Thanksgiving

We’re headed to my Aunt’s. We won’t do husband’s family until Tomorrow, and it’s nice to not have to rush, trying to drive from one end of WNY to the other. Or cook for that matter. I’m glad I don’t have to cook, I feel slightly sick, and I’m thinking of downing something after we get to my parents’ house, because they’ll drive from there to the Aunt’s, and I won’t have to.

We have all the stuff he needs packed. Dad and brother are leaving this weekend to bring him down and get him settled. I can’t go, I have a small procedure to have done on Monday.

I still can’t believe he’s going. We made arrangements to have him stay in a corporate hotel until January. He will come home Christmas week, and wants to go back after that and move into somewhere permanent.

I’ve been walking around pissed. I have been avoiding him, and he’s been busy getting ready for the move so it’s been easy. There’s so much chaos right now and tension regarding the move.

He has a job

He took the job. I don’t even feel that we’ve really discussed it. He didn’t really ask me, and I know we had a lot of other things going on this weekend, but really, calling and saying yes first thing Monday morning?

He had previously gotten an offer from another job in another state, but it wouldn’t start until January, so he had time to think about it.

He’s desperate. He wants a job. He thinks this would be a great opportunity.

Hello?! You never consulted me. We’re married, shouldn’t I be a part of the decision making process?

This new city is so far away. When he spoke of looking for jobs, I didn’t think he meant that far away. I wasn’t sure he’d get it.

They want him ASAP. I have barely finished treatment, there’s so much to be taken care of.

It’s my party & I’ll cry if I want to

Title, yes, probably used by a good percentage of people in one birthday related blog post or another, I know.

I have definitely reached the point where birthdays suck.

Friday, husband came back from his out-of-town job interview.
Friday night I didn’t go home. I spent the night, until early morning in the emergency room.

I went out about 8 to pick up some food, figuring after I picked it up, I’d head to the airport. My brother-in-law, who works at the airport, was bringing him home, but I thought I’d save him the effort.

I put in my order, and went down the plaza to pick up some stuff at the drugstore. On my way over, I saw a man in the parking lot. He looked to be in pain, and being the good Samaritan that I am, I went to help.

Wrong.

I was coming from a meeting, I was in heels. We know, in heels, I have had mishaps. I am not always the most graceful. So, when he tried to stand up and grabbed me and I fell, I assumed I lost my balance. Then I realized he was pushing me down against the pavement.

After what seemed like an eternity (and a few knee shots to his groin) I was able to get out from underneath him. We were still tangled when some guys working at the nearby grocery store ran over to help. They helped both of us up and one called 911 on his cell. I couldn’t speak.

I was sobbing, but it was like I didn’t recognize the noise.

I just kept crying hysterically, pulling my dress across my thighs where it was ripped. The manager of the store gave me a coat while we waited. I was too stunned to talk. Me.

The cops and ambulance came. One cop there had the audacity to ask me if I “approached and provoked the gentleman”. He was then removed from my vicinity by the advocate they sent as I called him an asshole. To be fair, apparently that was the story the guy was selling.

That was when I started talking. I couldn’t slow down, I was crying and sniffling and screaming.

After some stitches, a sedative and an exam, I got my version on paper. The cop who took my statement was really great, unlike his colleague.

They wanted to call someone. I didn’t want them calling my husband. I didn’t have my cell, it was in the car. I knew he’d have to call someone else, wasn’t like he could pick me up. It’s now 2 am.

I did not make a wise choice. I said there was no one to call and asked if I could just stay a little longer. The ER doc, convinced I was still in shock, agreed.

The advocate drove me to my car, after I set up an appointment to follow-up with her, another for the remainder of my blood work. I called my husband when I got to the car. He had called my dad. I asked him to please send him home. I went in, told him, took a shower. I called my parents. I went to bed.

When I woke up, he told me he got the job. He has to give an answer by tomorrow morning.  I asked him to tell everyone to pretend it wasn’t my birthday.  Later on, I threw away the dress. And the shoes. Those snakeskin ones. Fucker.

wedding questions

My schedule the past few weeks has been crazy. So many onc appointments. Add in the dress fittings, making the programs, wedding activities, etc.

I think the wedding threw me over the edge. Husband and I didn’t talk much at all that day. I left before he woke up; With sitting at the head table, I didn’t have to keep him company. I think we had one dance, the rest of the time, he drank with my brother’s single friends. He danced with all the appropriate slow dances with my aunts and mothers. Suck up. We didn’t even talk on the way home. Correction: I talked, he slept.

I had to drive to the third opinion doc in Rochester. I had nothing better to do, husband was in Rhode Island on an interview, and I was just driving and relaxing.

Having arrived too early, I watched a man and his wife walk in. He opened her door. I don’t know why, but it struck me. Maybe because I thought he wasn’t just doing it to be nice. Some men are used to opening doors. I forget, being married to a man forced to walk behind me. But, I’m assuming here that men don’t go out of their way and open a car door unless they want to.

I wondered about my husband, and the choices I’ve made being married to him. How different my life would have been with another man. Seeing my sister get married, seeing the happiness of two newly married people, I couldn’t help but wonder about my own life.

I should feel guilty for that, and yet, I don’t.