Join My Circus

Firstly, I want to say, this is not a Stephen-related post, so much. We're still doing great; yesterday, we took Blue, Diesel, and Kiesar to the dog park. They had a great time. We met a deaf wife and her husband, and had a very refreshing opportunity to sign again. My hands felt like they'd rusted! It was wonderful to pull that skill out again.

However.

I know that I've vented on this subject before, but sometimes, I want to strangle his little brother. Just for being so damn unappreciative!

It was his birthday this week. His family--who doesn't have a ton of money at the best of times--asked where he wanted to go. He chose Olive Garden. Now, for just the three of them, that's not TOO expensive. But, his family is generous--extremely so. So, they wanted to pay for ours and his aunt's also. Quite a venture.

During this meal, let's call him...M...and I were chatting. He was turning sixteen, and was terribly excited about it. We talked about his girlfriend, and his car, and a million other things. I really enjoyed the time, the conversation, and him. So, I said, "Hey, why don't you come over and stay a night with us this week? I'm off Tues, Wed, Thurs, and we could play games, watch movies--Stephen will cook. We can make a night of it. Want to?"

He said yes emphatically. As the week progressed, we finalized plans to pick him up from school, and also invited my cousin(the one with the baby?). Her baby is sick, but she still said yes, and she's spending the night too.

Last night, we verified the pick up from school plans, and went grocery shopping. We planned for them, what they'd eat, what they liked, what they hated, all of it. Lots of thought and fair bit of money went into tonight's dinner and tomorrow's breakfast. We also spent a considerable amount of time in the game isle, choosing a new game we thought everyone would enjoy. (We went with Cranium, btw. Super excited about THAT.)

This morning, I rolled out of bed at eight(a feat for a nightshift girl), and started cleaning the house and tending the animals. I juggled my dad, who showed up, the dogs, the cat, and the broom. I felt a little like a circus performer: dishes in one hand, head stuck out the door, trying to convince the puppy to pee in a monsoon, dad talking one ear up, the other listening for the washer. One eye to the clock, the other to the floors, trying to decide just how badly they needed mopping. The phone has rung off the hook, to boot, trying to get school applications in, cancelling doctor's appointments, rescheduling, getting the vet records on Kiesar and cancelling his cropping appointment. Plus, work kept calling, trying to get me to work. Feeling a tad frazzled.

And, then, the phone rang again. It was Stephen's mom, asking for him. I asked what was up--she didn't really give me a straight answer, so I gave her Stephen's work number. A few minutes later, he called me.

Instead of picking him up at 3, like planned, they're dropping him off sometime between 7-8. This puts dinner on hold. T will already be here, because we have to go get her at 6. All the games are even teams or four players. It won't do to start a movie, because he'll show up in the middle. And, it's just so frustrating! I feel like I went out of my way--on my day off! My first in a while--I just finished five straight 12's--and it got thrown up in my face. Yeah, he's still coming, but we planned this days ago! He knew what time we expected him! And, despite the fact my house is in the middle of a deep clean, I just want to throw my hands up and quit.

Truth be told, I almost called work back and said, "You know what? Screw it. It's big bonus, right? Right. I'll be there at seven. A four hour? No--hell, just give me the whole twelve."

UGH! The irony? The whole way home from M's b-day dinner, Stephen and I discussed him. How much we loved him to death, but how irritating it was for him to be so unappreciative of the things done for and provided for and sacrified for him. I just want to knock some sense into that sixteen year old brain of his!



P.S. My Dane is terrified of thunder storms, it just started one, and I'm out of puppy Prozac. Add THAT to my earlier mentioned circus act.

Little Dapples of Daylight

*While being tickled fiercely* "Ow, ow, ow, ow, Steven, Steven, Steven, stop! Ow! Ow! That hurts!" *A pause, and a skeptical look*
"Babe. Do you know what happens when you cry wolf?"
"No one believes you anymore?"
"You die."
"What? That's not true!"
"Really? What happened to the boy, when the wolf came back?"
"No one believed him."
"And...so, what happened then?"
"Well....."
"Well? ....That's right. He DIED. You cry wolf, you die. I told you."

"So...what do you want to do today?" ...after lenghty discussion
"I dunno..We could go play at the park."--Me
"Yeah?"--Steven
"Yeah, and we could take a picnic!"
"That sounds good."
"And, the boys! We could take the boys!"
"Uh huh."
"And, put them on slides and take pictures of them!"--Me
"....Uhm....ok...whatever floats your boat."

Looking at a picture of a baby, captioned, "Mmm, the wonderful smell of a baby."
"Babe, come look! Isn't this sweet?" --Me
"'Mmm...the wonderful smell of a baby?'" he snorted. "Sounds very Hansel and Gretel-ish of them."

Long story short, we bought a new fridge, the delivery kept falling through, it was the day of, we knew it wasn't going to fit in our doorway, and I was FREAKING out.
"Babe," Steven said, "Don't worry. I have this covered. I hired someone." Cue narrowed eyes.
"A respectable someone?"
"Yep, licensed, respectable company."
"Oh, yeah? What's it called?"
"...Eric and Sons. It's Eric. And his sons." (I later discovered this was completely fictional, but as my fridge was installed anyway, I didn't mind.)

I switched to night shift. I was off for the night, though, and it was four am.
"Hey, babe?" --Me. Him, snort, snuffle, sniffle.
"Mm?"
"You wanna watch a Nikita?"
"..No."
"Oh." Minutes tick by.
"Babe?"
"Mmm?"
"Are you hungry?"
"No." A heartbeat of silence.
"You mean, you don't want a peanut butter and jelly sandwich?"
"Definitely not."
"Oh. Not even with chips?" A muffled growl. "Babe? What's wrong?"
"Oh, nothing. It's just...sometimes, you need to be shaken."
"Oh. Is that all?....does that mean your going to make sandwiches?"

"I love you, baby."
"I love you too...what did you do?" Me, laughing.
"Nothing. I'm just saying."

PROOF that I'm beginning to see Dapples of daylight after our recent stormy season. Plus, we have acquired another little lovebug for our small family. That brings us up to a Boxer, a Dane, a cat, and a Doberman. :) Love my boys!

Thanks for hanging in there with us!

~~Grace

It's Been A Minute

Well, guys, it's definitely been a minute since I've posted. I've had to spend quite a bit of time sorting my feelings, mulling over all of the advice I've gotten from you guys, my family, my irl friends. I've had a few say it COULD work.

Some that I need to find my own way.

Most that my relationship is doomed to failure.

And, after much thought and consideration--

After long nights and talks, and fits of rage and tears--

After sneaking in and checking his phone, just to see if maybe he'd lied--

After arguments--

After sex--

After stints without sex--

After a spanking(not a common, we're back to DD-like-nothing-ever-happened kind, but the kind where I smoked and wallowed in my own guilt for days before pretty well asking for the emotional release a spanking could afford)--

After all of it--

I've decided that, in order to leave someone that you love, you have to really have absolutely had it up to HERE. You have to really, truly, honestly feel that you don't have a prayer. (Or, at least, that's my opinion).

But, you know what?

We do.

We have a prayer. And, while I still believe that, I can't leave. Why?

It's not out of some sense of obligation to him or anyone else.

It's because I don't want to. I want this to work. I believe that we can. And, I intend to keep on trying.

(Ahem. Granted. I had quite a bit to say about what would happen if I ever even got suspicious again...but.)

So, we're slowly but surely picking the pieces back up. Some days, I despair of it. Some days, it feels like the good ol' times.

Most days, I see a brand new future.

A New Do

I don't really know what sparked this...

But, I want a hair cut.

Like, one with bangs and shorter than my shoulders. Something new and frisky and different.

I don't even know which kind.

I may want to color my hair, too.

Maybe red. I've gone strawberryish red before--I'm naturally a brunette.

I don't like myself blonde, but I think red--not like a fire engine...more of an auburn, I suppose--could be good.

What do you think?

(Minus the slightly druggie look)

(I THINK she has clothes on. If not, well, then, rate this post R. )

Still And Quiet

Firstly, I want to say that I appreciate all the comments and care and concern. I don't want to seem ungrateful, or bull-headed, or anything of the sort--but trust me, this is definitely a day-by-day thing--this processing of my life.

I've been crazy busy the past few days--when I finish this week, I'll have clocked over ninety hours at the hospital. A very good friend of mine had her baby--the most beautiful little girl I've ever seen in my life. :) I get to meet her tomorrow morning--I'm super psyched. Plus, I had my nursing entrance exam this afternoon.

Stupidly, I planned that well before I started working night shift, and this whole sleep in the day time thing meant it felt like I was waking up at midnight to take a test.

So. Yeah, it's definitely been a week of it.

Some days, I really feel like I'm ok. I laugh and goof off and go about my day like I did before. Perfectly fine; I change the cat litter, feed the dogs, do laundry.

And some days..well, some days are a little rougher. Today, I spent a good hour or so on the phone with my best friend. I've mentioned her in passing on here before--her husband is his best friend. Normally, she's all about pulling for us.

Today, she said she was really struggling with being furious at him. She said when her husband talked about him, it made her angry. That she felt I was being very manipulated. She wants me to leave...like, told me she'd hold her peace until I was ready, but she was watching the clock. It makes me feel very burdened somehow. Dead tired.

I know how you all feel, but I want this to work. I know it seems silly, stupid, at this point, but I want it so badly I can taste it.

And, yet--I asked him if he'd spoken with her again. He said no, that he'd deleted the number.

I believe that.

But, I believe it was the name he deleted. I think they still talk.

I feel paranoid.

And my best friend wants me to bail.

And you guys agree.

And, I don't want to.

And, I know I should.

He says I'm not being myself tonight. He says that I'm not being playful. He keeps asking me what's wrong.

I don't have anything to say.

I want to be still and quiet--this is a feeling I've not had since I was a very little girl. Since my first step-dad. When he'd get angry, or he'd cheat on my mom, or anything, Mom always told me to be very still and very quiet, and maybe it would go away.

I always went to the shower to do that. To sit under water hot enough to scald, and let it make all the noise for me.

He's been sweet today. Very nice. Very affectionate. Very teasing, and very like it was before.

And, all I want is to hide in the shower.

Fool Me Once, Shame on You...Fool Me Twice..

Shame on me.

Trick me three times...I'm a fool.

And, I'm still here.

More the fool.

I keep holding onto this dream that I should have let go months and months ago. The first time he cheated, I should have said goodbye. The second time, I should have had him out that door.

Now...God, what else is there? It's too much to leave, it hurts too bad to stay. He was sick, so sick. A fever well over one hundred. His phone buzzed--he was expecting a work related text, and I didn't want to wake him unless it was important.

I checked it.

It wasn't work. But, when I clicked out of that text and all the recents came up--a girl's name. One I recognized from May. One that, when I'd asked him about her then, was assured didn't exist. I was stupid. I believed him. On a whim, I clicked into the thread. Texts upon texts, some as recent as two days ago. And not "hey how are ya" texts, either.

He says he's sorry.

I say I've heard it all before.

Some time ago, I was waiting on a table. They were discussing cheating and what the best thing to do when it occured was. The woman was all bluster. "Oh, buddy, I find out you cheated on me, I'm gone. Just like that. Gone, gone."

The man looked at her, dead in the eyes. Then, they slid over to mine. His stare was scary intense; my eyes dropped.

"She says that," he said quietly, sure as sunrise, "But I own her. Body. Heart. Mind. Soul. All of it. She's mine." When I glanced back up, her face had flushed, but she'd fallen silent. "And, think of this--everyone has a reason for all that they do. And, you think you want to leave? Imagine the next morning. And the one after that. When there's no one to hold you. No one to love you. When you're all alone. Was it worth not just sticking through it? No. If you stay, even once, he owns you. Sure as I own her. You belong to him. Don't forget it."

I stayed once. I love him. I hate him. I hate the insecurity of it. I hate that they have something that I don't. I can't keep his attention, and since I'm the one fool enough to stay, time after time, maybe that's what I deserve. I stayed twice.

I woke up this morning, spitting, cussing mad. I pushed him, I screamed, I cried. "We were doing so well! So much better! Why?"

There was quiet. He kept trying to touch me, to hold me...what kind of safe place is that? One that finds his comfort, his fun, someplace else. I finally caved, falling into the only place I know, that soft spot right between his arms. Fell into that familiar "dance" as Rogue calls it.

"Text me," I pleaded before I left for work. Too needy, too close to the floor. Too weak to stand on my own.

He did. To tell me he found the gun he wanted. That the pawn store puts it on lay away; that maybe the check after next we can get it. So confident I'll still be here.

Probably because I will be.

And, more than him, I hate myself for that.

Fool me once, shame on you.

Fool me twice, three times....

Leave Work....At Work

My restaurant is a training store. Every manager anywhere close to my area comes to train through us. Some are fantastic and very popular with the staff. Some, not as well liked. And, then there are those that are universally loathed by the other managers, the servers, the hosts, the bartenders--everybody.

Many months ago, we had one; his name was Ry. He was definitely one of the latter. In addition to treating his employees like something the cat drug in--after it swam through a muddy river and rolled it in dog poo--he refused to go to bat for them at all. If there was mistake at a table, he pinned it firmly on the server's head. There was no discounts given, no excuses, no apologies.

He was rude to the guests and appalling to his servers.

Last night, he was transferred in to our store as a legitimate manager. I know of three servers who are not returning, simply because he's our manager now. I had thought that perhaps now, since he wasn't in training--he'd get off his little power trip, and maybe he'd be something I could deal with.

Last night alone, we had three hot run-ins. I said some things that were definitely NOT good ideas to throw up at your boss.

He  told me some incredibly rude, atrocious things also.

By the time that I left, I was smoking mad. Unfortunately, I carried that over into mine and Steven's trip to the grocery store. And, I carried all that disrespect home and dumped it right in his lap. I was angry--not so much at him, but more at my day in general--but there's no question that I took it out on him.

And, there's no question that he took his not-gonna-be-treated-that-way out on my backside. But, I fought him. Physically-I stood up, put my hand back, kicked up my feet. Verbally--I cussed him up one side and down the other, flatly told him no...

And mentally--I shut down.

For my trouble, I wound up with the worst kind of spanking. The kind that starts in the corner and ends OTK, not being allowed to say one word or so much as twitch like I'm going to protect my bottom or stop him from hitting right where he aims.

Afterwards, though, I can admit--I feel much quieter, in my heart and in my mind. I feel an easy sort of peace that, unfortunately, really only comes at the expense of my backside.

Hopefully, this will stay with me...long after I can sit comfortably again!