My STUFF

I talked about my desk both as a kid and now. My desks are my comfort zone. They are set up for me and to me. But it is MY STUFF.

Being married, I have always rebelled at MY STUFF all of a sudden becoming OUR STUFF. I am not talking about kitchen stuff, living room furniture, or tv's...I AM TALKING ABOUT MY SPONGE BOB SQUARE PANTS MOUSE PAD. Sorry I yelled. But leave my stuff alone.

I have found that my husband's tendency to procure things has become less than cute as time has progressed. When we married, I had a collection of Disney sweatshirts. Those were soon OURS. Not so much an issue until I found one of them in the trash "I don't wear it anymore". BULL SHIT....not yours to throw away! But he flashed his blue eyes & he FEELS he gets away with it.

SO my mom is dying...I am living in Oregon for 3 months to help. Husband is visiting from Utah. My dad is...well, dad. If I look at him now, I would say OCD and ADD. Every day he had a pattern in caring for my mom. He would get up, get her coffee started (set up from the previous night) and get her pills and water. Awwwww...you say. I guesso. But he was just a fanatic about it. 2 scoops of coffee, 6 cups of water. So, the husband leaves....that night the dad is FREAKING. "Where is the God Damned scoop?". When I say freaking, I do mean that. Drawers being slammed, cupboards being opened & closed, dishwasher checked...all with a vengance of someone under duress. I find another scoop & tell him how it will work. The new scoop would require him to use 3 scoops for 6 cups...his aged face looks at me "But where is the scoop?". I walk away and call the husband....yah he took it. He wanted something to remember Faye by....a fucking coffee scoop? My dad is going nuts and you took the ONE thing holding his sanity together as a keepsake? Yes, he says. I confess to the dad what has happened..."but the scoop? Ok Heather....."....shaking his sad little head. Inside I say...yah dad, the scoop.

So, same dying mother....different visit...probably earlier. I see he has a school picture of me when I was 15. I have hated the picture not for any other reason than it is in a really cheap green frame & I am wearing red...DOES NOT MATCH. And I can't figure out of all the kids and all of the school picture, why does my mom put THIS ONE out on her dresser. So the husband has it. INCREDULOUS I ask where he got it...your mom. WHAT? She is DYING...and you are taking her shit? I asked her if I could have it...she said yes...I like it. GOOD GOD MAN...youa re stealing from a dying woman. She gave it to me...it was simple to him.

Recently I have moved my stuff into the main part of the basement. I would LOVE to say there is a great reason other than I want to be on the computer AND watch tv. Sad, but I am currently addicted to NCIS...I picture myself as Abby, sadly I think our only commonality is Super Big Gulps. In this set up is my craft table. Had it for years. Other than a small stint as my dining room table, always has been my desk or craft table. My recently unemployed husband ANNOUNCES to me that he is using my "bench" for his tools! OH HELL YOU DIDN'T...that is my stuff. Yah...my craft table in MY area covered with (honestly) MY tools that he rarely uses. He had one day to remove them....as he did amiably.

The reason for this rant, vent, bitch or story, is the mouse pad. The other day I came home and smelled coffee in my bathroom and the counter was marked with it. Didn't figure it out until tonight. In the husband's office is MY Sponge Bob Square Pants mouse pad....OH NO YOU DIDN'T. Being on the phone with my sister I yell..."That is my God Damned mouse pad you put it back". His beseeching little face no longer works for me "But I spilled coffee on mine, you have another one"....not working, I cleaned up the spilled coffee. "This is the one I like, go get the shitty one AND LEAVE MY STUFF ALONE". My sister on the other end of the phone said "Why is he touching your stuff?". Exactly.

Imagine my counselor hearing this story. Histrionic, overreacting, and outside of normal communication boundaries. Nah...the husband lives in the land of OURS when it suits him. His stuff is nothing I want...OOOHHHH...am thinking right now I will take his autographed ball from some washed up aging baseball player AND put it on MY desk. LAUGH...he will freak. LAUGH. Talk about the land of OURS.

When you read about people born under the sign of Cancer, their things, home and day to day life are very important to them. We are nestlers. We view things which surround us as a comfort...a necessity for our balance. SCREW THAT...DON'T TOUCH MY STUFF...especially MY SPONGE BOB SQUARE PANTS MOUSE PAD....you have been warned.

Be great to you!
H