Tits Away - Tis the Season to Be Grumpy

Have I got news for you? Yes, I have! But let me start at the beginning...

On Friday, December 13th (eek. Friday the 13th!) there was supposed to be a meteor shower. I set my alarm for four o'clock so I could have a look. I saw-nothing, and it was bloody cold, too. But I remembered the film Night of the Triffids, for some reason. I was just as glad I didn't see anything.

I love those old B-movie science fiction films, made before I was born. This was great, and I recommend renting the original, if you can find it. The remakes are crap. Why do they bother remaking classics, and then they wreck them? Might as well call them Attack of the Celluloid Turkeys and be done with it.

Well-I have been everywhere, I have seen everyone, been poked, prodded, blood-letted, sampled and examined within an inch of my life-just so I can be alive after New Year's Day, I suppose. And what was I told? I am in really good health-for my age. I had to reply that the least people could do is just leave it at the fact that I'm in good health, and forget the last bit-if they want to reach my age, that is!

So I went to see Heidi, the vestibular physiotherapist, and she gave me a list of things she wants me to do before she sees me in January. Heidi is going on maternity leave, so that will be the end of vestibular physio. What she told me was that I might-and she meant "might"-get 80% of the ability to do the things I used to do, not 80% of complete balance (as in, a normal person) back. And it will take time, given the year that I have had. She wants me to leave the eye exercises alone and start going out and doing all the things I would ordinarily do: go to the museum, go to the theatre, and so on. I am to walk uphill, downhill, in the daylight, dusk and dark. And I am to get on the underground, too. Heidi said that the only way my brain will make new neural pathways is if I challenge it relentlessly, by doing everything I have been unable (and unwilling) to do since the gentamicin thing happened.

On Sunday, I decided to delete LinkedIn. I thought about all this since the invitation arrived from the Spawn of Satan, aka Bob Dimmack, my miserable ex-husband. I've been wanting to unsubscribe from LinkedIn for months, since I see no point in having it. I don't even use Facebook, because I keep forgetting the password. And here is where the news comes in.

I got onto LinkedIn- and there it was, a photograph of a very nice looking sports car. Who was standing in front of it, but Bob himself. Not only that, but he shares the account with-his wife. I could have screamed, I was that upset and angry.

Now, I left him because I got sick of his manipulative bullying, his constant putting me down, his tendency to put me down, threaten me and call me the "c" word. Bob was an emotional terrorist-and, because I cared about him (and was clearly insecure, as he was), I stayed. After awhile I began to believe him. That was the way he controlled me, as he did (I believe) his previous wives. And when I finally had enough and filed for a divorce, he swore he would be penniless out on the street before he would give me a penny. By the way, we worked together throughout the marriage-so I was entitled to half of everything. I loathed him so much by that time, I told him to shove everything and I left. With nothing. So - I would never, ever back to him. So why was I so upset?

I had to think seriously about this. And-after a few days, I realized that he had only sent the LinkedIn invitation to rub in my face the fact that he has a sports car and a new life. Even eight years later, he still wants to upset me. He succeeded-but only briefly.

It isn't like I want him to get run over by a bus. Well, maybe if it runs over his legs. Four or five times.

What has happened to Christian forgiveness? It's Christmas, and all that-and who cares? Screw forgiveness. I finally felt nothing but pity-and then total indifference-but, really, the man treated me like something you step in, and-I certainly am not mystified as to why he wanted to get in touch. He wanted to gloat. Sad, really.

So do I wish him a happy life? No. Hell, no! I wish him years of the kind of misery he inflicted on me. I wish him Irritable Bowel. Acid reflux. Insomnia. Arthritis. Gout. Impotence. Hemorrhoids. Genital herpes, and shingles. And if there is such a condition as "old geezer's boils and acne", I wish him that, too.

Vindictive, me?? Now I feel better. And with the passing of a week and some serious thinking and regaining of perspective, I can see how pathetic he is to contact me at all. There is clearly a good reason I call him the Spawn of Satan!

I said "perspective"-and that is really true.  I have better things to think about than a nasty, pathetic, pitiful bully. The time since I walked out on him might have been difficult (it was, very), and the last four years (gentamicin, etc.) were dire and horrific, but I realized how strong, powerful and resilient I really am. I got through it.

And this is the end of the year, and I am glad to see the back of it. Roll on, 2014. I can deal with anything now. I've dealt with worse than emails from a total asshole!!