Fire Burn and Cauldron Bubble

Normally, I look forward to housesitting for Ex-Husband.  Ten days this time.  He has TV (that I don’t watch but could), no roommates to schedule laundry days with, wireless internet, oh yeah, and more than half my schtuff is still here.  (Changing that tomorrow!  It’s really overdue on my part.)

This time, Ex left three baskets of laundry for me to fold, which I’m not gonna.  He also told me that since the cat had barfed on the chair, I had a lot of cleaning to do. I’m so glad that I told him Mom was coming to visit while he was away so that he would clean ALL of the bathrooms.  

He left paperwork for me to do, which I am gonna do what I can when I want to.  He didn’t ask me, but rather told me about it the day that he left via cellphone conversation.  

There was no, “Would you be able to do this tonight (Thursday), and tomorrow and the next day and the next day?”

There was no, “Do you have plans tonight because I need your help with finding 30 pieces of paperwork that are somewhere among the stacks of mail I haven’t really dealt with in 6 months?”

What I got was, “My dad’s going to call you tonight for some information that you’re going to have to find for him.  It won’t take long.”

Gara-guh-huh?  WTF?  

I wish I would have said, “I’m not your wife anymore, so I’m going to have to say, ‘no.'”  I should have said, “I have a date tonight and family night the next night and a double shift on Saturday, so that’s not going to work for me.”  But I didn’t.  I said, “Okay,” with hesitation and a note of resentment.

I have to admit the resentment has grown over 3 days. I have asked myself why, why, why do I have to still deal with all this crap?  I answer myself with many reasons, such as, karma, because I didn’t say “no”, and  because I trained him to expect so much from me…still.  

Rather than practicing the Art of Saying “No,” I’d like to practice the Art of Saying “Bite Me!  I’m not your wife anymore.”

Let’s say it together.  


And if he doesn’t listen, I can tell him to chew on my smelly, sweaty running socks.

Damn, I feel mean and unlike myself by writing all of that.

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