Thursday, December 11, 2008

Todd/Anne-Marie: Sick of it all...

I got up this morning around 10:30. The windows were frosted over, Hal's side of the bed was made as usual. I sat up, and immediately felt dizzy. I had a headache that felt like I'd been hit by a Buick. My joints were aching. My nose was stuffed up. In another place, in another life, I could've just laid back and said "screw the world." But here and now, I had to get up out of that warm, comfy bed, strip off my pyjamas, shower, put on a fresh set of bra and panties and some sweats, and go grocery shopping. Hurray life.

Maybe I'm just cocky from all those years of being a healthy Canadian male. Not that I never got sick in Canada, but I was able to withstand the cold better than this. I feel like death. And I had a lot of stuff on my DayQuil-addled mind, stumbling down the grocery aisle.

I haven't talked to "Julia" in days, since our little blow-up about her kids and our return plans. She was seeming just a little too reluctant to go along with the plan, whereas I will get out of this body no matter the cost. Who cares if she was being logical? If logic existed in this universe, none of this shit would've happened in the first place!

So yeah, I'm pushing the cart down the aisles, checking off items on the list... cereal, milk, ham, roast, taco fixins... whatever. I remember that first week when I had to look through the garbage to figure out what they needed. It felt humiliating. Now it's all become so damn routine. I look around at the other sad-looking midday shoppers - mostly moms like Anne-Marie - and I think, but for a little fate, I could've been any one of them, or they me. The teenage boy stocking the shelves, the girl at the checkout aisle chewing gum, looking like she'd rather be anyplace else. You and me both, sister.

I ran into this lady Anne-Marie knows, in the coffee aisle. Donna, or something. She tells me oh, we haven't seen each other in so long, we must catch up, and blah blah. I've been to her place once or twice, particularly back when I was new at being Anne-Marie, but I've been reclusive more and more the past month or so. Not much to catch up on. What would I say? "That person almost won big on the Price is Right the other day, the teacher says I'm an awful parent, and I miss my penis." Models smile soullessly at me from the magazine racks. I wheeze a cough, and think how unappealing I must seem. No wonder Hal cheats.

Is he really? No confirmation yet. Never asked Julia, was too mad already. I've just resigned myself that he probably is, and it's weighing on my mind pretty bad. I don't know if I care for my sake, or for the kids' sake, or for Anne-Marie's own sake, but I do care. Maybe I'd like life more if I was a desirable woman like Ashlyn. As much as any of us hates his situation, it wasn't hard for me, reading her old posts, to see how she became accustomed to it, to hear her tell. I keep telling myself, Hal's problem isn't with me it's with his wife but hell, that is me, for the time being. And infidelity hurts the children because if "Anne-Marie" finds out, can she... I... just deal with it? No. It means divorce. It means this comparatively idyllic house gets chopped in half and I'll probably have to get the kids, live on alimony, or get some BS job.

There I am, thinking long term in Anne-Marie's life. That's why I don't ask, because I don't want it to be my problem. In a very literal sense, Anne-Marie's doing it to herself... (if she's doing anything at all.) Seducing her own husband, where does she get off? (In the office I suppose. Sorry, even miserable I can't resist.) It's not hard to see why she would want to exploit this situation, win her man back and whatnot... I just wish she'd think of the consequences.

I'm sick of thinking about these problems, I'm sick of all the uncertainty about my future, and I'm just plain sick.

I hate to complain too much but I think given the circumstances you'll allow it.

It's just after ten and I'm exhausted. In another place, another life, I'd be ready to go out... now I'm ready for bed.


Anonymous said...

At least you know you have an audience of sympathetic readers to unburden yourself to. We appreciate hearing you, and everyone else here, tell your tales.

A.M. said...

Thanks very much... at a time like this, that really means something!