15 March 2007

Heathens get unhappy too.

As I've mentioned before, I'm married to a non-heathen. This is not fun when that non-heathen is somebody who can't seem to wrap his brain around the idea of respect.

I still haven't set up my harrow, because I am not willing to find it suddenly cleared off one day (with the cup and bowl sitting in the sink with bacon grease and whatever else dumped all over them from other dirty dishes) because my husband suddenly decided to "get rid of clutter"--this is the same man who will put on pants that one of the cats has piddled on without bothering to wash them, because he feels the need to go to the all-night CVS to get a refill of his Primatene RIGHT THE HEL NOW.

I don't bother inviting him to come with me to the monthly public blots here in Raleigh, because I don't want to be embarrassed by hearing him say whatever bullshit comes to mind--and especially because I don't want to hear the whole ZOMG UR NOT SPOSED 2 DRNIK speech whenever I get the horn (Disclosure: I was a teetotaller for 14 years specifically because I had/have a drinking problem--the full story is more involved).

I feel uncomfortable whenever the Elders or my husband's Home Teacher come around, because I just KNOW that I'll have to deal with stuff like "Oh, she's decided she's Norse this week" or "I guess she decided she didn't like Wicca" (Disclosure: I have a Scott Cunningham book, which I bought because it looked interesting and because I wanted to see if I could get some ideas for some modern fantasy stories I was writing).

When I go to blot I pray that my boss won't call for me, because I just know that the first words out of my husband's mouth will be some variation of "Oh, she's off playing viking."

It seems that no matter how much I try to protest or explain, he never gets it. What was that I said? He's getting better? I must not have been well that day.

It's not easy, especially when you're effectively solitary. I'd hoped to avoid mindless ranting and what I see as self-pity in this blog, but it seems unavoidable doesn't it?

I feel trapped in this relationship--my paychecks go into a bank account that I am not allowed to access (if I want to make a deposit or use my husband's ATM card to cash a check, I have to do it at an ATM--otherwise the bank won't allow me to do it because of specific instructions given to them by my husband). I don't make enough to be able to "strike out" on my own, and I just flatly refuse to take shelter with friends because they don't have room for all four cats...and because I don't want to (in my opinion) freeload off of them. My faith gets belittled every time I bring it up, my friends get the third degree every time they call (if they're male), and heaven forfend I get any postcards or letters from somebody that isn't a known relative.

Now I know why he had seven fiancees before he met me.

And so I find myself just waiting for him to die or hoping that I'll win the lottery, so I can just leave like I probably should have done years ago. I'm sick of this garbage, sick of this misery, sick of this life. I'm sick and tired of being sick and tired.