Sigh. I just had a huge fight with Danica. No, more accurately, I blew up at her. If it weren’t for being home and being unable to relax or sleep, I’d actually feel quite good about it.
Catching Up on Work
I managed to do some work today. In the morning, I was actually woken up by a call from a client who I do very minor recurring work for. She asked if I had gotten her emails and had been wondering if she sent them to the right address since she never heard back from me.
My bad, of course, so I apologized and told her I’d get to work on her web site right away. I did, and managed to finish all of what I needed to do in a matter of hours. (Like I said, minor, minor work, despite having been piling up for the past week or so.) By 5:30 PM I was killing time again when my mother called me and told me to come over to her apartment tonight.
Short Visit to My Mother’s
I left for my mother’s at around eight o’clock in the evening. Once there I made myself dinner (er, lunch, no, actually it was more like breakfast) consisting of toast and tahini along with two chocolate doughnuts and a few pastries. I watched some TV briefly, and left for home sometime shortly after ten o’clock.
I Outted Myself on My Blog
Interesting note about the visit to my mother’s tonight. Only after I had published the last entry did I realize that I mentioned my time in the public BDSM scene. I never actually told my mother about this, and so when she read my blog while I was at her house watching TV I effectively outted myself to her.
She had the typical reactions, though all things considered I do think she took it quite well. She wanted to know that I was not forever scarred or otherwise hurt. I told her I was actually better off for it.
She wanted to know that I was no longer doing anything of the sort. I told her she had nothing to worry about. She then thanked God for some reason.
Mom: I’m really okay, and I really am a stronger person for doing what I choose to do. You have no reason to worry about me or my sexual activities. Nobody has greater power over my life than I do, and that will never ever change.
When I got home, the house was dark and empty as I had left it and as I expected. Danica was working the closing shift at work today and I didn’t expect her home for another forty-five minutes or so. This morning before work, she had left the house before I woke up and finally gotten the keys to her new apartment from the realtor.
Danica Pushes My Buttons
When she returned, I greeted her at the door for a moment before returning to my computer. I was listening to some random selection of music from my iTunes library and, after Danica took off her shoes and set her things down, one of the first things she did was ask me to lower it temporarily while she listened to a CD she was inserting into her computer. She plugged her headphones into the computer after I lowered the music.
Three: Randy’s Song to Danica
I asked her what it was and she responded that I probably didn’t want to know. This meant one thing: Randy had given her something to listen to. Sure enough, moments later she held up a plastic CD cover on which severeal lines of text were scribbled in all-caps black permanent marker. It was a song on a burned CD that Randy had made for Danica.
She offered a paltry and rather unapologetic
Sorry, Mei… which I sort of scoffed at. I turned back around silently to my computer and resumed my own music. Perhaps defiantly, I simply didn’t care to accomodate Danica’s desire for a quiet environment so that she could hear his song.
Two: Danica Asks for Cooking Advice
She listened to the song, I heard her sigh and sniffle, and then she went to the kitchen. She began preparing dinner for herself from the chinese take-out leftovers we had kept the night before. Then she came to me and asked my opinion on which type of oil that we had in stock would be best for making fried rice.
I answered a very curt,
I don’t really care, to which she responded,
Okay…thanks anyways. She went about making her dinner and I went about wasting my time online. Before she had finished with dinner, I entered the kitchen partially to do the dishes and partially to apologize for my earlier curtness.
I told her that I was sorry for being so curt but that I had done so because I was pissed off at her contemptible apology earlier. I also noted that I had long since stopped believing what she says (long since being read as since our break up). This upset her and she left the kitchen to call her mother.
I finished up the dishes (including the plates and the pan she had just used) and went to sit at my computer again. From there, I could hear her talking with her mother. Much of the conversation Danica had with her mother revolved around the current living situation, her work and finances, and me.
One: Danica Talks to Her Mother
As usual, I wish I had a tape recorder. There are just so many inaccuracies in the form of “not the whole truth” that I could write a whole blog entry merely listing each one along with the full context. I can’t even count the number of times I felt like getting out of my chair, grabbing the phone away from her, and filling her mother in on the rest of the facts. And I’m only counting the things that were said directly about me!
Somehow, Danica effortlessly and indignantly justified her spin as, and I quote,
[My mother] doesn’t need to know all that! This is, by the way, exactly why I no longer trust what comes out of her mouth. I have heard her do this with so many other people about so many other things (and I’ve even mentioned this before) that I’ve finally learned to no longer believe what comes out of her mouth at face value.
The thing that finally got to me, though, was when I heard Danica talking to her mother about trying to get back her share of the security deposit she paid me when we moved in to this apartment. As she was discussing it with her mother I deduced that her mother wanted to know why I wouldn’t or haven’t given it back. Danica told her that if she talked to me about it, I’d just bring up all the money she owes me on various other things.
Two things about this pissed me the fuck off. (Yes, I actually just emphasized “the fuck” in a sentence.)
Firstly, I have already gone through this whole damn security deposit nonsense with her before and there is really no need to repeat myself on the matter.
Secondly, this whole issue is completely redundant as I have already written her a check which she immediately shredded upon reciept.
Of course, that tiny tidbit of information miraculously never made it into the phone conversation she had with her mother. It was at that point when I could no longer sit idly by as such misinformation about me was strewn around. I got up, knocked on the door, and pushed it open when Danica ignored me and continued talking with her mother.
I very loudly (hoping that her mother might hear) insisted that she tell her mother about my check which she had shredded. Danica responded by nodding at me and saying, and again I quote,
Okay, okay, I’ll tell her.
Bzzz! Wrong again! Not only did she not tell her mother about this insignificant detail (remember, her mother apparently
doesn’t need to know about this, despite her obvious insistent inquiries), when she got off the phone and saw me staring incredulously back at her, she said
it’s okay because I convinced her to let it slide.
Boom: I Rage
Excuse me?! It’s okay because you convinced her to let it slide? <sarcasm>That’s not only taking credit for being such a generous and compassionate ex-girlfriend,</sarcasm> it’s actually nullifying my wholeheartedly and unduly generous attempts to make things as hassle-free for you as possible. Well, excuse my French but fuck you too!
And that’s exactly what I told her, multiple times, in a variety of different ways, using various colloquial euphemisms, though none of them gender-specific, as far as I can recall. I screamed at her as loudly as I could, citing almost all the aforementioned reasons why I was pissed off. I told her I thought she is in need of some desperate help, that she is confused about many things and doesn’t understand that she lacks even a shred of integrity, and that she will continue to spew nothing but crap from her mouth until she wisens up and changes her ways.
I stomped right up to her and screamed these things inches away from her face. She backpeddled a little, obviously taken aback that I could be so loud and rageful. Indeed, I have never before unleashed this sort of anger on her and had never raised my voice to such an intense ferocity for as long as she has known me.
I felt the burning flames behind my eyes as I screamed and towered over her. My pupils turned to coal and my throat felt sore (I’m still recovering from that cold) but I still screamed at her. It didn’t last so long, about five minutes or so, but I was talking very fast and can’t even remember all of what I said.
When I was through, I sat myself back at my computer. Danica went back into the bedroom and picked up her phone. I warned her that if she were calling Randy she had better do it from outside, but she told me she was not calling Randy.
Instead, I can only assume she called one of her cousins. I could hear most of the conversation and I was not happy about that, but I refrained from doing anything I might have regretted later such as forcing her out of the apartment or grabbing the phone away from her. Oh, how I wanted to, though, how I greatly wanted to.
The Cleansing Flames
I went into the bathroom and stared at myself in the mirror. This always helps steady me when I am in a rage because it reminds me of who I think I am and how I think I should behave. It is hard to actually do rageful things when you are busy looking at yourself in the mirror.
The anger, and especially the bout of screaming rage I discharged at Danica, felt very cleansing. It was as if the rage had sparked a fire that was burning away at the past year and a half the way a forest fire might level acres of land. Like most things in nature, however, this fire was constructive rather than destructive; it freed up all that space for something new and green to be reborn in its place.
After Danica talked with her cousin, she called a friend from California. As they talked, I continued to look at myself in the mirror and lean against the bathroom sink. Everytime Danica mentioned Randy, or how controlling she felt I supposedly was by the end of our relationship, I felt that fire burn away a little more inside me.
Finally, she finished talking with her friend and turned off her cell phone. I heard only silence coming from the bedroom but remained in the bathroom for some minutes more. When I felt calm enough to walk out into the hallway, I noted that she had fallen asleep with the light still on.
I entered the bedroom and turned off the light. I then left, closing the door the rest of the way behind me and went back to my computer. Of course, that’s when I started writing this blog entry.
Danica’s in bed, sleeping now. Despite having been awake a mere thirteen or fourteen hours, I am actually quite tired. Of course, despite being tired, I don’t want to go to bed and have to lay next to her.
One thing’s for sure: I am happy she is leaving. During my rage, I told her that
every day you stay here I’ll miss you less. I now want to add: every day you’re gone I’ll think about you less. And that’s how it should be.