29 January 2008

Heart? Where did you go??? (edit at the end)

Have any of you had a panic attack before? I've heard them described, but never truly understood until yesterday. Remember that whole going in the ditch thing around Christmas? It's actually in the post below this. I didn't say much about it, just that it rained and the car went in the median and we needed a tow. I briefly mentioned that a slightly further distance sliding could have ended up with the car flipping, but the whole paragraph is written in an amusing sort of way. Yesterday I realized that it wasn't so amusing.

It was raining, slightly. Late afternoon, the sun was hiding behind clouds and preparing to set. Whatever, I've driven in blizzards before, it had been warm all day so I knew there was no ice on the roads. Hmmm, I'm going 65 when the speed limit is 70? That's fine, a bit of caution never hurt anybody. OK, some more caution and I'll slow down to 60 (and get passed by a driver's ed car). Ummmm, the water looks deeper, I don't like going 60. 55 is a good speed, I like 55. But the water's even deeper, at least 6 inches of water on the road and it gets deeper every time my wipers go across the window. Every time I blink I feel the car floating on top of the water, so I have to force my eyes to stay open so the car will stay on the road. Please, God, help me. I start singing songs from my college bible study group, they have calmed me through so many rough drives. My voice is so quiet and shaky that even I can't tell if I'm saying a word. Oh no, the water is at least a foot deep, I can't see the road anymore, just a flood of water.

Oh, please, where is that rest area, I know it's at mile marker 174, how far is that from here? 11 miles. I can stop there and take off my coat and relax for a minute, then I'll be fine. 8 miles, if only there was somewhere else to stop sooner. 7 miles, I need the rest area, I have to get out of the car. 4 miles, ok I'm almost there, I can do this. 3 miles, I can't do this, please, God, direct my car and keep me safe, I can't do it alone. 2 miles, oh shit, oh shit, oh shit, oh shit. 1 mile, my hands are shaking, I can't let go of the steering wheel or even slide them to a different position. The offramp, 100 more yards to the parking area. The very first parking space. Call R, stop breathing, cry in panic.

By the time I got out of the car (and ran away from it), my heart was pounding so hard I could hear it. Except my heart was nowhere inside my body, I couldn't feel it anywhere. My throat was closed, but I was breathing so hard I felt like my lungs would explode. Nowhere felt safe, I could still smell the rain, hear it when the door opened, feel it where it had attacked me and wet my hair as I ran inside. I could see my car through the window, the vehicle that would surely float down the river that used to be a road and crash into everything in sight.

It took R, my mom, my brother CML, and my aunt (who just happens to be a nurse) to calm me down over the phone. And that took 45 minutes, plus a couple backslides when the rain picked up and I could hear it hit the skylights. It was 30 minutes after that before my brother got there to pick me up (he was an hour away, and it took 15 minutes to coordinate the pick-up), including a couple more calls to mom or R or my aunt when something else caused me to panic again. It felt like the entire world was conspiring to make me as scared as possible, and it was succeeding.

I stayed with uncle Tattoo last night (his house was the closest one to get to and even in the back seat, rocking, with my eyes closed I couldn't handle being in a car any longer than absolutely necessary). We rented a couple movies. He mocked me for being scared of the rain but wanting a shower to help me relax (yes, I do see the irony there, but they are totally different in my head, and that's all that matters). Yeah, we're at the point where we can make fun of me with words. My brother thinking he's being funny and squiggling the steering wheel? Not ready for that yet. He realized his mistake on that one and begged me not to shoot him in the head once the car stopped. I obliged, but I've made the mental note that I get one free super-bitchy moment to make up for him scaring me.

Why didn't R come get me, since I was pretty much halfway? That would be because the brake line in his truck blew over the weekend. I don't have the exact details, such as hole vs. broke in half, but I do know it's broken and the truck does not stop. So, he couldn't come. He called both sets of neighbors and neither was home.

I did drive home today, in the mist/sprinkling rain. But it was daylight and I wasn't hallucinating lakes in the road. R asked me to pick him up from work, since he had to get a ride in today due to the brakes on the truck. I can't do it. I got here from the rest area, but only because I had to. Stepping out of the car is the safest feeling I've ever had, I can't handle getting into it unless I have no choice. I don't have to drive again until next Thursday when I pick up Little H again. Pray for no rain for me.

*edit* Although I say that the water was a foot deep, it really wasn't. There wasn't even a layer on the road, just that the road was damp. But when you're freaking out, a little hallucinating is to be expected...

06 January 2008

Too Long (kid mentioned)

It has been so long since I've blogged. I let it slide because I was preparing for our vacation to Louisiana. Then I was gone for 6 days. Then my excuse was that we were recovering from the long drive. Then we had to unpack and re-organize Little H's room to fit the new toys. Then I had a sudden undeniable need to move the furniture in our bedroom. And then I just became too lazy. I really like lazy, but it's time for me to snap out of it.

The trip down wasn't bad, although there were a few bumps in the road (Little H's mom freaking out in the middle of the school and sobbing that she can't survive without him for 6 days- hey, bitch, don't ruin the kid's vacation, and what about those times when he was 4 months old and 9 months old and a dozen times when he was 1-4 years old when you'd drop him off for 2-6 weeks straight and not bat an eye?... Oh, and we drove 1300 miles without stopping except for food and gas... And Little H was woderfully blessed with a thankfully minor case of some stomach bug and threw up in a McDonald's bathroom in Mississippi). Everybody loved everybody, we had a great vacation. Little H rode horses, I finally got to bond with my mother-in-law, there was no snow. Boatload of presents which barely fit in the car to come home, snuggle time at the Christmas Eve bonfire Mama built, roasting marshmallows and falling in love with that entire side of R's family. It was just about perfect.

I cried when we left, I needed more time. I needed weeks with Mama, I needed a few relaxing days in the South without holiday plans and trying to make up for sleep lost on the drive. The South agreed with me, it didn't want us to leave either. So, the South rained. It rained until the roads became rivers. It rained until an especially deep road-river wiggled us around. It rained until a second road-river 10 yards further up the road kept us wiggling and wouldn't let us recover to steer straight. It rained until we were sliding through the median. It rained just enough so that the car dug into the mushy Mississippi ground and stopped before hitting a culvert that would have guaranteed to have flipped the car. It rained while Little H awoke from his nap with a start and asked what state we were in and why we were stopped. It rained while we waited 2 hours for the damn tow truck (because we had to go through our insurance company to find a tow company that they contracted through to have it covered). It rained while sensors were covered in mud and caused the heater to blow cold air. It rained while over 2 dozen cars stopped to make sure we were ok and regretfully mention that they'd left their tow straps at home (when I say cars, I mean huge pickup trucks with beefy men or adorably tiny women driving them).

OK, you get it, there was a lot of rain. Eventually we got pulled out and rinsed off and the car was running fine. There's some Mississippi mud stuck inside the rear driver's side wheel well, but everybody loves souvenirs. A small question about whether the exhaust was fine, but the car wasn't any louder than before, so it must be fine. At exactly the Missouri state line, that questionable exhaust broke in two. Several stops and a duct tape and Red Bull can fix job later, the car was made right again. Which only last 56 miles. Back to the noise. In the middle of the night, while Little H was sleeping. He didn't notices a thing until after breakfast the next morning when he mentioned that the car farts really loud now. Just what I need with 200 miles left to go, fart jokes.

Anyway, the gifts are put away, most of the travel gear is out of the car, and I've caught up on most of the missing sleep. And the bedroom furniture is all rearranged, making one large open area instead of two long-ish skinny open areas. It required R and I to switch sides of the bed, he nearly jumped on top of me when his alarm went off for the first time. It will take some getting used to, but R hasn't gotten used to me being on the wrong side yet, so he doesn't steal all the blankets from me. That will change, but I'm liking the brief amount of time where he tugs blankets from the floor and not my side.

Which brings us to now. I have been really sucking in the "me" time. After weeks of listening to R whine about our nonexistent sex life and catering to every other aspect of the house, I have decided that his penis doesn't matter and I'm taking care of what I need. Yeah, I let my XH come over one day for a couple hours (told R about it way ahead of time), but what about every other weekend when I am forced to see his ex when I pick up or drop off Little H? What makes him so loving and patient and giving (his claim was that he's so much of all those things that he's earned some sort of "reward")? He met my XH once! "But I never married Little H's mom..." (so somehow what I've done in past relationships is worse than him, so he has a right to be resentful that XH was coming over) Nope, you didn't. But me marrying XH meant that once the divorce was final it is 100% MY decision if I ever see him again. You knocked up Little H's mom, which means that we have to see her every time anything special happens in Little H's life, and every other weekend. Wait, not US, since R is working during scheduled drop-off and pick-up times, so it's ME that has to see her constantly. So, who is loving and patient and giving? One 90 minute meeting, then nothing for the rest of your life? -or- EVERY time one of us wants to see Little H for the next 12 years (assuming that he lives with her until he's 18) PLUS every significant event for the rest of his life- graduation, moving away for college, wedding, babies, etc?

So, R, your penis can shrivel up and fall off for all I care. Even now, I'm still giving and not getting much in return except bitching about when I'm going to want to have sex. The answer- NEVER! Quit assuming that you rubbing my feet after I spend all day cleaning the house (and getting ready for YOUR son's visit) is ever going to guarantee you sex. Yes, you do more than you did before the separation, but it's still not more than what I do and therefore does not demand sexual reciprocation. Maybe that's why I still refuse to put out, because you act like the things you do are only to get sex. Rub my back because you want to, help with the laundry because 75% of it is yours, quit riling up the dogs 15 seconds before you walk out the door and expecting them to behave after that (it's not them being hyper that pisses me off, you fucking moron, it's the fact that they were calm and sleeping until you started wrestling for less than a minute and left them hyper when I had told you to leave them alone because I knew you were on your way out the door).

And, yes, I do get to sleep until 8:30 every morning, but that's not sleeping in for me. So on weekends when you whimper about me wanting to go to bed at our normal time and force me to stay awake until 1am, telling me that I "always get to sleep in" so it's your turn, is total BS. Keeping me up 2-3 extra hours is stealing my sleep and making me feel like weekends are twice as much work for me as weekdays. No wonder Monday is my favorite day of the week, it's the beginning of my weekend and getting to sleep normally again. And 3pm is not sleeping in, it's sloth! Go to bed earlier during the week, you're the one keeping me up and then complaining that you're exhausted every day. And when I turn you down for sex (because you waited until we had been in bed talking for 20 minutes- when I was already exhausted- then trying to fall asleep for 10 minutes... if I'm nearly unconscious, I'm NOT HORNY), don't get pissy and get out of bed for 2 hours, just jerk off in the bathroom quick and go to sleep. No wonder you're worthless on weekends.

OK, I have to stop bitching. Besides, I have a house to clean and R is too busy building websites to be any help at all...