Not much to report today, and I'm a bit pressed for time, but I'll try to fill in some blanks and answer some queries in the Alt over the next 24-48 hours, or for as long as anyone wants to hear my nonsense anymore.
WAW brought some more of her patented, USDA-choice Batsh*t Crazy the other day after FabMC#2 (typical WAS pull-back/push-back), because she "accidentally" saw 2 pictures of Miss Someone while she was house-sitting -- apparently she was accidentally going through my desk drawers LOL.
And the Crazy came also because she'd been going around fuming about the credit card bill -- we still have a joint account until it's paid off -- because it showed plain as day that that ol' bastard SP had "spent $750 on jewelry for her." Um, what? Earth to Planet Mrs. SP -- uhhhh, Whiskey Tango Foxtrot, over.
It's right there -- $750 at FCM! [NB -- FCM is shorthand for a local jewelry store's initials.] QED.
And on, ahh, what day did I spend these bucks?
The day before you left on the Great European Getaway. (Triumph!)
Ohhhh, yeah. That day. That's weird. That's the same day I changed $750 for euros at the Foreign Currency Market on Famous Boulevard in Coastal City.
(Long pause.)
Oh. ------
Yes, yes; Mr. Smiley's Person was having none of it -- stood the ground, defended the ramparts, released the hounds, launched the fleet, laid down some more Law, and generally tap-danced like a coked-up Bojangles and handily defeated every one of her half-baked notions.
Crow-eating time. I gotta admit, I hated that N.U.T.S. book, but.....by cracky! Mens, there's something to it, this idea, oft-promoted by @robx, et al., that you can't make any headway in this Divorce-Busting Game until you get a custom amp -- that goes to 11 all the way across -- to rock your Absolute Manitude when all the other blokes are stuck at 10.
Result? Two of them.
First, another capitulation. The honesty barrier was broken. She broke down, cried, expressed the sadness, the confoundedness, the heartacheness, the I-still-don't-want-to-be-married-ness, the jealous-ness, the how-come-I-got-hosed-by-Signore-ness.
And also the "I wish we could suspend the legal proceedings-but-you-can-still-see-Miss-Someone-because-I-owe-you-that-much-ness."
She filled in a lot of blanks on Signore. How it started. Why it started. Why the remorse she feels isn't because she did it, per se, but because she lied about it. Which is okay with me, I guess. I've come to peace with it. Why it hurt so much when he blew her off -- guy sounds like a tool to me. In fact, not just a tool, but a wedge, which, as @Thinker and @Coach can tell you, is the simplest of tools.
So what did I do? How did I show my support and validation and whatnot?
I looked her in the eye, I listened, I validated, I heard. The sobs kept coming -- why was I so different now? Why had I changed now? Why hadn't she been more patient? Why is it that she still hates the idea of being married but now also hates the idea of being divorced?
I told her I heard what she was saying. It's a confusing time. Emotions are all mixed-up.
Then I stroked her hair.
And then I made out with her like a 15-year-old.
And she liked it.
Now, @hoosiermama's excellent advice notwithstanding, I'm not going to drag her up into the boo-doir, because
(a) still not convinced either of us -- sure, why not, I can be honest with you people, right? -- either of us is quite up to that, emotionally-balancedly wise. It's a lot of easier to be shagged rotten by someone who is just a pal (though, of course, Signore hardly turned out to be a pal) and
(b) there's some medical issues that need resolving on both sides (and not the icky ones you dirty-minded types are thinking of -- in Mr. SP's case, speaking of nuts, it appears that the materials used in a hernia repair in the immediate vicinity of same have decided to become disengaged from the surrounding tissues which, inter alia, hurts like a mo-fo and kind of puts the kybosh on the old puffenhuffenstuffen).
Second result? A long series of really great e-mails, including some Classic SP Specials which, if the audience so desires, I can reproduce later on the day, the responses to which included this bit of Nick and Nora:
Quote:
From Mrs. SP: BTW, to be "totally honest", I'm crazy f*cking hot for you right now.
Reply from SP: Awesome
From Mrs. SP: No, not awesome. It's f*cking ridiculous, and I have a lot of work to get out today. (Another way I have changed is that I use "f*ck" a lot more than I used to.) [NB, see @O'Dog, et al., on this pattern among the WAWry.]
Reply from SP: Maybe not awesome for you, but from the POV of the focus of the crazy f*cking hotness, pretty awesome.
And later this somewhat more reflective discursion:
Quote:
From Mrs. SP: I am just trying to get my head in a place where I can deal with all the emotions I am feeling. I am suddenly horny for you like I haven't been in years [total honesty, right? . . . and now we have a BIG trampoline . . . ;-))]
[NB -- in their feckless youth, Mr. and the future Mrs. SP put one of those little aerobics trampolines to some uses not specified in the owner's manual one wanton Sunday afternoon -- which proved ever-after to be a never-fail smile-producing recollection in the collective sexual consciousness, even in the lowest and asexualist times of the M and, apparently remains so, even now, lo these 22 years and 9 months of divorce later.]
Reply from SP: I'm glad you're suddenly horny for me. And I have a leaf blower that can clean that trampoline right off.....I've been saying all along that some good, old-fashioned, rollicking sex would do us both a world of good.
Reality check, right? Would it be emotionally complicated? Honestly I don't know -- I mean, I think it could go either way.
It could be just "one more thing" to deal with that complicates everything needlessly -- we could have that one-night stand "when can I get up and get dressed" thing going on -- or it could just be really sort of... refreshing and liberating and...I don't know, "completing"... in some sense.
Nothing to rush. Too many cooks stirring the pot, as we both know. Not the least of whom is Dr. Goodfinger, He Of The Monster Rubber Glove.
And this, which I think might signal the lifting of The Fog:
Quote:
I am really going to try and get off the crazy train for both of our sakes.
---- Well, friends -- so much for the facts. We're making progress of a sort. I really don't think we're going to be married again, and I'm pretty sure WAW doesn't think we're going to be married again, but the dammedest weirdest oddest thing about it all is that we both seem kind of okay about it.
We've agreed that -- for now -- who knows what the future will hold? -- we're just going to work on Harmony. Because that will bring us Together in what we both think will be an important and meaningful way. As I wrote to her last night, we'll at least be in each other's lives if not of each other's lives in a way that's mutually rewarding.
Once we do that, once we get there -- however long that takes -- then it will be appropriate, we think, to look down the road and see what else is there.
It's not the DB ideal -- I freely admit that. But I'm okay with it. She seems to be, too. It's not Togetherness, if not Marriage and Till Death Do Us Part, but as Jack Nicholson says in "Mars Attacks!" we've still got that working for us, and that ain't bad.
