Pooty Pootwell

I last swam two weeks ago today. I kept taking more time out of the pool because my head/sinuses/ear were all plugged or hurting. They aren’t much better today, but I am going to swim. If I don’t go today, I don’t know when I’ll go again.

On one hand I miss it, on the other it’s easy to not do.

I’ll swim for just 30-45 minutes today, since I’m out of practice.

I’ve been gaining weight and am too terrified to get on the scale. I eat uncontrollably at night. All my will power and focus is gone.

I eat reasonably in the morning, but then I often skip lunch which makes me starving by 3:00 when I often just eat something sweet. Then I can’t be bothered with a healthy dinner. And later at night, I just keep eating. Popcorn, Fig Newtons, coconut popsicles.

I hate myself.

And of course I’m profoundly depressed. I still cannot believe this is my reality. My husband dumped me after we went through every penny I had. I am destitute and living with elderly parents. Yes, I have thought about suicide.

But I won’t try anything. I’m just acknowledging that’s how down I am.

I am so fucking sick of my life in limbo. I can’t even get an interview, much less a job. And it’s all due to my age. I am a great employee. I’m pleasant to be around. I have a positive attitude and a good sense of humor. I work hard. I am smart and energetic. I have a lot of good experience. But no one will even interview me because I am 57.

I am telling you here that if I am ever in a position to hire someone, it will be a woman over 50 who still has it. A woman like me.

My husband’s lawsuit is still pending. His lawyer says we may not hear anything now until a week or two before the trial, which I believe is scheduled for October. I suppose that’ll be here before you know it. They won’t take it to trial. The man in question would make the worst witness imaginable.

But it reminds me that in mid-October I will have to acknowledge that it will have been a year since my husband kicked me out. October through December of 2013 were by far the worst months of my life to-date. I would never want to repeat them. And that was before I even knew there was definitely another woman. I found that out in January, which took me to another level.

I’m playing phone tag with a family law attorney but I hope to see him sometime this week. I need to find out if I am going about this all wrong.

I haven’t spoken to my husband in several weeks, which is terribly hard, but talking to him is harder. A couple of times a week we message one another. When I go this long without talking to him, I fear he has left the area and taken his lawsuit money with him.

His attorney wants to help me sue the same people after my husband’s case is over with. If he gets a settlement, then I will probably get one, although it would be considerably less. My husband has agreed that I get half of his settlement, but he gets none of mine. Seems fair, since when I met him I had assets, a home, and was receiving spousal support which he can never pay me. He’s a loser.

Fascinating, but a loser. It’s as though he had been born into money and never had to work a day in his life. His parents are refugees who probably would have been wealthy in their home country if it weren’t for politics. They raised him in England as though he were a prince, even while he had holes in the bottom of his shoes. When he said he wanted to get a job at McDonalds, his father berated him. “No son of mine will work at McDonalds.” And so he continued to beg for his pocket money from him.

My father’s COPD is worsening quickly. I am terrified of this. My mother is handling it in a bizarre way. She seems mad at him for getting worse. Of course he’ll get worse. It will eventually kill him. What does she expect?

She’s asked me to go online to order some shoes for him today. I said okay, but I’m annoyed because I heard her yesterday trying to order them for him. She’d ask him what color and then she’d second guess him. “Are you sure?” And he finally got annoyed because she was not HEARING him and said forget it, let’s do it later. So she’s putting me into the middle, which is wrong of her.

She says, “He can hear stuff from you that he can’t hear from me.” She says he gets mad at her, when he’d never get mad at me.

Fuck that. Buck up and talk to your husband. Why not consider speaking from a place of love?

She can’t. She’s really a sad person, filled with self doubt and insecurity.

Over a year ago, when I was still living in London, my husband had this surgery on his bum. It’s not uncommon, but it’s gross, because they basically open you up and let you drain and heal from the inside out, and it’s millimeters from the rectum. I was shown by the NHS nurses how to clean it and dress it because they would do it only once a day.

I had never seen anything so gross before. I’m not from a medical or nursing background so I was unprepared for it. I felt as though I were seeing way inside him, and it made my heart pound very hard and I became lightheaded. It was awful because every time he went number two I had to get out all the saline solution and bandages and wash it down.

And he poos a lot. It’s sort of a pastime for him.

One night he asked me at about midnight to change the bandage and I was so exhausted. I’m sure I said the wrong thing. He throws that in my face today, and says how humiliating it was for him to have me disgusted with him. But he’s remembering it differently than I remember it. I simply told him that this was so disturbing and foreign to me, that it’s really hard to do late at night because it makes my heart pound like crazy and then makes it hard for me to sleep. That was my whole point — the timing of it.

Just an example of how people can see things differently. But that was when I was coping with his worst abuse of me ever and I was just biding my time to get to the U.S. and leave him. He would not let me go without him.

Oh, and you have to hear the funny part about this story. Before he had that surgery I had literally never heard him pass gas, ever — in EIGHT years. On rare occasions I accidentally did pass gas within his hearing and I was really embarrassed. I went to great lengths to NOT do that in front of him, but I’m human and it was unavoidable. Once in a fit of rage he said something about me being unable to control my farts and it was such an absurd accusation that I hardly knew how to respond.

But after the surgery he was pooting left and right. For the first time in his life he realized we can’t all control every single fart. Can you imagine? His ass was THAT tight. And in eight years of marriage he probably heard me pass gas two or three times, but in the many months following his surgery, I heard him do it far more.

Just one more absurd incident in an absurd marriage.

At least it’s making me chuckle now.

Just got an email that they could use me at the kids center today, so I’d better get to the pool.

 

 

 

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5 responses to “Pooty Pootwell

  1. First, good for you for getting back to the pool! Exercise is huge for combating depression, so try to get it in as much as you can. Second, ok that story may be a little gross, but it was funny! Thanks for the laugh. He is a weird one.

    I’m sorry to hear your dad’s not doing well. 😦

  2. You are so much better off without his **** !
    The story did make me laugh… in sympathy – I could never have been a nurse.
    Sorry to hear about the diet troubles. It all sounds like a viscious circle with mood and food, and I guess your body and brain are maybe missing the swimming endorphins ?
    I think the work you do at the kid’s centre is amazing. Hopefully some future employer will appreciate it too.

  3. onedumbpoet, god, I know you’re right. I am better off without him no matter how my future turns out. I’m glad you, too, got a kick out of my husband’s pooting story. The amazing part is, when he’d go to have a physical, no doctor could ever do that part of the physical because they simply could not get a finger in. Hahahahahaha!

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