Don't read if you don't like bad language

I contemplated not posting the events of yesterday, but what the hell. It happened, and although it doesn't exactly show me up in the best of lights, so what? I think it's only fair. And besides, relating it is cathartic.

Night before last, I lost my temper during a snarky little email war that the Dumpster and I were having. But in October, when we had our first major, big-time blow-out, I decided I'd better put some Anger Management techniques into practice. It's not that I don't deserve to be angry; it's just that it is not wise to let one's anger control one's reactions. So I started the writing method - cranking out letters/paragraphs/emails filled with bitter, furious, sarcastic, cruel thoughts, lashing out with bad language and insults, letting all the pent-up frustration get the better of me. I wrote and saved to the Drafts folder about six or seven of these poisonous epistles, being very careful each time to save it to Drafts, and not hit "send"! Those of you who have read my fiction know I can be quite a wordsmith, and I poured a lot of my verbal talents into these vitriolic emails. Then I went to bed; the second half of the process is to go to sleep, having purged the crap; in the morning the emails are re-read, deleted, and one is then calm enough to proceed logically and gently.

Well.

I brought the Munchkin to the barn early in the morning for her dressage clinic, and my drive back was spent in prayer and contemplation how to reverse the bitter and caustic trend of our communication so that we could at least speak civilly to each other. I was getting tired of short, snippy emails, and was thinking about simply calling him and inviting him out for coffee so we could hash things out and relieve some of the awkwardness. So I was actually pleased when I pulled in the driveway and saw that he was there, getting ready to mow the lawn. I hopped out and greeted him, saying I was glad to see him; he looked at me with the hollowest, emptiest expression on his face I have seen EVER, and said:

"That was quite an email you sent me this morning. Don't worry, I'm going to just mow the lawn and then get the fuck out of your life."

I cannot describe how horrified I was by this. I knew I hadn't sent any of those emails ... I KNEW it. I had never intended to let him, or anyone else for that matter, read ANY of them. I stammered something out - that I hadn't sent them, I didn't know how it happened, he was not intended to read them - but he turned his back on me and said nothing.

I'm not even sure how I got back into the house. My knees felt like Jell-O and I could feel my blood pressure spiking (yes, on Lisinopril). I called the only person I felt would be able to understand, sympathise with both parties, and keep me from popping an artery ... [info]susubug.

Let me just tell every single one of you that she is the most impartial, funny, wise, and careful person I think I have ever met in my entire life. I postulate she might be the most impartial, funny, wise and careful person in the state of Georgia, if not the entire southeast. She took up the reins of my flat spin and controlled it, speaking soothingly to me while I checked my email. Oddly enough - and this is still kind of freaking me out - ALL THE EMAILS WERE STILL IN THE DRAFTS FOLDER. And NONE of the emails were in the Sent Folder. NONE. So I had no idea which of those caustic loads of crap he'd actually received.

I have no idea how long we were on the phone, but Susu, I owe you so big, I'll be in your debt past my death-bed and well into Purgatory - not heaven, because at the moment I'm pretty sure there's some penance to do! - so I'll polish your harp and preen your wings and give your halo a good buffing for the next millenium or so, 'kay?

I wrote him a note, apologizing for the email and trying to explain that I had never intended him to actually receive it. I also gave him the $600 I had saved to pay for half of the laptop (which was one of the original things we'd been fighting about). Then I put the note and envelope of money in his truck, and left.

I sobbed all the way to dance practice at Esmeray's house. I managed to pull myself together for the next couple of hours, but cried all the way home, too.

He was not there ... but had left a note scratched on the back of my note, saying he was sorry how things had turned out, he was glad he'd gotten to hear what was really on my mind, and he didn't want the money. The envelope was there, under a coffee mug full of four-leaf clovers. When we were dating and first married, he used to pick them for me ... he has this knack of seeing them hidden amongst all the three-leaf ones; he'd be strolling along, bend down, pick one, and give it to me with a smile.

Needless to say, I sobbed my way through my shower, too.

I picked up the Munchkin and Barn Hobbit, they got cleaned up, and I took them to the mall in Buford to shop and to see Star Trek: The IMAX Experience at the late showing. And Susubug, bless her congested heart, called just to make sure I was okay.

The Munchkin and I got our color-coordinated, matching belly button bling for the dance next weekend; both she and Barn Hobbit got new purses; I bought them funky and colorful new riding socks, and we ate gross Mall Food and saw the movie. (I loved it, but I understand why hard-core Trekkies hate it!) We learned on the way home that Barn Hobbit had NEVER SEEN A STAR TREK EPISODE OR MOVIE IN HER LIFE OMG, so while I went to bed ,they sat up and watched First Contact.

Let me just say, here and now, that the past nine months have been some of the most difficult I have ever experienced, bar none. But with friends like Susubug, I can get through this. I am so thankful for you all.

That said, here's some Food Porn.

For lunch today: Italian Wedding soup with tiny meatballs, oven-roasted baby zucchini stuffed with gorgonzola and fresh basil, and whatever else people are bringing ... I hope church runs late, as we've actually got someone coming to see the house this morning.

I am exhausted.