power-off, shut-down

That is what I think happened to me last night.

It was a night I needed a bitch session, and She-ra, as always, was willing and able. And I flaked.

Actually, what happened was I had a vertigo attack that lasted a good 15 minutes, that had me holding onto the handles of my refrigerator for dear life, until I could get to my bedroom and lay down. And then I fell asleep.

Power-off, shut-down.

Yesterday was the Passport Appointment day. The last time I had to do a passport from scratch, not a renewal, was actually done by my parents when I was 17. I remember going to the post office and getting the paperwork completed. I called and made the appointment, got all documentation prepared, photographs taken and checks written ("Bring two separate checks," I was told. Of course--two kids, two separate checks. Makes perfect sense.) and all organized, birth certificates attached with colored paperclips inside my manilla folders in which I seemingly organize my entire life.

Actually, I just do that to *appear* organized and professional, when we all really know better.

Anyhow...

Princesita and I walk down, while He and Young Prince drive. We get there and soon after they arrive. Right when we are to be called back, He says, "Young Prince had another major meltdown in school today."

Always known for his impeccable timing, I thought, as we were ushered back into the entrails of the postal facility.

I was then chastized, when we sat down, for not bringing blank checks and two separate checks each. Eternally on the defense, I pointed out that, on the phone she had only told me to bring two checks, and as I have two children...well, logic dictates what I will do. She did NOT say that two separate fees to two separate facilities, one being the Department of State and the other being the USPS, would need to be done in two separate payments.

Great. I retorted by suggesting, strongly, that she next time tells the client exactly what it is she wants us to bring rather than assuming we understand what "two separate checks" means. "Two separate blank checks per person" would have been correct. Then she asked if I had a debit card, which I do not. Then she asked about my husband. Of course he has no idea what is in his pocket, he just carries around whatever he always carries. Then, the question that has dictated the past 10 years of marriage: "So what do you want me to do?"

"Can you get the checkbook?" I snapped. I was admittedly snappy. When I prepare for an appointment then am told I prepared wrong, I get pissed off when not given the correct information in the first place.

"Which one"

"What do you mean, which one? THE Checkbook."

"Yours or ours?"

Um...pause here. Yours or mine? I just got my checkbook in December and have written two whole checks with it. It is not out in a public place; it is hidden in my room, in the same drawers as is hidden my purple bunny-eared joystick (with pearl action).

So, trembling with ire, I say, "The ONLY checkbook you need to concern yourself with."

"Where is it?"

Dude.

"On the table."

"The table?"

"Yes, the table."

"What table."

"THE table."

"WHAT table?"

"THE FUCKING DINING ROOM TABLE" is what I wanted to say, but I left out the explitive and I think he got the message. Ms. Post Office manager was silent.

When he returns in a few minutes, he spits at me, "So what, are you going to flee the country with the kids?" He obviously practiced that line all the way home and all the way back.

I spat back a "No" and let the stunned Ms. Post Office manager continue her duties. When she left, I turned around and He started, "This isn't about us, it's about them. It's about the kids. Even Young Prince in school..."

And I interrupted, "Excuse me, I didn't mean to be rude. I was told one thing and completed what I was told to do, and then get here and was told I did that wrong. You should know by now how impatient I get with those who can't tell me exactly what they want then throw it back in my face when I get it wrong. So I got snappy and I'm sorry," I whispered so the lady in the next cubicle couldn't hear.

I am fully aware of what I do wrong and I apologize when I am out of line.

*---*

This past week or so has really made manifest to me how much my life is on standby, and has always been, for Him. I can make a list of the history throughout the marriage of my compromise and my needs put on standby for Him, but I'll refrain. It is, now, to the point of having to be on standby for my morning shower...it all depends on when The Spirit moves Him to get his ass out of bed and into the shower, which is not the same time no two days of the week. I get a couple hours notice at best if he's taking the kids for dinner. Granted, Mondays are his nights with them, but as he somehow feels that he can schedule his counseling appointments for Monday afternoons and that I will be around to watch the kids, I usually just end up (planning and) feeding them anyway. My life is on standby due to this standby deployment...which there is 1/6 chance it will NOT happen, of course. I don't feel steps ahead can be realistically taken until this ends...when I can have a place for him all set up for when he returns, utilities on and in his name, dishes and furniture moved in--because Lord knows he will not do it himself. I would like to make my summer vacation plans to visit my family, and that is on standby until I know if and when he'll leave.

Maybe I should make my plans and tell him to plan his Hawaii trip with the kids around MY plans for a change. But I have a hard time doing that. Why? I'm not sure. I'm not thick-skinned enough to stand up for taking myself off standby.

With all this growing resentment, while knowing exactly what he went and told his counselor yesterday post-passport appointment, I think my shut-down button pressed itself and I went into power-off mode. I slept, awoke, then slept through the night until 4:30 a.m.

The vertigo is slight today and I am maintaining myself both hydrated and well-fed. I think I'm just stressed out, and even running four miles this morning hasn't taken that out of my system. If I could find time I would love to join a dance studio or do yoga again--but not as before as I prefer not to be hit-on again by a narcissist. That stresses me out, too.

I just want to be me, but I feel like that is on standby as well.