Wednesday, December 16, 2009

The Worst Week, Like, Ever

Last week was enough to make me wonder - does God fucking hate me? Perhaps He had finally tired of my abject, antisocial cowardice, the shameless waste of my intellect, or the massive self abuse my poor vessel of a body has been forced to endure over the years. Or maybe He was just bored, and like the producer of a crap reality program that had decided to fucking FUCK with me. Whatever, the fact that last week ended without any attempts at suicide is a perplexing mystery.

To recap: after receiving slack/ being shit upon constantly about my weight during the week, by Thursday I had been pulled out of my last booking before Xmas because I was too thin; despite repeated efforts to improve it's etc, my car finally died on Saturday; which was, by the way, the day after I lost control coming off the highway and slammed into a parked semi, tearing my side view clear mirror off before bouncing me into the ditch. When I got out of my stuck SUV and ran back to the middle of the road to get my side view mirror out of the way, I slipped on the ice and lay there, momentarily stunned, until the approaching cars started to honk like mad in warning and I actually had to ROLL out of the fucking way. Later that day, BF got very upset with me when I recanted my promise to spend Sunday with he and his family doing Christmas things because I wanted to work (he was so mad, he called me by my real name. He hasn't called me by my real name in 16 months, it was horrible). Let's see, what else happened this week? Oh right, i had money stolen from my room at the dancer house, even though I had hidden it quite well in my computer bag. Somewhere between three and four hundred dollars, not entirely sure as there were a couple hundred loonies in there too. Then there was the Douchebag Hat Trick - 3 assholes in the bar that were friends and sitting together, and each one treated me worse than the one before - the first one grabbed my boob in a private dance, the second touched my VAGINA, and the third made me bark and beg and sing and dance and prove myself worthy as a human being to get him to buy one dance, and in the end he told me that if I didn't do any extras, he wasn't going after all. All of these things, coupled with the fact that I had run out of my meds and was currently on an emotional free-for-all and that I had to stay two extra days in Mid Province City while Canadian Tire raped me for my car repairs, and you had one stripper that just wouldn't get out of bed anymore, for fear of spontaneous combustion.

Things didn't improve when I first got home last night - on the fucking GREYHOUND no less, since Can Tire was still sexually molesting my car at MY expense - and BF would barely even look at me. This occurred just minutes after I had awoken on the bus as it pulled in to the Calgary station and discovered that when I had fallen asleep with an open bag of Skor Bites in my hands, I had managed to upturn the whole bag and dump it into my lap. Over the next hours, the little chocolate balls had wedged themselves under my thighs and then MELTED from the heat of my sleeping limbs. When I stood up to exit the bus, I discovered what looked like a soggy pile of diarrhea sitting on the seat I had just vacated. A couple of other passengers murmured their shock (and then sympathies), then kindly confirmed for me that yes, I did have melted chocolate all over my ass. I was so embarrassed, and tried to explain that I had fallen asleep on my chocolate, but I looked down at the brown pile on the Greyhound seat, shut my mouth, and just walked off the bus. I didn't tell the bus driver, as I had proclaimed to the other passengers I would - I just kept walking, through the terminal and into the ladies room, where I sat down to cry in the handicap stall. I was starting to wonder just how much more I could take before I lost it completely.

I finally walked back into the terminal, my grey cardigan tied around my waist to hide the chocolate stains on my pants. I was disappointed that Bf and Baby weren't there yet, so I decided to wander around and look for them, in case they were waiting somewhere else. As I walked down the corridor, I came across the girl who had been sitting behind me on the bus, who had expressed sympathy at my chocolate misfortunes. I sat down on the floor and chatted with her for a few minutes, watching as she searched through her cavernous hockey bag for her iPod USB so she could plug her iPod in to her computer and charge it before she had to get back on the bus. She couldn't find it, though, so I lent her mine while I continued to wait.

A moment later, my phone rang. It was Bf, wondering where I was. As it turned out, he had been there the whole time, parked just outside the front door, waiting for me to walk out. I quickly gathered up my iPod USB and started towards the door just as Bf appeared. I started to run towards him then faltered, unsure of whether he was happy to see me or not. He seemed as unsure as I, and we came together awkwardly. We exchanged stilted pleasantries, then quickly returned to the car, where Baby was waiting.

At least someone was happy to see me! She started laughing the moment I sat down, and chatted and laughed the entire ride home. Just like every time I haven't seen her in a week, she looked different - a little bit older, a little more child-like rather than babyish, a little more understanding of her surroundings and her ability to communicate. Thank God she was there to lighten the mood! Things remained awkward and stilted with Bf, to the extent that he would barely even look at me during the drive home. I wasn't sure what I had done, but lately this was just par for the course. I think I irritated him even more when I had to ask him to take me to get my meds on our way home, as I was getting more nauseous and irrationally emotional with each passing breath. Then the kicker, just as we arrived home - Baby Momma called for apparently the billionth time that night, drunk and screaming at BF for forgetting that it was her birthday. BF tried to put Baby on the phone with her mum, but Baby was too excited to see that her Kg had finally come home, and kept pushing the phone away and trying to make a beeline for me.

I stayed up late that night with Baby, who seemed to want to stay up and be in my company as much as I wanted to be in hers. Bf had offered to let me watch her the next day, and I had eagerly jumped at the chance to redeem myself and spend time with the little one. Our short little visit that night was awesome, we cuddled up on the couch together and watched t.v. and even talked a bit. Every day she is throwing out more and more perfectly formed words, and asking lots of questions. The funniest thing is when I try to run upstairs to grab something, she'll drop whatever she is doing, shout "I COMING TOO!" and tear up the stairs after me. She is just so fucking cute!

Anyway, my week of hell and abject misery may have been worth it after all. Perhaps I had to suffer to truly appreciate the blessing that Bf threw my way tonight.

We were discussing our plans for tomorrow. I had asked Bf if he could drive me back to Mid Province City so I could pick up my car, and that's when I got my surprise.

"I have to go to Family Services tomorrow, I have an appointment," he said. "Do you want to come with me?"

My mouth opened to reply, but nothing came out. I was a bit stunned, to be honest. I had known about his appointment for the past three weeks, but he hadn't brought it up again, and I wondered if he would still pursue it. But then to ask me to come along? Really?

"Could I?" I asked, a bit dazed. "Could I really?"

Bf looked perplexed, like he didn't know if I was happy or displeased by his offer. But my mind was already racing away, thinking of all the possibilities this appointment presented. I would finally get to tell someone, someone that mattered, everything she had done to me. I finally had an audience that would care about my suffering, that would agree with me and confirm that what she was doing to me was wrong, that I wasn't just overreacting. I guess, in essence, I would finally get a chance to get my fucking revenge.

The best part was that I wouldn't have to lie to do it - all I had to do was tell the truth and I would get her back. I wouldn't have to sink to her level after all, which I have wanted to do so desperately for the past three months. But now I am so glad that I reigned myself in. It hurt so much to shut my mouth and just take her abuse, but now it is going to pay off. In a custody dispute, it's got to matter that while she shouted and swore and abused and insulted me, I acted like an adult and did not fight back. I really want some validation for that, and the people mat Family Services are who I want it from.

There is of course the possibility that I am reading way to much into this, that I am hoping for way more than this appointment can offer me. Still, I am so desperate for a reason to hope, I can't stop thinking about it. I hope that this will turning point in our family dynamic, and step towards making living with that woman a little more bearable.

Please, God. Please.

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