed over. We dance on eggshells around these men who could blow up over anything at any moment, especially over anything remotely smelling of disapproval coming from us. And it doesn’t help knowing that you can’t go to them for any kind of comfort when you are hurting. I understand, and it’s certainly a very lonely way to live. If he’s anything like mine, maybe in a few weeks he’ll forget all about his new “pool.” You can drag it far away and he’ll never even notice. That’s what would work for me.

  2. Karen says:

    Oh my goodness. This sounds so much like my life with my STBX. He would drag all sorts of things home from job sites or even the side of the road. He is gone now with just a few possessions. Off with some woman named Noreen who probably thinks she is so lucky to have found him and I get to figure out how to clean up this mess.

  3. JR says:

    They’re really all the same…

    Mine drags crap home all the time! All. The. Time. This place looks like a junkyard. If I clean a space, something, inevitably, will refill the spot so MY plan cannot happen.

    Thank you so much for sharing your life, pain & journey.

  4. Yep. Sounds familiar. Mine drags junk home, too, and tries to fill every crevice he considers his space. Then when he cleans one spots, he spreads the stuff out in all the other locations. He can’t stand weeds in the lawn, but he can “debris” all over the yard. It is only in check because I keep having the kids help me move it back into a pile somewhere. Marsocmom is right. It’s the eggshells. I’m so sorry. The “pool” sounds hideous.

  5. Pingback: Stuff and clutter | my life in pajamas

  6. WritesinPJ's says:

    This is really almost too funny, but be sure many of us feel your pain.
    I’m blogging about it, and putting a link back to your post here.

    The ideas I’m thinking of surely reflect living with a passive aggressive husband for decades. I picture using it as a giant blue trash receptacle to hold all the garbage he hauls home. Ugly shirt he wears? Stick it in Ol’ Big Blue. Broken tools he hoards? Toss em in Ol’ Big Blue. Ugly decor he brought home? Big Blue is hungry for more of his stuff. Stupid meaningless cards he gave for birthdays and anniversaries? Big Blue also recycles. ;P The possibilities…
    It’s time for an intervention rescue squad for me!

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