It’s been so long since I’ve had a bad day that I’ve forgotten when the last one was. I hit a couple of rough patches in June and July, but August was a welcome time of shift in focus and mood.
I woke up one day and decided I was fed up with the affair dominating my moods and I was fed up with H. feeling bad. It took a few months from the time I told my sister that I should take my boot off of his neck, no matter how softly it was on there, but took an actual number of weeks to me to tell myself, “Enough. I don’t want him stuck up to his hips in shame.”
Why not? It makes me feel bad. Sorry, it’s all I’ve got. Anyway, this happened a year and a half ago, I thought. He was sorry from the beginning. Get over it.
Vacation came and did what vacations do: got me in a new locations and a new frame of mind. I felt relieved. Liberated, freed from the residual stench of the other woman. I didn’t need to think about it, I didn;’t need to talk about it and least of all, did I need to hear about it.
Three months later, and on the way out the door, my husband said a word which triggered a crush of emotions as surely had I opened one of the kids’ closet doors. Asking questions about something on the morning news, which I couldn’t answer since it was, as I mentioned, NEWS, which correctly implies that I had no previous access to this information, myself, H. defended himself with, “You know how I am…”Scoop.””
“Scoop” is actually a name used in reference to my mother-in-law because of her keen interest in all things novel and new. Her son, very much like her, I called “Scoop, Jr.” For whatever reason, today, hanging ten on the edge of a hormonal hangover, his remark raised my hackles and I felt myself stiffen. Read this as fast as you can to see where my mind went: scoop > nosy > just HAD to know what HS GF was up to > excited her to hear from him > she threw herself at him repeatedly until she stuck > the rest is history. Where once “Scoop” was a cute name for my cute mother-in-law…it’s just not so cute anymore, because the curiosity behind the scoop brought home an awful lot of ugliness.
So. Yes, it’s true, I have much to do in preparation for Thanksgiving, including, cleaning everything out of my dining room before H’s family all arrive for dinner. Do I feel like doing it? No. What do I feel like doing? I feel like being persnickity and pouty.
I’m thinking a nap may help. I could wake up and forget the entire thing, just like last week, when I forgot the word for sidewalk.
It could happen.