Oh. Boy. A new year. Yippie Skip
My hollandaise sauce curdled this morning. (Because I made it before the eggs were done and then let it sit. Don't do that.) And then I was advised on how to make it. It's one of my specialties. (Anything that requires me to hover over the stove anxiously I'm fairly good at. It's the stuff you can walk away from that generally requires a smoke alarm to remind me of it.)
Not to mention, I hate criticism of any kind in the kitchen. (Okay, at all, under any circumstances.) Mike cooked for us exclusively after he told me he had a "better" way of making grilled cheese sandwiches. At that point, I had out butter, bread and cheese. He meant mayonnaise instead of butter, which, whatever. He made them. I left the kitchen. I do dishes. Come to think of it, Earl did all the cooking too, pretty much from the time he said to me "Your turn to make dinner, okay?" and I made peanut butter and honey sandwiches. Hey, I lived on peanut butter.
This is how my new year will go? Ransacking my desk for the cable scarf pattern I'd written on 3x5 cards, I found several of Sheba's insulin syringes, some kitty treats and some old old pictures, so add hysterical sobbing to today. At least it was after breakfast. Wait, that's laughing. Laugh before breakfast, cry before supper? Or just cry.
It's my first new year without Sheba. True, it's not like we had a ritual or anything, and I would bet good money she probably didn't get more than a late, late breakfast out of me on a few of 'em, but it's the first year she hasn't been with me since 1986. I feel like I'm just Not. Not Sheba's mom. Not quite myself. Not a stranger. I'm just Not. I can't remember if I felt like this when Earl and I got divorced. I know I had a panic attack right after we got married (as in, I was pulling out of our driveway and I thought to myself "What the hell have you gotten into?" and the whole world went gray with very, very bad cable reception. Yeah, driving. Luckily stopped. More luckily, my vison cleared. But sheer panic.) When we got divorced, I had actually packed up my books a week earlier. He didn't notice. This is sort of like wandering into your local library and finding no books. Something isn't right. Hello? Hello? Sheba and I went to my parents house after leaving him a note about 2 in the afternoon. I felt horrible about it all day and most of that evening, but you know how some people dabble in recreational drugs as a phase? Not a phase with him and not exactly how I wanted to spend my life.
By 6am the next morning, when he called, there wasn't a hope in hell I'd've gone back, but I don't think I could have left him in the first place if it wasn't best for him and Sheba. (Best for him, as in, you want to kill yourself? Do it on your own time. Don't make me help by putting a roof over your head, food in your mouth and stuff to steal and sell. He hocked my old manual typewriter for $7. Bet he couldn't get even that much today.)
Oh! Not to mention I woke up with a migraine which seems TERRIBLY UNFAIR, since this year I was in bed by 10pm and completely asleep by 11pm. I didn't even have so much as a sip of alcohol. (Unfair in comparison to prior New Year's Eve parties where I had my share and probably yours too) .
So all in all, I think I'm going to grab some knitting and a book on tape, kidnap Hezekiah from next door and wallow in my misery until hopefully even I get tired of it. If not? Tune in tomorrow for more self pitying! 364 days to go!
Not to mention, I hate criticism of any kind in the kitchen. (Okay, at all, under any circumstances.) Mike cooked for us exclusively after he told me he had a "better" way of making grilled cheese sandwiches. At that point, I had out butter, bread and cheese. He meant mayonnaise instead of butter, which, whatever. He made them. I left the kitchen. I do dishes. Come to think of it, Earl did all the cooking too, pretty much from the time he said to me "Your turn to make dinner, okay?" and I made peanut butter and honey sandwiches. Hey, I lived on peanut butter.
This is how my new year will go? Ransacking my desk for the cable scarf pattern I'd written on 3x5 cards, I found several of Sheba's insulin syringes, some kitty treats and some old old pictures, so add hysterical sobbing to today. At least it was after breakfast. Wait, that's laughing. Laugh before breakfast, cry before supper? Or just cry.
It's my first new year without Sheba. True, it's not like we had a ritual or anything, and I would bet good money she probably didn't get more than a late, late breakfast out of me on a few of 'em, but it's the first year she hasn't been with me since 1986. I feel like I'm just Not. Not Sheba's mom. Not quite myself. Not a stranger. I'm just Not. I can't remember if I felt like this when Earl and I got divorced. I know I had a panic attack right after we got married (as in, I was pulling out of our driveway and I thought to myself "What the hell have you gotten into?" and the whole world went gray with very, very bad cable reception. Yeah, driving. Luckily stopped. More luckily, my vison cleared. But sheer panic.) When we got divorced, I had actually packed up my books a week earlier. He didn't notice. This is sort of like wandering into your local library and finding no books. Something isn't right. Hello? Hello? Sheba and I went to my parents house after leaving him a note about 2 in the afternoon. I felt horrible about it all day and most of that evening, but you know how some people dabble in recreational drugs as a phase? Not a phase with him and not exactly how I wanted to spend my life.
By 6am the next morning, when he called, there wasn't a hope in hell I'd've gone back, but I don't think I could have left him in the first place if it wasn't best for him and Sheba. (Best for him, as in, you want to kill yourself? Do it on your own time. Don't make me help by putting a roof over your head, food in your mouth and stuff to steal and sell. He hocked my old manual typewriter for $7. Bet he couldn't get even that much today.)
Oh! Not to mention I woke up with a migraine which seems TERRIBLY UNFAIR, since this year I was in bed by 10pm and completely asleep by 11pm. I didn't even have so much as a sip of alcohol. (Unfair in comparison to prior New Year's Eve parties where I had my share and probably yours too) .
So all in all, I think I'm going to grab some knitting and a book on tape, kidnap Hezekiah from next door and wallow in my misery until hopefully even I get tired of it. If not? Tune in tomorrow for more self pitying! 364 days to go!
posted by Carrie K at 12:01 PM
4 Comments:
*hug*
You've probably heard the song "Goodbye Earl" by the Dixie Chicks, right?? It's a fabulous song of relationship revenge. And hey - I would adore having such a song with one of my evil exes' names in it!
Is that your baby Sheba? She looks like a lovely kitty. It's amazing how they become such an important part of our lives.
Just for the record all men named Earl are the official spawn of satan.
Sorry about the migraine - I can sympathise!! Sometimes you don't have to do anything, the migraine just ups and finds you!
Too bad we knitters couldn't all get together and do a proper tea -
This sad story reminded me of the time I baked cookies for my boyfriend (who, coincidentally was named Skip) and he said (actually said), "THESE are real cookies" as he took down a tin of cookies that his mother had made for him. I hope he and his mother are happy to this very day.
Hope you have a better rest of the day.
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