Monday, October 22, 2007

No, Fuck You!

There was $40 in the bathroom last night. He'd not mentioned having $40. He had, in fact, been lamenting noisily the fact that he didn't have any money, at all, ever.

Clearly, I wasn't meant to see the $40. I went to him and asked him what the money was about and why he'd been being dishonest. He said he'd gotten it from this guy, you know, who wanted me to get him some weed.

I freaked out for about 10 minutes. "Goddamn it, I can't take you being dishonest with me about money."

"It's not my money."

"So you're not going to make any money off of this deal? Then what's the fucking point?"

"I'll make $10."

"So were you going to tell me about the $10?"

"Probably not. I'd just use it for lunch or something."

"You know I don't get to have lunch or anything. I have to pay our goddamned bills, so I don't have any money for leisurely bullshit like lunch."

"I'm sorry. I understand. I know it's not fair."

And etc. We eventually got over it, or I got over it, and things were ok. I repeated my mantra, "I am married to an addict. Addicts lie and steal. I have chosen this life, I have chosen this man, and as long as I keep myself safe, I will be ok."

It was ok.

This morning, however, he wanted to have been wronged. "You totally over-reacted last night. It's not your business if I get weed for people."

And then it absolutely wasn't ok anymore. It is his business if he wants to fuck around with weed. I think it's stupid, and I don't like it, but that's one of those things that I'm not getting involved with. I have faith that he will recognize in his own time and in his own way that engaging in the little politics and shenanigans associated with narcotics economics is not healthy or productive for him. The risk outweighs the benefits, and he has good sense, so eventually, he'll see this and stop. It is also something that will drive me crazy if I make it my business, so it's in my best interest to let it go. It was gone.

What I will not let go of, and what I'm not sorry for getting angry about, is him being shady with money. Having supported his unemployed addict ass for the last NINE MONTHS and having been lied to and manipulated out of money during his active addiction has made him being shady with money my biggest trigger. And it SHOULD be. I let him talk me out of money with arguments similar to R. Kelly's justifications for his clubbing tomfoolery in Real Talk. (Yo, watch that video. It's the funniest thing I've ever seen.)

So I'm proud of myself for being mad. I'm not sorry. My response to his inane accusations of injustice on my part was to jump out of bed, say, "Fuck you," and go brush my teeth and get ready for work.

You see, we'd had a morning plan involving coffee and sex and talking. We'd both gotten up extra early to have this lovely morning, and he had to talk himself right out of some pussy, some cuddling, and some pleasant morning coffee time by acting like I'm somehow unjust.

"NO, FUCK YOU!" he yells at the bathroom door.

I brushed my teeth and did my morning grooming, really loudly, and worked really, really hard not to have a giant meltdown about how I have married the most selfish, stupid, miserable man in the universe. I'm mad, and I'm holding on to the mad for dear life. Mad feels good. Collapsing in a puddle on the floor feels natural and inevitable, but I know that it doesn't feel good, and it won't get me out the door and on my way to work, which is what I need to do.

I went and made myself a lovely coffee, walking around the house naked to remind him of the fun we'd had planned. I drank my coffee on the couch, naked, and trying really hard not to glower at him.

I finally go to get dressed, brush my teeth again, and then come and collapse in his lap. I tell him that I don't like it if he fetches weed for his friends and family, but that I really don't care about it and fully intend to stay out of it. I tell him that if he thinks really hard about what I'd been mad about, it wasn't the selling of weed. It was the having of forty secret dollars, especially the having of said dollars after the previous hissy fit about being broke. I felt that he'd been manipulative and dishonest about money, which is something that is unacceptable. I told him that I loved him, kissed his lips and ignored the sulky look in his eyes, packed my bag, and left.

And that's all done now. I'm done with it. I'm really pleased with how easy it is for me to let stuff go lately. That's growth...yet another fucking growth opportunity.