Oooohhhh...I am putting it all together in my mind right now and I have no idea where the recovery stuff I learned is in all of this nonsense. Where did it go? Which exercise was it again? I do not remember. Where to begin?
I'll start somewhere in between and let you try to sort it out. If you don't understand, don't worry, neither do I. I'm just a ranting and raving fool at the moment.
As some of you may know, my husband has been actively seeking different employment, partly because he detests his boss, partly because he feels that his workplace is full of bad choices he made, not the least of which was another woman he had an inappropriate relationship with. He has worked there for sixteen years, but I am in full support of him finding something else. I really just want him to be happy.
Today, he got a very good offer from a much smaller company that is just starting to expand and needs a few more people to pick up some of the increased volume. It sounds amazing and he has done nothing but *gush* about it since he interviewed there. It is really wonderful news!
On the way home, he was talking to me from his cell phone and I mentioned that I was getting a little nervous because they will probably be giving him a going away luncheon that she will more than likely be attending. So the conversation went...and went...and we began talking about the annual office Christmas party. And somehow the subject came up about a gift that she had given him one Christmas. This was not a gift that was a part of the office's Secret Santa exchange. It was from her to him. It was just some picture frame.
The fireworks began when he told me that the gift was not a joint gift, which he originally said it was, from her and another member of her department for working on some project for their department, but a Christmas gift from her alone. Which started my Dr. Jeckyll and Mrs. Hyde routine going. I asked him if he remembered telling me that this was a joint gift from her and a coworker as a token of appreciation for working on some extended project. He didn't remember. So I started wondering why she would buy him a gift, considering she wasn't even involved in the Secret Santa, but I guess I already knew the answer to that one. So I moved on to the next logical question, but the one that was going to hurt me most, "What did *you* buy *her*?" Of course, there were more exclamation points and question marks in there, but I'm trying to be nice here. And all the while, I'm imagining all of the personal gifts he could have given her, the lingerie, the jewelry, the perfume. The answer to the $20,000 question..."I don't remember."
Following about fifteen minutes of interrogation that would make Olivia Benson and Elliot Staebler proud, I finally gave up. Believe it or not, that was pretty tame compared to how I used to be. Nine months ago, it would have lasted until the wee hours of the morning when he would have confessed to the Manson killings if I would just let him go to sleep. Progress??? No.
I am so confused as to *why* I am jumping back into the pit. I was completely unsatisfied with the "I don't know" answer. I wanted the details, I wanted to be hurt, I felt the old adrenaline rush coming over me again. I don't know why I would choose to cloud such a great moment in our lives with this same tired crap. And that's what it is, just a big fat steaming pile of crap. And right now that is what I feel like too.
I wish I could wrap this one up with a big shiny ribbon, but I'm afraid it requires yesterday's newspaper or a roll of paper towels. Sorry.
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