tellwitchya
I'm actually not going to make this friends-only. And yes, it's a bit whiny and bitchy, and has too many italics, but it connects with a lot of other things right now, and may explain part of why I am the way I am these days. It started out as part of the response to webbob's comment to my last post, but has gotten a bit bigger.
I know too many people whose lives consist of episodes at right angles to each other. They can't be held responsible for anything that happens in their lives, because there's always a reason for this sort of thing.
Pinky, to use the obvious and convenient example, is late. Consistently. When we were together, we missed a cross-country flight, because he couldn't get up. He's been fired from jobs with unlimited sick days, and jobs where he could come in any time between 9 and 11am, because he could not be bothered to call before 3pm, or to come in at all, an average of four or five days each month. And the usual reason that he wasn't coming in was because he had stayed up till 2am, and overslept. But this was never his fault, and not a pattern. Certainly not something you could fault him for, or hold against him, or even decide, "I'm not going places with you -- I'll meet you there, if you make it, because you're never on time."
Two stories, one from the past, one this past week:
1) In 1995, Pinky bought a car. Not that he really needed one, but he could afford the downpayment on it, and wanted a car, so that he could talk about "my car." One day, he called me at work, while I was in a meeting, and left a message: "Call me." After a round or two of phone tag, we reached each other. I warned him that I was having a rough day (one of those brain-sucking meetings).
"I'll bet my day is worse than yours!"
*pause, while I take this in*
"How do I get to work when I'm running late?"
Now, he knew that I hated his guessing games, and all the little one-upmanship things he'd do, like suddenly exclaim "Ha!" while reading, so that everyone around would ask, "What's up?" We'd argued about it, and he always claimed that he never did it, and when he did, it was totally involuntary. Be that as it may, he'd already pissed me off.
It turned out that he had been supposed to be at work at 8:30 that morning, but had played bridge, then gone out for a late dinner, and slept till 11. When he got up that morning, and went to find his car, to drive in (apparently that was the fact I was supposed to guess), it was missing.
So that afternoon, he called me for sympathy. My sympathy was severely limited -- brutally amputated, you might say -- when I found out that he hadn't reported the car stolen, and wasn't going to, until after he'd played bridge that night.
Got that? Let's go on:
2) Wednesday, he was supposed to meet me at my office at 5, to pay me back money. We talked twice during the day, and he kept saying that he would be there at 5; after all, his schedule was open then. He did ask me one more time to work on the convention he's co-chairing, and if I wanted to hang out with him and his guests on Thursday. (Long story about Thursday's potential activities, and why I'd rather have gnawed a paw off than do so, ommitted.)
He called me at 5:30, and said, "I'm leaving my home now -- gosh, I've had a dreadful day, and I have to meet J and her kids at Penn Station at 6."
Mind you, "home" for him is 40 minutes from Penn Station, and at least 50 minutes from my office. And, mind you, he knew at 4pm that he could not meet me by 5, but he didn't feel any need to call me until he was a half-hour late.
Which is typical. What really pissed me off, however, was that he didn't apologize at all, and seemed shocked -- and hurt at my irritation -- when I told him that that would have been decent behavior.
For reasons (mostly that I wanted the money back) that aren't totally clear, I waited in my office till he called again, about 6:10. "Where is a decent Chinese restaurant in the Village?" He'd had a brilliant idea: he, J, and her daughters would come down to the Village for dinner, and I could meet them there, and get my money back. After all, it would only be about 20 minutes.
"Fine," I growled. I'd stay in my air-conditioned office for another twenty minutes, then meet the idiot on my way to the subway. So I did -- only to discover that he didn't have the right bills to give me the exact amount. And still no apology; instead, a suggestion that I sit down to dinner with them.
("Do not kill him in the restaurant, Velma," said the voice in my head. "Too many witnesses, and they'll never deliver to your office again.") I took the money, walked out, and headed for home, where Soren got the brunt of my ranting.
This, for the record, is the man who called me over the weekend, to ask "Where can I buy sex toys in the Village?" with J sniggering in the background.
And the call on Saturday night was because Pinky and J wanted to pick my brains in person, and wanted me to come meet them and -- as far as I could tell -- both sit and discuss sex toys with them, and take them on a tour of sex toy shops. In between everything else they had planned for Sunday.
deep breath
repeat 30 times
Last night, Pinky called again. "Hihihi, it's me! You didn't answer my last call. Call me!"
I have no intention of calling him.
What I plan to do is tell him, in a note (accompanying the change I owe him), that that was our last interaction. That I don't want him in my life any more. That he causes me more aggravation, for less value, than I think I should have in any relationship at my age.
And that this is not a subject for discussion.
Must write note, have Soren review it for clarity and brevity, and send it this week.
I know too many people whose lives consist of episodes at right angles to each other. They can't be held responsible for anything that happens in their lives, because there's always a reason for this sort of thing.
Pinky, to use the obvious and convenient example, is late. Consistently. When we were together, we missed a cross-country flight, because he couldn't get up. He's been fired from jobs with unlimited sick days, and jobs where he could come in any time between 9 and 11am, because he could not be bothered to call before 3pm, or to come in at all, an average of four or five days each month. And the usual reason that he wasn't coming in was because he had stayed up till 2am, and overslept. But this was never his fault, and not a pattern. Certainly not something you could fault him for, or hold against him, or even decide, "I'm not going places with you -- I'll meet you there, if you make it, because you're never on time."
Two stories, one from the past, one this past week:
1) In 1995, Pinky bought a car. Not that he really needed one, but he could afford the downpayment on it, and wanted a car, so that he could talk about "my car." One day, he called me at work, while I was in a meeting, and left a message: "Call me." After a round or two of phone tag, we reached each other. I warned him that I was having a rough day (one of those brain-sucking meetings).
"I'll bet my day is worse than yours!"
*pause, while I take this in*
"How do I get to work when I'm running late?"
Now, he knew that I hated his guessing games, and all the little one-upmanship things he'd do, like suddenly exclaim "Ha!" while reading, so that everyone around would ask, "What's up?" We'd argued about it, and he always claimed that he never did it, and when he did, it was totally involuntary. Be that as it may, he'd already pissed me off.
It turned out that he had been supposed to be at work at 8:30 that morning, but had played bridge, then gone out for a late dinner, and slept till 11. When he got up that morning, and went to find his car, to drive in (apparently that was the fact I was supposed to guess), it was missing.
So that afternoon, he called me for sympathy. My sympathy was severely limited -- brutally amputated, you might say -- when I found out that he hadn't reported the car stolen, and wasn't going to, until after he'd played bridge that night.
Got that? Let's go on:
2) Wednesday, he was supposed to meet me at my office at 5, to pay me back money. We talked twice during the day, and he kept saying that he would be there at 5; after all, his schedule was open then. He did ask me one more time to work on the convention he's co-chairing, and if I wanted to hang out with him and his guests on Thursday. (Long story about Thursday's potential activities, and why I'd rather have gnawed a paw off than do so, ommitted.)
He called me at 5:30, and said, "I'm leaving my home now -- gosh, I've had a dreadful day, and I have to meet J and her kids at Penn Station at 6."
Mind you, "home" for him is 40 minutes from Penn Station, and at least 50 minutes from my office. And, mind you, he knew at 4pm that he could not meet me by 5, but he didn't feel any need to call me until he was a half-hour late.
Which is typical. What really pissed me off, however, was that he didn't apologize at all, and seemed shocked -- and hurt at my irritation -- when I told him that that would have been decent behavior.
For reasons (mostly that I wanted the money back) that aren't totally clear, I waited in my office till he called again, about 6:10. "Where is a decent Chinese restaurant in the Village?" He'd had a brilliant idea: he, J, and her daughters would come down to the Village for dinner, and I could meet them there, and get my money back. After all, it would only be about 20 minutes.
"Fine," I growled. I'd stay in my air-conditioned office for another twenty minutes, then meet the idiot on my way to the subway. So I did -- only to discover that he didn't have the right bills to give me the exact amount. And still no apology; instead, a suggestion that I sit down to dinner with them.
("Do not kill him in the restaurant, Velma," said the voice in my head. "Too many witnesses, and they'll never deliver to your office again.") I took the money, walked out, and headed for home, where Soren got the brunt of my ranting.
This, for the record, is the man who called me over the weekend, to ask "Where can I buy sex toys in the Village?" with J sniggering in the background.
Aside: I use "sniggering" and "snickering" interchangeably, because both have unpleasant connotations. "Sniggering," though, has smarmier connotations in my head.
And the call on Saturday night was because Pinky and J wanted to pick my brains in person, and wanted me to come meet them and -- as far as I could tell -- both sit and discuss sex toys with them, and take them on a tour of sex toy shops. In between everything else they had planned for Sunday.
deep breath
repeat 30 times
Last night, Pinky called again. "Hihihi, it's me! You didn't answer my last call. Call me!"
I have no intention of calling him.
What I plan to do is tell him, in a note (accompanying the change I owe him), that that was our last interaction. That I don't want him in my life any more. That he causes me more aggravation, for less value, than I think I should have in any relationship at my age.
And that this is not a subject for discussion.
Must write note, have Soren review it for clarity and brevity, and send it this week.