Category Archives: Words Words Words

In Which She Examines Hurt

You do not have to validate negativity. You do not have to accept it.

t! has an excellent column on Naysayers today. Some of its advice came in very handy for me this afternoon as I dealt with the aftermath of the crap that was thrown at me this morning.

Show this person what his words are doing, how he hurts you with them. How he hurts himself by thinking these thoughts, before he even speaks them.

The hardest thing about today has been dealing with trying to point out that I have been horribly, horribly hurt by someone else’s deliberately thought-out nasty words. Words that were unnecessary, words that I didn’t have to receive; words that I feel were given to me because I wasn’t respected. I don’t know if I managed to get the point across, the point that I was hurt by being the recipient of the strike at someone else through me. Probably not. I made the effort, but I doubt it was understood or even heard over the defense of the action.

And now there’s a huge obstacle between people, all because of these words. I’m sure the person who sent them thought that saying those words would make them feel better; however, all it’s done is make everyone feel worse. And I’ve said words back that define who I am, and what my limits are. That’s the only good that I can see of this whole thing. It doesn’t balance out the bad parts, not even close. My day is ruined; the trust I had in someone else has been damaged; I’m forced to try to work through this by pacing, crying, yelling at walls, writing out my feelings and thoughts, seeking to make some sort of sense of it all, instead of actually doing the work that was scheduled for the day. I thought I wouldn’t be able to sit at the computer at all (hence my earlier statement warning you about not seeing me for a while), but I keep coming back to journal things, some here, some privately. It helps, a bit. I work with words. They mean things to me. They’re how I explore. And perhaps that’s why I’m so utterly crushed when someone I love and trust uses them to do something deliberately hurtful to me.

I am, however, lucky that I can think things through by writing them out. By tonight, I may have reached a place where I can actually do work once the boy’s gone to bed. I know that I’m sick and need my sleep, but I’ve got to get something added to this MS, and I just cannot focus through the storm right now.

But first, I’m going to go wash the kitchen floor, because it’s a task that I hate and I can’t possibly get into a worse mood. And I’ll feel that I accomplished something.

Zero Tolerance

Apology received. I had to demand it, but I got it.

If you think you perceive an insult, even an unintentional one, talk directly to the person who originated it and work it out. Do not use me as an intermediary. Do not hand the emotional burden to me. It is not mine. It is yours. Do not insult me on your way to insult someone else for the insult you perceived which was clearly not intended as such.

I have zero tolerance for drama — zero. If you initiate it, and try to draw me into it, I will not stand for it. I am not a doormat for people to walk over, to suck up their resentment about something that does not directly involve me. It may come as a surprise to some that I’m demanding to be treated as an adult after years of biting my tongue. I am fully within my rights to demand an apology for something that treats me as incidental and not worth the civil considerate adult treatment that others merit. Familiarity breeds contempt, or so the saying goes. I’m tired of being walked over by people who don’t see me as an individual with rights and feelings because they’re too close to me.

The day is totally shot, and I’m livid about that as well. I don’t have work days to waste.

What Holiday?

We’re back. Yes, we decided to drive to Toronto, stay one day, then drive back Saturday, and then HRH would drive four hours in the opposite direction to work on Sunday. It was ultimately his decision, and I can understand why he did it: to stay home would mean everyone brooding and a totally ruined family vacation this year.

Well, things weren’t great yesterday, being the day after the drive home, what with everyone being stuck in cars for long periods of time, and both Liam and I with really bad colds, and sleep being not restful. Scarlet and Blade made us dinner on Saturday night after we got home, which was unexpected and so kind, and then again last night, and just before that they even tried to kidnap my son in order to give me fifteen minutes of peace with a cup of hot tea. It would have succeeded, too, if I hadn’t just put him down for the night, two hours early. As it was, I loved the tea, and the thought, and the caring.

I thought today would be all right. Or better, at least. And it’s not, because I just downloaded five days’ worth of mail and found a deliberate insult waiting for me that has made me see red. What little benefit I got from the weekend has been totally ruined. And I use the same phrase I used in the first paragraph to make a point: All that effort, down the drain.

I am livid. And I’ve calmed down to this point, after an hour. I can finally string vaguely coherent words together. I don’t think I’ll be able to work today, I’m so furious.

Email is such an easy way to take calculated shots at people. You don’t have to look someone in the face when you insult them. It’s cheap, and it’s cowardly. And everyone I know and call family or friend should know better.

Don’t expect to hear from me again for a while.

From The File Marked “Homocidal”

I had an incredible morning. It’s sunny, there’s a good breeze, I got three pairs of pants that fit — on sale! — and I got gifties for both my guys. I’m so excited about one of them, because it pertains to music-listening in the car. (Yay! Yay! Finally! Ssssh — HRH doesn’t know and won’t till tomorrow morning.)

And then I got home and found a message on my machine from HRH. Who, incidentally, got home last night later than he’d expected, because the ostensibly easy build went wrong thanks to bad measurements taken by the quotes guy, and then was told that he had to pack the truck for a long-distance two-person build today. The message informed me that some of the wrong stuff had been packed for today’s build and neither of the guys caught it last night. So he’ll have to drive four hours out to wherever it is to finish this build on Sunday.

Yes. You read that correctly. On Sunday. One of the days that’s part and parcel of our booked vacation.

I could scream. I don’t even know what’s going on this weekend any more. I don’t know what can go on.

I’m so angry that I’m trembling.

I am so very, very tired of life kicking us and our friends when we’re down.

From The File Marked “Grrr”

Know what I hate? I hate it when something totally beyond your control — like, oh, say, the lodge where you booked your retreat cancels your four-day booking because their water supply has had to be turned off for some reason — ruins something for which you’ve spent an awful lot of time and energy organising — like, oh, say, your annual spiritual retreat with ten other people.

Sometimes, life really, really sucks.

Fine. We’ll go to visit my parents instead, because HRH couldn’t get an extra day off at Thanksgiving, and the retreat will be rescheduled for later this fall.

I accept it. I don’t have to like it. (The rescheduling part, not the being able to visit my parents after all part.)

Anniversary Joy

The boy will wake up from his (blessedly long) nap any moment, but I absolutely had to take a second to tell you what HRH got for me as an anniversary present:

A big red metal toolbox, with a full set of new tools, all for my very own.

Squee!

See, my toolbox has been one of those marital points of contention. I had a fully stocked kit when we got married. And I used it regularly. (This is just one of the many things that makes me so darn cool. Did you know that until he went out and bought himself a cordless DeWalt for this job, I owned the only drill in the house?) Over the past seven years, my toolkit has been slowly eroding as HRH “borrows” this and “uses” that and it gets left somewhere… And having been raised by my father, who insisted that every tool I used was placed back exactly where it came from promptly after use — well, I get snarly when I have something I need my tools to do, and I go to my toolkit, and what I need isn’t there, and in fact cannot be found anywhere.

So HRH said he was sorry in a magnificent way by giving me this kit (it has three sets of screwdrivers! each a different size! and he won’t borrow any of it because he has his full kit downstairs!).

Plus I got roses, too. I love the juxtaposition of roses and tools. It says so much about me.

“I don’t know who is cooler,” said Ceri to him when she found out, “you or your wife.”

I got him the three original theatrical Star Wars films on DVD, so he definitely wins the Coolest Gift award this year. (Not that we try to top one another; in fact, most years we don’t buy each other anything at all, or even do anything to celebrate at that.) But HRH claims that no anniversary gift from either of us will ever top the X-box I gave him two years ago, with an extra controller so that we could game together. He’s probably right.

And thank you for you good wishes yesterday, everyone, posted here and emailed privately!