Tuesday, October 27, 2009
The Past Coming into the Present
I got a call at work mid-morning. Husband had been offered an interview - it couldn't wait until tomorrow. The issue was that Bugaboo had a low-grade fever and we kept him home. Plus Munchkin had a day off from school. What to do? I came home - will make up the hours someday this week.
Husband called me on the drive to the interview, to tell me that the insurance investigator was stopping by the house in 15 minutes, instead of early evening as he previously told me. This is someone from Munchkin's daycare about her broken foot. Daycare told us he was rude and obnoxious. I made the comment to DH - "you are sending a strange man to the house to meet with me, alone?" He didn't see an issue - he was with the insurance company, after all. I ran around and picked up, finished nursing Bugaboo, changed out of my lounging (not suitable for company, around the house) clothes and debated calling DH back and demanding he change the appt. But he had handled a situation. He claims I always second-guess him and I know that's what would get thrown up at me.
After DH came home, he asked about internet availability at the library. I told him there was but he might need to apply for a card. He said that he needed me to teach him how to access our email - a temp service is emailing something to fill out and he needed to get it done for a morning interview. I informed him the email password had been changed. He said well you can just get on and get it up for me.
This is too much. I can't win. I don't block it - it's my fault. I do block it - it's my fault. I help him and I'm mothering - babysitting him. I don't and I'm inhibiting his job search. I DO NOT KNOW WHAT TO DO!
When Mom and Toilet were first dating, we spent weekends at the Berlin Farmers Market. It is an old, warehouse-type creepy dark indoor and outdoor flea market. The creepy of creepy hung out there (can't believe it has a website now). No shirts or shoes were required. We could afford stuff there. Toilet not only let us stare as long as we wanted at the pretzel conveyor, but bought us some too. There was a magazine stand - I don't remember Mom being there, but she must have been at least some of the time. Sister and I got to look at Teen Beat. Toilet looked at porn. We stood there side by side looking at our magazines. He'd make comments.
Toilet always wanted to know if I thought Mom would like something. "what do you think your mom would like?" We'd go by the lingerie shop and he'd hold something up to me - think your mom would like this?
I remember Toilet joking about some magazine he picked out for her - Big Men or something. He'd walk down the aisle with his brown paper bag. He'd put my magazine in with his and make me carry them both. We got home and it turns out the magazine was for men seeking men. It was a magazine for homosexual men. The comments and jokes he made were awful.
At 10, I went into Mom's room and dresser for something. I knew better than to go through her stuff. I found sexual toys and a ton of magazines. Sister and I looked through them. Apparently we left the drawer ajar. Mom yelled for going through her stuff. Toilet caught me in the hall and asked me if I learned anything. I smarted off - "yeah I learned men have hair down there." There was a weird look in his eyes. I think he liked my smart-mouth response.
One summer about a year later I was on a camping trip with Toilet and Mom. Sister was with Dad. We went hiking. I was a bit ahead with my dog. I heard giggling. Mom and Toilet were flashing each other and taking pictures. I found them later. Mom acting like a porn star.
There were porn movies. A friend and I put one in one time. Didn't put that one quite back right either. Mom said nothing. Toilet told me in an evil whisper, "it's okay - just put them back. Your mom wouldn't like it." It was our secret.
Porn = Toilet = abuse = throw up
He makes decision about insurance which I don't like. So I can stay quiet and deal with the uneasiness of a strange man or object and get accused of second-guessing him. I can't win. I try my best but I can't. It makes my anxiety skyrocket.
When I put the lock on the computer I feel like his mother. When I refuse to help him access the computer, I feel guilty (trigger). When I get guilted and give in, I feel majorly triggered.
I had finally gotten to where I could tolerate his eating crunchy food in my presence; tolerate him walking in the bath while I'm brushing my teeth; pass him in the hall, without panicking. Now I feel like I've been set back a year or more.
I got an appointment with T on Wed. If I can survive DH wanting to discuss everything after his appointment tomorrow I'll make it.
And now I must escape to to another rroom because he is inhaling potato chips in a mouth open lip smacking way that is making me vomit.