It’s abundantly obvious, I’m sure, but it’s over-emotionalism week in Zoeyjane land.
I’m running on empty because of Isobel’s new tantrums and refusal to do anything, including nap; because I’ve got clients dropping spontaneous deadlines on me when they didn’t even bother remembering the usual deadline in the first place; and this passive aggressiveness I’m exhibiting in relation to my ex’s lifestyle, it’s getting to me.
I’m a lot of things, but passive aggressive is rarely one of them. I’m aggressive aggressive. Throw knives in your heart until you want to die of guilt aggressive. I will melt the skin off of your face with one of my lectures aggressive. I’ve maybe got aggression issues.
And tonight has been another one of the last straws. Isobel was a peach all day, meaning a complete and utter terror. Brought me to the point of admitting, out loud to her father that I’m getting frustrated enough to want to slap her sometimes. I won’t. Ever. But the wish has come. And his solution was the usual. Joke about it. Tell me to relax. Commiserate. What the fuck does he have to commiserate about? Nothing.
So he met us half way to drunk. He drank while he was here, as he always does. After a mere hour and a half, he was drunk. I have a need to run out for smokes. It’s been one of those days when the thought of no cigarettes all night will make me go insane with anxiety. I ask if it’s cool if I run to the store after I put her to bed. It’s a building away, so I’m willing to leave her in his possession for that.
And honestly, only for that long. I don’t leave her with him ever. She doesn’t visit him, doesn’t stay over at his house. He doesn’t have the wish to take her out to do anything special. This is the usual for the past two months – he’s never not drunk or drinking heavily unless he’s crashed here and it’s first thing in the morning. Before naptime even rolls around, he’s drinking again. He is mostly only okay drinking or on his way to it.
And the only way we’ve gotten along for as long as we have is if I STFU about it. Don’t guilt trip. Don’t lecture. Don’t ask him why the fuck his relationship with his daughter is taking a back seat to shiraz and hanging out with the boys – something he’s admitted to (he’s having fun). Let him drop down his four times a week visits to twice. Let up on him going a day sober so that he can have an overnighter with her (he doesn’t want to now, cuz he doesn’t want to change his life).
He never wanted friends before – thought people were untrustworthy. Now, he’s buddying around with people who make jokes about fucking his daughter. He has become the ultimate drink whore.
I ask him if I can run out for three minutes to grab smokes and he says he’ll let me bum off of him. Then I’m putting her to bed and he’s on his way out the door and I have to yell out to remember that I need smokes. So he waits. And he lets me have six of his and leaves.
I pop in two loads of laundry and prep for some work. I go to have one of those pre-sitting-on-your-ass-being-productive puffs and I realize something. He took the fucking smokes with him. I call. I tell him that he needs to come back and that it’s not fair. He says to buy a pack and he’ll pay me back.
I have to literally screech at him that it’s not the money, it’s that I have a fucking child alone with me and can’t just walk out the fucking door and leave her. He says he’s not turning around cuz he’s already gone, like 10 blocks away. It’s not fair to him. He starts to say again that I should just write a postdated cheque and I cut him off, again saying that it’s not the money, it’s that Isobel is sleeping and there’s no one else here.
He tells me to leave her. It’ll be fine and no one will know. EXCUSE THE FUCK OUT OF ME? Leave her alone, in the apartment building when no one else is around or knows where I am? (What if something happened? What if I get robbed? What if something stops me from coming back and she’s all alone?)
I went cold. I say, “are you kidding me? You want me to leave her alone. By herself. With no one watching her.” He says I’ll have to cuz he’s not turning around. It’ll apparently add an extra two hours to his commute. TWO HOURS?
And then the real Zoeyjane comes out and says, “this is why you aren’t here and you’re not allowed to be alone with her.”
He gets upsetter. He (I can picture) starts doing that angry drunk thing when saliva is foaming out the sides of his mouth and he’s slur-yelling at me “Do you really need me to come back? Cuz I’ll turn around right now. Do you want me to? You sure? You sure? Cuz I’ll do it. I’ll come back there right now. I’ll turn right around.” He’s not even letting me reply.
He stops for a second and I wilt and say no. And he continues with his are you sure tirade until he decides to hang up.
Hatred comes fast and furious around here and right now, I’m back in that fuck him. Fuck this. Fuck being nice and making room for his issues. FUCK THIS NOISE, I’m sick of it.
