PinkyBob

Looking for something in archives and ran into this from January 4, 2008.

Gotta love the way we use up food around here.  I have a big gob of
instant vanilla pudding that I only wanted a few bites of and Scott won't help
me eat because he snubs instant, SO, I guess I'll make a Boston cream pie
today...  Bet he eats it on cake without question.  I'll probably have one piece
of it, he'll eat half, and THEN I'll throw the rest away.  All that over pudding
guilt.

Funny how it doesn't bother me to throw cake away.

From January 6, 2008.

Oh, gotta tell you this one.    Scott was hauling rocks over from his dad's yesterday, and we're talking those really big flat river rocks.  He's moved about 2 tons over now.  Wait, here's a picture.

Doesn't look like that much, does it?  So he's over next door down the hill about to bend over and pick up a rock and a ladybug stupidly zooms right into his mouth and down his windpipe.  He's hacking and gagging trying to get that thing up, nearly threw up, finally gets the bug up.  That's the thing about ladybugs, they are really dense.  They fly around the house but instead of landing on the edge of a cup like a fly would, they just suddenly dive right down into your drink.  They don't seem to care what landing is all about, or maybe they just can't see that well, but it's like here we are in all this big open space and one will just run right into you like he was talking on a cell phone and eating Sonic while he's driving or something.  Possibly putting on makeup or reading a newspaper, ignoring his little Tom-Tom telling him to turn left.  But that one was probably sure surprised to find himself in Scott's bronchials, rolling around in goop while torrents of air rushed in and out around him.  I wonder if bugs ever reflect on dumb things they did as they're dying.  Maybe their tiny little lives flash before their eyes.

From January 11, 2008.

Spending the morning listening to Eddie Izzard talk in French, browsing blogrings.  Found a young lady starving herself to death, and yet so darkly poetic about the emptiness and obsession that I couldn't peel my eyes off her blog.  It's strange how people born *not* fighting for their lives can become so immersed in throwing them away.  There didn't seem to be any other tragedy in her life.  I wonder if it's a human thing to need tragedy in some form.  If we don't have a reason to practice survival skills in some way, our minds create reasons.

I've been thinking a whole lot about Scott lately.  I run into so many blogs bemoaning the single life, or entangled in some quasi-romantic drama or other, and it seems to me people are putting far too much into their miseries.  I've been where they are, I've come through to the other side, and I can look back over the years and see that all that angst was a really big waste of time.  It pretty much boils down to what dogs and cats know instinctively-- another warm body in the room is more comforting than being alone, and if someone moves on without you, you chalk it up to experience and don't do it that way again.  Disregarding the idiots who drink and abuse those weaker, of course, it seems that overall Americans have become so demanding that no one could ever live up to the marriage standards being set today by modern psychology.

I started out making a horrible mistake and marrying a guy who was so dysfunctional and ill that my own life, and my child's, were in danger of years of abuse.  After going through fear, yes, I can see where some people might be afraid to try escaping abusive relationships, BUT, living in them for decades trying to get along is its own form of insanity.  Four years of it was plenty for me, and I don't waste my time blaming him as much as kicking my own naivete.  If you haven't figured out how to spot and avoid mean people by the age of 19, then you learn hard and fast.  Or you don't learn.  Wasting time discussing it doesn't do anything constructive.  You get smart and you get out.

Falling in love with someone 'nice' and 'normal' doesn't mean anything, either.  I was so walked on, used, and left behind, much more emotionally devastating than the marriage to the mentally ill creep.  The world went black, I got caught up in a self-assessment loop, and teetered on the brink of bitterness until I loathed myself.  You either pass that on to new lovers and create more pain, or you step back and learn something again, and say that was NOT what I thought love was supposed to be.  Next time I won't be so stupid.

Sometimes you get lucky and a dork comes your way.  Nothing spectacular to look at, stumbling through his own life figuring things out, just as suspicious of getting hurt again as you are.  Defensive, quirky, hyper, the attention span of a squirrel.  But he holds a steady job, has a clear idea of family, and thinks he's lucky to be on a date with you.

JUMP ON THIS GUY.  He may be a jerk here and there, he may be an idiot when it comes to understanding women, but in the long run, he's a warm body that appreciates another warm body and will be fun going out for ice cream with as long as you don't get any hoity toity ideas about the psychological health of one's marriage and obsess and pout over a dozen little trivial things that make no difference ten years down the road.

I guess I got really lucky.  Or maybe I just got smart.  Maybe I stopped picking on every little shortcoming that I didn't like.  It's been a long rough marriage, both of us bringing our own child and a load of baggage into it, but like I said, I'm on the other side now, and I like where I'm sitting.  Couldn't have arrived here bemoaning a single life or doing the drama dance.  My advice to those people-- settle.  You'd be surprised how easy life gets when you just let go of the expectations and enjoy each other for who you are.  Indignation just doesn't lead to a good sex life.

I make a lot of jokes about Scott trying to peel me off him.  I don't know if it's because I hit my 40's, or because the kids are gone, or because I'm making up for all that lost time.  But I seriously cannot get enough skin time.  Hugging, leaning my head on a shoulder, holding hands as we go to sleep, annoying the heck out of him while he tries to shave after a shower, having to touch his fuzzy stomach or legs until he has to move my hand off.  Sometimes he tries to run away and I just laugh.  He's trapped here, I'll get him later.  It's funny to think that a guy might actually try to get away from all that attention, but I think he's really secretly soaking it up.  I don't think he ever dreamed a woman would like him enough this late in life to be in the way all the time.

I'm beginning to understand why really old couples are so tight.  I would never trade any of the angst I've been through for a lonely life of no contention.  I know people my age getting divorces and saying they love being single again, and I find that really hard to believe.  I can't imagine being so stubborn about my indignation that I would prefer to be all alone.

Ah, found it. Turns out I posted it on New Year's Eve on 2008.

Funny how cathartic a few minutes of obsessive digging can be. If I were someone's pet I'd probably have just shredded a toilet paper roll or something. I only wanted that for @SpongebobWikia to talk to me on twitter, lol.

We've got a double batch of ice cream going, 2 freezers making a lotta grindy noise. +_+ I'm staying sane focusing on menial mental exercises. I don't do grindy noise very well. We're down to almost nothing at the dessert level. My glucose spikes worse than his does so I just naturally avoid carbs anyway and rarely ever pine for anything sweet any more, but he's on meds now and finding out that trying to stick to his old carby munchies makes him feel sick, even with the pills. In fact, the pills make it more obvious, so he's naturally cutting down now just because big loads of junk gross him out now. Anyway, I got both freezers out and he's all smiles thinking I'm stockpiling for him for the rest of the month, and I'm all DUDE, one of these is mine, and he's all jealous now, like a squirrel eyeing another squirrel's stash, and he knows I'll take forever eating mine (plain vanilla, his has oreos crushed into it), and then he'll find ways to sneak into mine. I got all these cute tiny Gladware and Ziplock singles containers to keep the portions really small (they are perfect, go get some), but I know Scott will sneak an extra one behind my back. At least he's down to 2 tiny singles at a time, he used to go through a quart of ice cream a day.

Plus we were waiting for another watch on demand Mr. Robot episode to load. We're still catching up on season one. We don't have Netflix or Hulu or Xfinity or Amazon accounts, and we don't even have the full Dish extras, barely keeping up with the basic channels nowadays. I need to learn how to throw downloads from my new phone to the TV. I'm still pretty backward about some stuff.

Well, God help us all if I dive into Mr. Robot fanvids, and I can't hear anyway because the freezers grinding is so bad, so I'ma leave it here and get ready to stockpile the freezer, probably about time to start another episode.

Story of my life, dude. I'm paying $$ you wouldn't believe for blog storage since the server moves. Call me crazy...