LIGHTBULB MOMENTS

The post I wrote yesterday titled My Secret Admirer was about a disastrous 5-year relationship I had with a man named Sal. One might wonder how an intelligent woman would get hoodwinked into such a relationship. I've asked myself that question many times. I think the best answer I can provide is that I was at a low point in my life when Sal came on the scene. I had just given up drugs and there was a huge void in my life where drugs had been. That void was where all my self-destructive tendencies seemed to play out. I replaced drugs with work and Sal. They became my new addictions. Plus Sal was a master manipulator. He knew how to get into people's heads and how to work them. He was very clever at it.

I know we all have had relationships with people that were not meant to last for one reason or another. So why do we get into those relationships in the first place? Why don't we think things through from the beginning and sidestep the ones that are only going to end in pain? Are the relationships that don't last meant to be learning experiences to take with us into the ones that do last so we'll know what not to do? Is there never any foresight in relationships and only hindsight?

My situation with Sal grew dangerous and involved the two of us owning things jointly even though we never married. I did have some wisdom to never do that even though he asked me to marry him almost every day we were together. When it had gotten to the point of no return and I had gotten arrested (a story for another time), I had no choice, but to do the rational thing and that was to pack my car with what I could, put my children in it, drive away and not look back. Sometimes you just have to cut your losses when you can before you lose your life.

On the flip side I've also been the recipient of unrequited love, the situation started as a casual one, but  realistically how many of those things ever stay that way the more two people see each other especially if great sex is involved? Okay! I know men and women look at sex differently most of the time. I do know men can have sex as just a physical act and it can be just that and only that without feelings ever being involved and that's okay if that's what the initial agreement between the two people is, but if no such "talk" was had to begin with and then it's a whole entire ballgame! In my case, no "talk" was ever had to keep things light and casual. As the two of us spent more time together, I developed feelings for him and he didn't for me. He monopolized my time because he liked the sex. 

All the situation it did was kept me hanging onto to something I never had any chance of calling mine and ultimately it made me feel used. The nicer thing would have been for him to have been honest with me than for him to be a "nice guy" and to keep coming around because he needed someone because he was lonely and at a lowspot in his life. All it did was kept me from moving on and finding someone who would and could love me the way I wanted to be loved. I wasted a great deal on time and effort on him for nothing. He just wanted how I made him feel whenever we were in bed together and that's it. This woman needed much more than to be someone's booty call. From start to finish the relationship if you can call it that lasted over two years. Looking back, I can't believe I let it drag on that long. I guess I did him a favor by ending it because when I did within a year after that he was married.

I learned a lot from those experiences, but also those things robbed me of much that I'll never get back. While the Anti-Christ (Sal) may have stolen a piece of my soul, the thief who stole a piece of my heart may very well be the reason I found Sal or he found me. The sting of being used and feeling unworthy stays with me still to this day. My ego was badly damaged in ways I never thought it could or would. I give myself all the pep talks, but nothing I say seems to help. Yes, Sal may have been the Anti-Christ, but Johnny was the real snake in the grass.  

MY SECRET ADMIRER

After moving away from Pensacola in 1985 to get a "clean" start someplace else, I took the summer to get my head together and to figure out what I was going to do and how I was going to do it. One day while my children and I were at a secluded spot on St. Joe Beach, I spotted a man walking towards us in the shallow surf. He had long dark hair and dark, piercing eyes. Tanned and shirtless, he effortlessly navigated his way through the shallow surf. As he approached, I saw he was dragging something behind him on a line. My kids got excited when they saw all the fish he had caught. He stopped so they could investigate his catch.

As they frolicked in the water playing with his fish, he sat on the beach making smalltalk with me. As he eyed my lean, well-oiled body, I kept expecting him to make his move, but that never happened. When he left I watched him walk away until he was no longer in sight. It wasn't until that moment, I realized we hadn't even exchanged names. It was just a random meeting that meant nothing, but it remained stuck in my head for some reason. Who was that mystery man? Each day, we went back to the same spot, but I never saw him again. It really was just a brief meaningless encounter. By the end of summer, the trips to that secluded spot on the beach came to an end with the start of school. I also had taken a job at a local motel on Mexico Beach and worked my way very quickly from maid into the general manager's position. 

The owner, who was more than burnt out seemed eager to relinquish her duties to someone capable and willing to be manager so she could do other more important things like shop until she dropped and visit her daughter in Tallahassee a few hours away. As my life settled into the sterile reality of life without drugs, I seemed to work more and more until my life was filled with little else. One morning Robin (one of the maids) raced into the office to clock in before going to work. Before leaving, she turned and quickly told me I had a secret admirer almost as an afterthought. As she stood there waiting for me to respond, I noticed she had one of those "oh girl, you're gonna get it" smiles on her face. I looked up from the desk and coyly told her that I accept roses from all my secret admirers. What else could I say? 

The idea of having a secret admirer seemed ludicrous, but the very next day, a dozen long stem red roses were delivered to the motel with a card saying "I accept candlelit dinners!" I immediately looked around to see who was watching me. Was I on Candid Camera? I even wondered if one of the guests might have sent them. At first it felt creepy, but as I looked at the roses throughout the day I felt flattered and wondered what the man was like who had sent them to me. Curiosity got the better of me and by the end of the day being manager was at the bottom of my list of priorities. I had a new mission. I needed to meet my secret admirer. 

When Carol and Robin (mother and daughter) came to work the next day, I cornered them for details, but all they would tell me was that my secret admirer was a house guest of theirs from New York. He was family friend who was visiting and who had made some very typically male comments about me when he saw me a few times when he had dropped them off at work. I saw my interrogation wasn't going to net me any real information, so I was going to have to keep my eye out for this man, so I could discreetly check him out for myself. When I got home that evening, there was another dozen roses waiting for me with a card saying "Well?" 

I hardly slept that night wondering what thoughts were going through this man's head and what he wanted from me. I figured I knew what he wanted, but I guess what I really wondered was where all of this was heading. I had never played cat and mouse quite like this before and wondered if this was how it's done in New York. If so, maybe Florida wasn't where I needed to be! The next morning as I got ready for work, my thoughts were still on him...whoever he was. Should I meet him? If so, how should I meet him? Where should I meet him? When I went outside to leave, my car wouldn't start. Carol and Robin only lived a few blocks from me, so I called and asked if I could hitch a ride to work with them. 

Robin told me she'd be there in a few minutes to pick me up. A few minutes later, a car I had never seen before pulled into my driveway and sat idling by my backdoor, but no one got out! All of a sudden it hit me who was sitting in the car. My secret admirer had come to give me a ride to work! As calmly as I possible could, I walked towards the car and then hesitated before opening the door. As soon as I opened the door and slid into the front seat, this mystery man, my secret admirer wearing a huge smile on his face, asked me where I wanted to go. To my utter dismay, it was the fisherman I had met on the beach four months earlier. I asked him to drive me to the store before going to work if he didn't mind. 

He howled like a wolf in response. I laughed and thought I must be even crazier then he was to be in his car with him, a complete stranger. I made it to work eventually in one piece and without me asking, he was there to give me a ride home. He asked if he could look at my car, so I felt obligated to cook him dinner...no candles, but a meal that definitely started the ball rolling. For the next few days while my car was being repaired, he told me to use his car. Each day when I returned home, I fixed dinner and we seemed to fall into an easy way of doing things that felt right. He howled a lot and I laughed at him for doing it. And in those first few days, we had some of the most mind numbing sex I have ever had in my life. 

If nothing else, for me that definitely sealed the deal. Over and over again I asked myself, "Who is this mystery man?" And what did he really want from me? A few years later when the truth finally surfaced like it usually does if you wait long enough, I found out he had removed my distributor cap in the middle of the night to disable my car from starting. Our meeting from start to finish was just another one of his elaborate manipulations. When he let me borrow his car while he worked on mine, I discovered that he had a duffel bag full of laundry in his car that had somehow gotten wet. I asked him if he wanted me to wash and dry it before it mildewed and got ruined. He thanked me and said yes. 

When I had finished washing, drying and folding all his laundry, I asked him where he wanted me to put it. At that point, it seemed like a logical thing to ask since he hadn't left my house since the day I met him. He told me to put his stuff wherever I wanted to put it. I hesitated for only a second or two before walking into my bedroom and putting all his freshly laundered clothes away in the extra dresser I had in my bedroom. That decision started a 5 year relationship in which I learned that Italians and Irishmen are a fiery combination and one that would have been better suited by putting his clothes back in his duffel bag and sending him on his way. And as many times as I should have done exactly that, I rode it out for 5 years until I was just a broken shell of a person and all I had left was my very bruised survival instinct and shriveled ego. That bruised instinct was what finally saved me from my nemesis and secret admirer, the Anti-Christ as I affectionately called him. His real name was Sal and he was a very bad man.

JAMES F MILLER OCTOBER 15, 2020

Perhaps I'm just being petty, but a few weeks ago I came across a Facebook post that rattled me. My ex-husband passed away October 15, 2020, but I never read his obituary. To be honest I never felt the need to read it and then a few weeks ago I was alerted to his obituary that someone had posted on his Facebook page. Stupidly, I went and read it. It wasn't the contents of the obituary that upset me but the photo that was used. 

Whoever was responsible for the obituary selected our wedding photo to use for his obituary picture. We divorced in the late 1990's and he had been with someone else for the last twenty+ years, but never married her. I just can't imagine that woman being okay with his wedding picture with me being used for his obituary picture. Of course, along with looking at the picture came me wanting to kick myself for looking at it. It brought back the full array of the avalanche my life underwent during that period. It used to be easy to blame him for all the pain I experienced, but I was there willingly. I may not have known initially what I was up against but when I did find out I had the option of leaving and I didn't...I stayed. I stayed through the shock treatments when he had a breakdown. I stayed even though he slept with a hatchet under the bed. I stayed even though he would disappear for days at a time with no explanation. I stayed until he left me and cleaned out our savings and took everything we owned and went to someone who had money and could keep him in a lifestyle he wanted. 

While he was disabled and couldn't work, I worked full time and went to school full time. Things were pretty stressful. My father's health was declining. He had two heart attacks. I felt like I was trying to be three or four people with little to no help. Jim was pretty zoned out on psychiatric drugs 24/7 so he couldn't be relied upon for anything (making a meal, doing laundry, etc.) As he got "better" he got paranoid and started thinking all sorts of crazy stuff. That's when he decided leave. Yes, he did me a favor, even though at the time it didn't feel that way because I had nothing left. He took everything I owned even the pictures on the walls. One day I came home from work to an empty house. I honestly don't know how I got through the first few months after that but I did. If it weren't for my children, I don't think I would have been able to get back on my feet. 

I know beauty is in the eyes of the beholder and I definitely know I am no beauty queen, but whenever I need to feel somewhat better about my old fugly ass I just look at what I got dumped for and know that Jim Miller really did do me a HUGE favor all those years ago. Yes, I've been alone a long time, but I've been here waiting for the right person to find me and sweep me off my feet. I used to laugh whenever he would call me and ask me to take him back. He made the mistake of telling me once he went to see The Rolling Stones with this woman and all I could think about was all the places he never took me. He didn't know it, but he really did me a favor by being honest then. Thank you, Jim! I really do hope you rest in the peace you never had in life!

WHAT ARE MY OPTIONS NOW?

[This whole post goes hand in hand with today's song! The first part of this post is taken from a post written in 2006 where I'm discussing an ongoing game of cat and mouse played between The Wizzard and me that spans from 2004 to 2018. The end of the post I wrote this morning where as I have to admit that cat and mouse game never stopped until The Wizzard as I nicknamed him because he was such a great sailor took his last breath. He did his first solo sail from Rhode Island to Bermuda when he was 15. By the way, I intentionly spelled Wizzard with two z's.] 

At present, I am engaged in a rather odd ongoing rather lengthy game of cat and mouse. I'm usually up for anything challenging, risky and a bit unconventional. As a participant, I'm always confident of the outcome, yet in this case I haven't figured out who's the cat, who's the mouse and what the stakes are for playing this game. I do, however, know all things come with some sort of a pricetag, but this pricetag seems so elusive. Win or lose, I know my investment (perseverance, honesty and unconditional love) has not gone unnoticed and on some level are qualities that have kept me in this game. My mind reflects on the serenity prayer remembering the difference between the things I can and can not change, but I choose to change nothing and remain steadfast until the end. I'll roll the dice and see what happens.... I fear the extremes, yet crave them like a drug. As this subtle, unrehearsed, spontaneous dance continues, the issue of options seems like a worthy topic to hold my focus for awhile...What are my options? I'm told to make my own options and eventually I will. Eventually, when all is said and done, things will have happened just as they were supposed to happen.

Out of the blue, the conversation changes from idle chitchat about basically nothing to let's read between the lines and see who can be more stubborn.The Wizzard or Red Kitten?

Wizzard: What would you do with me?
Red Kitten: Huh?
Wizzard: I said, "What would you do with me?"
Red Kitten: Yes, I saw that
Wizzard: And?
Red Kitten: And if I have to do something with you, what are my options and I'll pick one...maybe two things.
Wizzard: Make your own options.
Red Kitten: Yeah right!
Wizzard: I asked, "What would you do with me?"
Wizzard: You get to name the options, what are ya skeered?
Red Kitten: You know nothing scares me.
Wizzard: So?
Wizzard: Afraid of laying it on the line?
Red Kitten: Okay...I'd pick a ride on your bike and a few laughs.
Wizzard: Sounds like a good time.
Red Kitten: I think you know me better than that...like I said, nothing scares me.
Red Kitten: Are you afraid to lay it on the line?
Wizzard: But that sounds like a good time, low risk.
Red Kitten: It sounds like a male thing to me.
Red Kitten: lol

This is where the Wizzard retreats until next time and although we maintained a lasting friendship he never was able to tell me what he wanted from me. Unfortunately, it became a stalmate because neither one of us would budge. Too many things had happened between us for his simple apologies to fix the problems or for his amazing charm to gloss over the pain I felt. He had crushed my ego and made me question my self-worth.

The damage had been done and there was no walking that back. My heart would never trust him again and as it seems many years later my heart hasn't been able to trust anyone since. We remained friends, but we never were lovers again. The Wizzard moved from Texas to North Carolina and wanted me to join him there, but I couldn't...I wouldn't. I wouldn't allow him back inside my head and my heart like that again.

The Wizzard died in 2018 and I never saw him before he died so we could say our good byes.  

I did however find out what the pricetag for this cat and mouse game we played with each other was...it was my heart!

What are my options now? It's to move on and stop beating myself up. It's to mend my self-worth in whatever way I can. What Tom did was cruel, but it's been just as cruel of me to have bought into it all this time. I know who I am. Yes, I have flaws and impefections. We all have flaws! Someone who is going to love me, will love the whole package, flaws and all. That person won't make me feel like less of a person for not being perfect.

MEDICATION TIME

I know sometimes I ramble on about being alone when in reality, I'm exactly where I want to be. I think I have moments of weakness when I actually do miss having a significant other and then something always knocks me back into reality. Usually, it's someone I know going through some relationship drama that makes me want to vomit and run for cover. At times like those, I feel thankful that my life is without that kind of drama. Unfortunately, my life has other areas that take up the slack. I just read an article today about diabetes and stress. HA! And people think carbs are what kill... First and foremost on my bitchfest for today is my elderly mother. I call her "mother" for lack of anything else to call her. You see, this woman who looks like my mother really isn't my mother at all. The aliens must have abducted her about 5 years ago and put a empty pod in her place. The empty pod doesn't like to do the things my mother used to like to do. In fact, the only activity this pod likes is sitting in the dark and rocking in the rocking chair. 

The pod won't bathe, brush her teeth or eat properly, but when asked about depression, "it" responds that everything is fine. I'm at the point of pulling my hair out because I don't know what to do to help change things. All this stress is effecting my health, but short of installing an on/off switch in my head, I don't know how to just accept the fact that there isn't anything I can do. Believe me, over the past 5 years, I have tried everything known to man to interest the pod in anything and any suggestion I make is met with instant resistence. I even went as far as one day saying to the pod, "Okay we're even!" (I felt she was paying me back for me being such a rebellious shit in my younger years) The pod knew what I meant without any further explanation and it laughed at my frustration! The second bug that has crawled up my ass are people who disappoint me...I know,BOO HOO! I figure at this stage of life meaning "adulthood", people should follow through on things they say they are going to do or else they need to just keep their well-meaning pieholes closed. 

I'm tired of doing things for everyone and in turn, feeling like I'm used and unappreciated. Yes, I know I allow this and need to be a little less giving, but to be honest with you, I don't know how to be any other way. And I really don't think it's me who has the problem! Being able to give to others is an attribute, but the longer I live, the more I see it's an attribute that's taken advantage of by leeches, emotional vampires and other bottom feeders. At this moment I just want to tell everyone to "suck my ass dry!" I NEED DRUGS! NOW! And the sad part is, I'll take a deep breath or twenty and just go about my business. 

Gratitude statement: I'm grateful for being able to tell those around me, the givers of stress to fuck off ocassionally.