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Observations of a wandering mind

2005-06-17 - 8:01 p.m.

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One of my coworkers is a dear, sweet lady. Old enough to be my mom, and Catholic of the variety that doesn�t care about drinking or swearing but still mostly holds to traditional values. She�s got the �mind your own business� thing down to such an art that she doesn�t ever HAVE to (mind her own business, I mean.) People just voluntarily tell her everything about their lives because she has a gratifying way of clucking sympathetically at their woes coupled with the rare quality of not feeling compelled to give advice or offer sniffy moral commentary. She�s just a really cool, likeable lady.

So it�s been kind of funny to discover that I can tell when she�s having to make an effort to keep her mouth shut by the way she blinks her eyes when you tell her something she has an issue with.

So far I�ve figured out that she thinks I am way too permissive with my kid and she doesn�t approve of gays.


There is a cashier at �my� Jewel that I can�t stand, in great part because she reminds me an awful lot of Prunella. She has a little round, serious face; long, straight blonde hair; a Minnesota accent, and she is anal as all fuck. She�s the only cashier who has ever noticed that the apartment number on my driver�s license and checks don�t match, and she was the only one who ever gave me shit when I ran out of checks awhile back and used up some old ones from the same account that only had the Prince�s name printed on them. Her nit-picking is generally nothing earth-shattering but it's irritating, and I avoid her line like the plague.

But last night I had no choice but to go through her line, and was mentally kicking myself for not having brought my new Jewel card. It just came in the mail yesterday and I hadn�t gotten around to opening it and sticking it in my purse yet. For all these weeks I�ve been telling the cashiers that I hadn�t gotten it in the mail yet and no one has given me any shit, so for simplicity�s sake I just told her the same thing. She wanted to know how long I had been waiting for it so I pulled a number out of my ass. �About three weeks.� Oh, that�s WAY too long, she told me, as she held up the entire line to write down a phone number on the back of my receipt and gave me detailed instructions on what to say when I called to inquire about my card.

I fucking hate anal people. Especially when they look like Prunella.


For awhile after our divorce, Dick and I remained pretty good friends. Things started getting chillier as time went on, what with Prunella pulling her shit and him just swallowing it like a good little spineless pussywhip, but even then when he called here we�d usually chat for a bit to catch up before he talked to the Evil Childe. I began to notice, though, that sometimes for no apparent reason he just wasn�t very nice to me on the phone. He�d get this nasty edge to his voice, and his normal joking around would get more aggressive and insulting. Yet other times he would be nice as pie. I finally figured out that he�s nice to me when he calls me from his work, but when he calls from home and SHE�s there is when he really starts to live up to his nickname. Fucking dick. I�m never nice to him when he calls any more. I�m polite and all business now, no more shooting the shit, even when he seems to be in the mood.

I�m pretty sure he has no idea why this is. Idiot.


So the other day the Evil Childe was talking to him on the phone. I was in the room and she was relaying information between us regarding an upcoming visit. I mis-heard something she said to me, and with the phone still pressed to her ear she snorted derisively and said to me, �No, dumbass, I said (blah, blah, blah.)� She was joking� but in the same nasty, sarcastic tone her dad uses when he talks to me in front of his wife. And then went on to say to her dad, �Geez, I can see why you divorced her��

I am not pleased by this observation one little bit, though I doubt that the kid even realizes she is doing it. I suppose that�s just what they do when they get together, regale each other with clever, nasty little jokes about what a loser I am. Nice, huh? Considering his idea of a winner includes being attractive, keeping a clean house and being organized but doesn�t seem to include behaving even minimally decently toward his daughter.

I know this because he seems to take great glee in subtly letting me know how �wonderful� Prunella is in all the ways I was not. I wonder how it would play going the other direction? I wish I were mean enough to rub his nose in some of the Prince�s many virtues in areas where Dick was less than adequate, but I know it would cut his poor little fragile ego to the quick.

I can be tactless and stupid sometimes but deliberate cruelty is simply not my style. Dammit.


I am totally over Dick and have been for some time, yet I carry a lot of bitterness over his obvious pride in and approval of Prunella�s wifely virtues.

I have come to realize that I am needy of approval to a sickening degree, and I am bitterly, gut-twistingly envious of people who possess the qualities that others admire.

Money and material possessions are certainly desirable but they don�t provoke in me that same deeply resentful sort of envy. The ugly kind of covetousness is reserved for things like beauty, competence and talent� things that cause sweet Approval and its flashier cousin Acclaim, to smile down warmly upon the possessor of such gifts.

This is not an attractive quality. But apparently I have some sick addiction to the feeling of choking on my own bile.


I also give certain people�s opinions and the fear of their disapproval or disappointment far too much influence over my behavior. After agonizing over it for several weeks, I finally got brave enough to try to grovel and snivel my way out of doing something I really didn�t want to do this weekend. I went through all kinds of mental contortions trying to explain myself in such a way that no one including the Prince would be disappointed or offended; and then the Prince just said to me, not verbatim but this was the gist of it, �So don�t go. You don�t need to make an elaborate production out of it. Sometimes things come up, they�ll get over it.�

Duh. Why am I not capable of thinking like that on my own?

And even if certain people (whom I don�t have to live with) actually DIDN�T particularly like me or approve of me, why do I feel like this would be the most horrible thing ever?


I took a two-pound shit this morning. It seems weird that I know this. It also seems like an awful lot of shit.





Reading: I'm Not The New Me by Wendy McClure
Listening to: The air conditioner
Thinking about: Cleaning my bedroom. Or watching stand-up on Comedy Central.


6 felt the need to share

Previous - Next

Last Five
Crappy job crap, weird neighbor, and someone whose baby I apparently want to have - 2006-05-08
Live from the dump - 2006-04-09
Kind of like a muzzle for your brain - 2006-03-29
...and then she fell ass-first into my cereal bowl - 2006-03-28
Playing catch-up - 2006-03-27





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