Magical Moon


First, I want to document the good and unusual.

I was given an hour today.

I know it has happened before, but this time there can be no mistake.  My alarm goes off at 4:30.  I rolled out of bed at 4:57.  I grabbed a quick shower and decided I didn’t have time to make coffee and would have to wait until I reached work.  I got into my car at 5:26 by the car’s clock, thinking I might just make it to work on time today.  I was busy marvelling at the clarity of the morning, the beauty of the full moon hanging in the sky.  I was contemplating what I needed to write today, my feelings on occurrences of the previous night.  I pull into the last turn towards work and look at my clock to see how close I am to being on time.

And the clock says 5:01.

Huh?

Yes, 5:01, and the cell phone concurs.  Much thinking, much wondering, much second guessing.  Can it be?  Did I read the clocks wrong?  How would my alarm have gotten so reset?  Was it daylight savings and I missed it?  In the middle of the week?  Who reset my clocks for me?  None of that makes sense.  My left brain is just going to have to accept this fact:

Somewhere, I gained an hour of time.

October 13, 2011.

No doubt about it.

I wonder what that will mean.  How?  Why?  When did it actually transpire?

I only know how COOL IT IS THAT I GAINED AN HOUR OF TIME!  I wonder if anyone else did, also.  If so, I wonder if we will ever meet, share stories, wonder together.  Something to dream about, that.

What a magical, cool, freaky way to start the day.  I wish I could recall exactly when this happened last time, but I know it happened at least once, and I am thinking twice. 

I think they were all in October, too.

Ah, when the veil between the worlds weakens.  Seriously cool.  I don’t know if I should share this with someone or not.  No one will believe me anyway.  Well, maybe Filip will.  He did watch his shirt disappear before his eyes, after all.  He might understand.

Wow.

Now, back to what I had been contemplating about when I gained time:  documenting the bad I must notate lest I forget.

He is still smoking.  OK.  It is my choice not to live with someone who chooses to smoke.  Even more so, it is my choice not to continue to live with an addict.

How addict?  It is just smoking!

Addict thinking prevails.  He was not as fearful, or as angry when he admitted he was still smoking, but addict thinking has not changed.

1.  I had to confront him with irrefutable evidence = his breath was clearly from smoking a cigarette recently.

2.  When confronted as gently as I could, he admitted.

3.  He rapidly minimized by saying ‘It just must be a habit.’  Not a choice, just a little habit.  I should be sorry for him that he has such a bad little habit.

4.  He turned it around on me by saying ‘I will tell you when I decide to quit.’  As if this was a gift, that he would tell me when he decided to stop being an addict. 

So, when was he going to tell me he was still smoking?  When I tried to compliment him on not having fallen back onto the crutch of one of his addictions just the day before?  Was he actually using those crutches during the time period I specified and accepted the compliment which made it a lie?  Is that why he felt defensive and that it was a backhanded compliment, because he knew it wasn’t actually true and that made him feel uncomfortable a bit and projected that on to me rather than be accountable and behave in an accountable fashion? 

So, it is as if he still believes that admitting something when someone has irrefutable evidence is the definition of honesty?  I am going to have to catch him, play detective forever or he will still go on without saying anything, concealing, hiding, what she doesn’t know won’t hurt me?  That he will not offer a truth unless I pry it from him?  That he will find an excuse and a rationalization rather than a reason to choose not to do the action?  That he makes me play ‘mommy’ or ‘daddy’ and catch him doing something otherwise he gets away with it and that is all OK?

No.

One of my flaws is that I don’t know what to say right off the bat when I am told something that makes me uneasy or makes my skin crawl or feels off but I don’t know why.  Then, I feel that I am not allowed to bring it back up later when I know how I am feeling and am ready to discuss it.  He has chastised me for this in the past, as well as others have.  But that is my truth.  That is how I process.

I will have to find a way to bring this issue up and explain my fears about the words he said and how they still felt like ‘stinkin thinkin’, just without the blatant anger.  Since he was previously so good at hiding his fear and anger and pushing it out sideways in passive/aggressive attacks, I don’t see lack of overt signs of anger or fear as a good sign.  Maybe patience is a virtue, but living in fear when I have choices otherwise is just plain stupid.  If I don’t share what I need, how I feel about things he does or says, then he will never know, and I will be lying if I say he chose not to meet those needs.  If I don’t tell him what I feel the need to say, then he will be without the critical information just as he leaves me without information to make my own decisions. 

So, examining why am I so uncomfortable:  Is it because I don’t want to live with a smoker, and if he continues at some point I will have to make that choice?  Yes.  I am therefore projecting my discomfort on to him?  Hmmm.  Not entirely.  I still hear the bells of ‘stinkin thinkin’ in his minimization and lack of information about the subject.  He is not forthcoming.  I have to ask, and dig for information, and have evidence first.  Am I uncomfortable because stinkin thinkin and smoking represent addiction and therefore his ability to readily fall back into sex addiction?  Absolutely.  If smoking was going to be his ‘fallback’ under stress, he still hasn’t stopped so the only fall back is still sex addiction when stress becomes more intense.  Am I uncomfortable because I am fearful and wish I could control him so I would feel safe?  Yes.  Unreasonable, but I can still wish it.  His smoking leaves me feeling unsafe, and that kicks in control issues.  I hope they do not leak out sideways into other areas.  I will have to keep on the lookout for that potential side affect in me.  Am I uncomfortable because this still shows a lack of respect for me, and for himself, and for openness?  Yes.  I can be patient for change.  But I only have so much patience.  He chose to destroy our marriage, my respect for him, my trust in him.  He can choose not to regain those things as well.  I can only choose what I will do if those are his choices.  Smoking has become much more than the simple ‘bad habit’ it once was in my thinking about him.  It feels like a shield, like a massive symbol of all that is addict in him, of his willingness to choose destruction, of his weakness, of his lack of self care, of his lies and concealing, of his displaying disrespect for me, for himself, of his filling himself with filth.  I feel like I am missing something critical in this examination still.  Something about myself that I am projecting onto this issue perhaps.  Something in me keeps this issue larger than life in my fears.  Maybe something about the uncertainty of the future, of lack of safety, of lack of certainty, of choices I will have to make, of waiting and waiting and waiting and feeling sick and old and tired and filled with sorrow rather than hope over the next year.

He will make his choices.  He may do whatever he chooses to do with his body and his life.  I can only chose what I do, what boundaries I make, what truth I share, where I draw the line where I am unwilling to accept a behavior in my relationships.  What I can do in response to those choices of mine.

I choose to work on my relationship skills.  I choose to practice honesty as best I can.  I choose to work towards as much health as I can figure out what health means.  I want healthy people and healthy relationships in my life.

And huge signs of magic. 

Just yesterday I was bemoaning the lack of magic in my current life, and wishing to do something more dedicated and ritualized to honor and increase it.

And the ‘brownies’ gave me an entire hour as a gift.

Darkest chocolate for my soul.

Sweet.

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