She's MINE now

I really want to be a positive person.  I hate what I see in others, the negativity, never finding joy in anything. 

[sigh] 

Well, Torbie cat slept with me all night.  When I woke up, at one point, battling a migraine, she was lying on my pillow gazing at me, lovingly.  She is a wonderful cat - one of the best I've ever known. 

#19, the party machine, was playing very loud music.  The police got him to turn it down but I could still hear it for most of the night.  I have to think this kid (him and his girlfriend are maybe 20) doesn't work for a living, probably a student, so he figures "everyone" likes to party on Friday night.  He isn't observant enough to realize everyone else is quiet, maybe I should be, too.  

I think the "partiers" in our neighborhood go out, then come home.  

I'd gone to bed with chills and fever.  I felt horrible.  I had a pretty nasty abscess on my leg, fairly big and deep.  It was pretty painful.  I figured out, later, the abscess must have been triggering the fever and chills.  Good old vitamin C to the rescue.  I had some of this on hand and took a couple grams.  It tasted fine, a little salty, but I always need salt!  I also drank some licorice spice tea, it is beneficial for the immune system. 

It's about 80% "better" today, I think my tendency to skin infections is my manifestation of  my family's immune deficiency problems.  So far, I have always been able to treat them at home. 

Ron and I had had a pretty good night, I made "his" pintos, he ate them, he did the dishes, I went to bed.  Ron kept me up for a while, doing dishes, but I didn't mind because I had sweet, fat, Torbie in my bed. 

However, it was just getting louder.  It was some other music for a while and then I guess he got drunk and put in the Mexican Polka CD.  It's like they only have the one CD, when they want to party.  It's the same songs, often in the same sequence, and 3 neighbors blast it when they're "having a good time".  #2 (to our right), #6 (to our left), and #19 (about a block away). 

It wasn't 2 or 6, it had to be 19.  But Ron got all weird about that.  He was adamant I had to go check.  Ron, I told him.  I'm sick.  I'm very tired.  I'm depressed.  The last thing I want to do is get out of bed with my favorite cat in the world and go verify it's #19.  If it's not the other two, it's always them. 

He said he wouldn't call until I "proved" it was them.  [My phone was off or I would have done it myself]  I got out of bed, threw on my caftan, and left the house.  Right before I left Ron did a 180.  Oh, I didn't have to go.  It wasn't necessary. 

I said forget it, I was up, I would look.  I left.  Ron said some very uncomplimentary things about me after I shut the door, assuming I couldn't hear him, I suppose.  I went and looked, yes it was #19.  Of course it was. 

I came back in and told Ron.  "By the way" I told him "If someone's in the yard they can hear every word you say in the house.  You might want to remember that."  What?  "I could hear you.  I just thought you should know in case you want to talk about (#6) or whoever - if they're in the yard, they will hear you." 

He went ballistic.  Said I was hallucinating, etc.  He hadn't said anything about me, he was in his room.  That's gaslighting, because I know for a fact he was in the kitchen making yet another drink.  I didn't argue with him over my sanity. 

I mean, really, an alcoholic, abusive, head injury patient maligns me?  Whatever.  I think my lack of reaction to the sanity crack got him even more upset.  He threatened to "tell (my) doctor (I) was 'losing it', 'the medication wasn't working anymore' etc."  

He plays this card now and then when he's clearly wrong - turning it around, everything is my fault because I'm "crazy" etc.  He's going to TELL!  

If Ron ever did pull that crap I would make the drinky-drinky gesture (pretending to swig from a bottle) and then indicate Ron. 

I have hallucinated vague human forms.  I hallucinate music on occasion.  I hallucinate bugs on my skin pretty frequently (lately, the fourth toe on my left foot feels like it's got crawlies on it).  I don't hallucinate my husband verbally abusing me. 

But I think that is one reason Ron has chosen "broken" women - so he can look down on them, demean and degrade them, and feel superior.  He can talk all he wants, but I don't have to receive it. 

Anyway, he called the police, they turned it down - but not off, and I went back to bed.  Happily Torbie was waiting.  I sure love her. 

I battle mixed emotions when I think about her former owners.  One, how could you let her go?  She is awesome.  She is clean, sweet, friendly, and incredibly loving.  Secondly, I'm furious they did.  Thirdly, I'm happy they did because she's MINE now. 

She is awesome. 

I slept pretty horribly, between the fever, music, and headache.  The headache pills (thank you generic Excedrin) did a good job.  I plan to take an aspirin before I take my nap. 

However, I had Torbie.  She makes everything better. 

She's just so sweet and loving.  I'm so glad she picked me, and I tell her that all the time.  She chose me, getting in my lap at the shelter when I sat down.  I never saw her coming but I'll never give her up (until God takes her).  She is wonderful. 

She was a lot more sympathetic than Ron. 

I got up around 8.  Took my shower, cleaned the shower enclosure.  Our friend did a great job with the rebuild, but he used natural stone mixed with tile.  That's a problem, because you don't use tile cleaner on natural stone. 

And the shower needed cleaning.  I have experimented using various "stone" cleaners.  I finally found some Wegman's Granite Cleaner.  That did a good job of cleaning the tile, and making the stone look great. 

Ron, of course, complained about the smell.  Do you want me to clean the house, or not? 

Agh.  No wonder I get so many headaches. 

Then I did my God Time.  

Ron has always had an iron-clad rule "I don't drink before 12".  He has broken that rule on occasion, and more often.  Today he decided to start drinking at 10.   "Because it's my day off, but I'd never drink this early on a work day." 

This from the guy "Don't ever let me drink before 12".  That's not my job, it's yours.  I'm not playing games.  He also said something about not wanting to become an alcoholic, if he did I would "have to get him into rehab".  No, you'll have to get yourself into rehab when you finally hit bottom and please God don't let him drag me with him. 

He seems to think he would receive it when I told him he has a problem.  As I've been telling him for several years now.  Ron's drinking began escalating after my diagnosis and treatment, because, to him it  "wrecked" the whole family dynamic.  I was better, and he wasn't.  He'll have to deal with it because I refuse to feel guilty.   

Anyway, since then I have been telling him "You have a problem" when I feel he's a at a reachable moment.  Every time he has said "Yes, I could have a problem, but I don't, see I made one mistake and messed up this one time, but I'm going to do this ___ now and it will never happen again." 

Denial.  Rivers of denial. 

Like I said, I don't want to be that bitter, miserable person.  That is why I will do my best to hang onto the good things in life, like my cat, and my faith.  That may be all I have right now but it'll be enough.