D is for Domestic

I was so excited to be Ex's wife - I couldn't wait to wash his clothes, make his dinner, and keep our house neat and clean. I know it may sound stupid, but I really was excited about being domestic. Caring for someone and showing them that I care by my actions.

Ex didn't want me to do his laundry and got mad when I offered. Really mad. So I stopped offering.
                                  
As for dinner, well, if you've read this blog for long, you know about him and dinner. If you haven't, let's just say he would tell me what he wanted for dinner and then eat cereal instead of the dinner he had just told me to make. He did eat a few meals I made, but not the nightly feasts I had planned.
                              
I did keep the house pretty clean, which took a lot of work. I'm a natural slob; I'm more comfortable in a messy house than a pristine one. I don't know why. It is what it is. But I kept Ex's house clean and picked up. (Another past story - it was always just Ex's house, not "ours".)
                                       
How, you wonder, could Ex turn the fact that I kept his house clean into a problem? Well, I would clean the bathroom and in a few hours, Ex would go in and clean it again. No matter how hard I scrubbed and no matter how filthy his bathroom was before I moved in. That hurt.

C is for Cacaesthesia

According to phrontistery, "cacaesthesia" is a morbid sensation. I would say I suffer from cacaesthesia quite often, considering how much time I still spend wondering what Ex is up to these days. I mean, hey! He could have a new wife and two kids by now, with another one on the way. If he found someone stupid enough to breed with him, that is.
                    
His deal-breaker was kids. He wanted kids. After we talked extensively, I gave it a lot of thought and decided I really did want to have kids. I was scared of not being a good mother, but I now think I really would be. I know I would do my best, anyway. I'm not saying Ex was stupid. He's not. He's very smart, actually. It would just be a very bad idea for him to have kids because he is a mess.

How did this become about children? It is supposed to be about my pervading cacaesthesia; about my overly morbid fascination with all things Ex. I wonder where he lives. I wonder if he's dating someone. I wonder if he's married. With children. Ah, the connection.

                             

It is lessening, but I need this cacaesthesia to go away completely. I need to not care about Ex anymore. It's killing me. But how do you stop caring about someone when you vowed to love him for the rest of your life? If anyone knows how, please - share with the rest of the class.

B is for Buell

I won a Buell motorcycle. Yes, you read that right - I won a motorcycle. Ex and I had taken my nephews to a race and I signed up on a whim. When she called to tell me I was the winner, I thought she was trying to sell me something. But no, I really won the $12,500 motorcycle. I was ecstatic.
                  
Ex was working out of town but usually answered when I called him. I called and left a message, telling him that I had very exciting news and to please call me as soon as possible. I sent him a text shortly after, telling him the same thing. He didn't call me back. He did finally answer at around  10:30, but I was still too excited to care that he had been blowing me off all day.

His response to this wonderful news I was so excited about I could barely spit it out? "Oh."

He didn't want to keep it. He had an older motorcycle that he had paid around $3,000 for, and he said he wanted to keep that one. So we agreed to sell the Buell. Ex posted it on a local motorcycle web site and we got no responses from it. Or so I thought.

                                
After I finally left, I got on that web site and found that people asked for the price of the Buell. Someone made a slightly snide remark about no price and Ex had gone off on them. He said he hoped the guy was sodomized by his mother and beaten every day by his father. He said even worse things. Over nothing. This was the man I was married to. No wonder no one responded. Yikes.

A is for Alone

Ex and I loved Netflix. We had the two DVD option, so we always had something good to watch. Or, rather, Ex did. He almost always bumped his choices up to the top of the list, so he would have two DVDs which he would not watch but not want to send back. So I rarely got any of my picks. Did he do that on purpose? Looking back, I would have to say yes.
                                             
I told Ex there was a movie I thought he would really enjoy. The Prestige has a great twist at the end, which I won't give away here, just in case you haven't seen it yet and would like to. It's a really good movie. Two thumbs up. 
                               
Anyway, the movie arrived and I was excited, because I thought Ex would like the movie and maybe it could be a conversation starter. He had (surprise, surprise) not been speaking to me. I told Ex the movie was there and he just completely ignored me. I tried asking what he would like for dinner. No answer.

The Prestige makes me sad now, because the last time I watched it was alone in the dark while Ex tinkered with his motorcycle in the garage. I remember Ex walking through the living room and looking at me as if he was going to say something. Then he just kept walking. And I just kept watching the movie. Alone. I didn't cry. Guess I'll make up for that now.