My son texted me on his way to work yesterday afternoon. “Everything has been stolen out of my car. Nice.” It was parked in a guest stall in our apartment complex.
Unfortunately he had a few more boxes of belongings to bring into our apartment from our move. Unfortunately it was a lot of his clothes and his dress shoes, and all of his yearbooks from junior high and high school.
Maybe he will figure out it is important to be motivated enough to finish a task. I bought him necessities this morning. I am sad at the reinforcement that some people just don’t have any respect for other people’s belongings. He is sad, even angry, as his yearbooks were a big part of what little he had left of his childhood.
Had dinner with hubby, his daughter and son-in-law – it was nice to visit with them – they know that I am not living there, she thinks it’s kind of weird, but understands. Nice dinner – except that hubby had a little too much to drink and was a little sloshy.
About 9:30 pm I decided it was time for me to go. We talked briefly about plans for the weekend – tomorrow he is spending time with his son and daughter for Father’s day – I am doing my own chores for the weekend and pulling out the remaining few boxes of mine from storage so I can close it down – $100 a month is $ 100!
The concept that I have stuff in storage and that I didn’t have it in and about “our” house seemed disagreeable to hubby. We obviously have differing ideas about his house being our house (a concept I don’t believe is true because of his attitudes when push comes to shove). He told me I was hurting his feelings by not having all my stuff there.
He doesn’t understand that the residence is HIS house – with his things, and I simply do not feel there is enough space for me to have my things, my treasures, that represent my life. It’s nothing personal, I certainly am not offended – there just isn’t room. He says if I can’t be a “we” in “our house” then fuck me. He doesn’t realize how often he tells me it’s his house – and his rules go. Fuck me.
I would love to truly feel we are a “we” – but I don’t. He’s mad again at me. He was inebriated again. I don’t know what to say.
Yes, I am enjoying the peace and quiet.
Namaste – I honor you – and your peace and quiet.