shaken

I asked M to move out. He refused. SIGH. Said that as long as he was at the store, he wanted to live at the house.

So I said, you need to do better. He said he needed to go.

4 years comes down to this.

I feel kinda better. Surprisingly. Amazingly. Astonishingly. It’s nice to have things in my control. To not be subject to his whims anymore. To not have to see him crying and saying that he is afraid to loose me but then do things that make it impossible to not lose me. To not have to hear him say how little she meant to him and that this new him is really him and then watch the new him be no better. The confusion of all this has made me feel like I live in a snow globe. Just when the glitter starts to sink to the bottom and cover the little scene in it’s pretty -- the giant hand reaches for the glass and with a quick shake sends it all up into the sky again. It’s not the snow globe that needs to go, it’s the giant hand.

What I’m wondering right now: could I get away with wearing roller skates ALL THE TIME like Tootie?

With all the whirlwind cyclone upside down trouble that surrounds us, I don’t trust these decisions. What I think is right for me changes with the clock. I don’t trust he knows what he wants. I don’t trust that I do. He doesn’t trust that he knows what he wants either. He surely doesn’t trust that I do. Again, Isaac Brock can sum it all up and put a bow on it: “I’ve changed my mind so much I can’t even trust it. My mind’s changed me so much I can’t even trust myself.” That’s from a Modest Mouse song called Talking Shit About a Pretty Sunset. I love it when what you hear can help you see.

What I know right now: I feel a weight has been lifted. About 160 pounds.

My brand spankin’ new friend P is coming to my rescue! He has kindly agreed to make the Crafting Out Of Debt website. THANK GOD. I possess no website skillz. No form making skilz. No setting up a Paypal store skilz. But he gots all those and more too boot! So, let’s hear it for P! Three cheers to you, my friend! I owe you a beer or 200!

What kind of beer P drinks: Summit.

What kind I do: Newcastle.

Wow. On ward. Buck up. Brilliant. Boing boing. Boy. Beats me. Bus stops. Bang boip. Brummel bristle. Back away.

Hey, everyone, can we take a collective deep breath and hope that my evil plan of crafting out of debt works. Hope that I can run the store alone. Hope that handing over my lemons to the kindness of strangers will result in a tall refreshing glass of lemonade. Hope that in the end, the good guy wins. Hope that in the end, I’m the good guy.