I’ll save a window seat for the rest of you because I definitely have a lifetime achievement ticket on That Hellbound Train, which by the way is one of my favorite stories by Robert Bloch and probably the best “beat the devil” story ever.
So on the down side I didn’t sleep very well last night, but on the up side there was nobody to get cranky because I turned on the light to read myself back to sleep. I think Pratchett’s catching on that something’s up because he’s been kinda searching around for Himself and being extra lovey dovey to me. I don’t know how to make a tiny pot of coffee and it tastes like crap. 
I know I’m better off out of that toxicity, just as I know it’s better for him to be in a wider world without a convenient scapegoat to blame for all his feelings. Not that it’ll stop him, mind you, I’ll still be blamed for everything but since nobody else will allow him to be an asshole to them directly he’ll have to throttle back on the expression of anger and sublimate it. He’ll also have to go out and get a job because I highly doubt there’s anyone willing to foot his bills as I’ve been doing. I’ve been trying to get him to do this for a while now, not so much because of the money situation (although that would have been nice) but just to get him out of the house and out of his own head. He doesn’t realize that the HUGE ISSUES he thinks he has with me are actually, in comparison to what the real world has to offer, quite minimal. I’m not the easiest person to be around and tend toward the bossy but compared to a boss and cow-orkers I’m a goddamned dreamboat–and I think he knows that when he’s being honest with himself.
I wish I could get up a head of anger to make this easier but I just don’t have it in me anymore. After so many lather-rinse-repeats of this scenario I’m just numb to it. I seriously only have one issue with him and that’s the fact that I can’t express anything negative, no matter how slight, to him and have it addressed with respect and a cooperative spirit to resolve the issue. He goes into full attack mode, with sarcasm and barbed comments and the martyr trip (“oh, I forgot, I can’t do ANYTHING right according to you, and of course YOU’RE never wrong!”) and if I pursue it he gets progressively angrier, louder and will not allow any dialogue AT ALL. It’s a rant, pure and simple and it will continue ad infinitum even if I put on headphones and drown it out–he’ll just keep yelling even though I can’t hear him! I often wonder if when I leave (which I often do) if he keeps on yelling to an empty house–that’s just so weird to me. Then there’s the name calling–just imagine the very worst things you could imagine saying to someone who just killed your beloved pet in front of you and I can pretty much guarantee I’ve had it screamed at me because I dared to tell him he’s not keeping up with the housework (his part of the deal in exchange for me supporting him) or because I interrupted something he was saying.
It also pisses me off that if we had anything remotely approaching decent health care in this country he could’ve gotten mental health counselling long ago to address some of this, along with medication to get his blood pressure into something like normal human range (it’s my hypothesis that people with HBP are more angry because they feel the kind of physical cues most of us only experience under dire stress ALL THE TIME.)
Please don’t think he’s like this all the time, either–he’s always weird and touchy but only gets this bad sometimes. He just has zero conflict resolution skills and some profound issues stemming from an emotionally abusive upbringing that he doesn’t have the faintest idea of how to address on his own, and rather than asking for help (anathema!) it’s so much easier to say “it’s 'cuz you’re a bitch” and leave it at that. Problem is that I’m not nearly as much of a bitch as I should be, and when he first started on this cycle with me twenty years ago I should’ve broken his arm or shot him or something just to let him know that ain’t a proper way to mess with me. Gee, I guess it really IS all my fault!
Too bad they didn’t have cheap stun guns at Target back then…
I’m really sorry to vent all over the place like this but I so hate to burden family and friends with it AGAIN. This would be so much easier if he wasn’t the perfect guy for me about 95% of the time and if I didn’t love him to distraction. All I have to say is that I truly, deeply hope that there is indeed a hell wherein the vicious, hateful bitch who raised him can rotisserie for eternity. She took a pair of bright, beautiful, loving kids and twisted them into her monstrous image–his brother never got away and the process is complete in him but Himself had a chance but the damage was too severe and he falls back into that early childhood pattern like a satellite with a decaying orbit falls inevitably back to earth.
So all I have to say for Father’s Day is that if you have a good dad who raised you right make sure you tell him how much you love him, and if you are a dad please take to heart how much your children look to you for an example and do your best to be a good one. The repercussions of bad parenting resound down through generations–I’m just glad that in our family the bad stuff isn’t passing down to the Grandboy, because 70+ years of shitty parenting is more than enough!
{{{beebs}}}, and I don’t care if you’re the anti-hug! Get better and I sure hope they figure out what the heck happened because seizures are spooky!