Update On The Brat Post

I did have the first of what I hope will be many conversations with J about the state of the house. She acted really hurt when I expressed my frustration around cleaning up over a decade of clutter and mess. The Brat/Little Model is something she doesn’t see nor will I bring up any time soon. She had a deep cry and I felt bad about being a hard ass. But I have expressed my self for a long time. This will take some practice.

Jade asked a good question about love languages. I fully get that her working is an expression of love, her love language, if you will. Doing the housework at more intensive level makes me aware of my physical limits, so working a “real job” isn’t going to happen soon.

Progress though. Real love felt.

When Your “Little” Is A Brat

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Firstly, I was unaware of the Daddy/little girl dynamic at work until about a week ago. What I was aware of was the behavior of her in regard to not doing any work around the house, hoarding, allowing messes to persist, offering excuses about being “tired” at the end of the work day, not putting clothes in her dresser drawers, et cetera, ad nauseam. I would cook so she didn’t have to; my ego needed the praise for my cooking,

So I “enabled” a lot of bad behavior, the kind of behavior you see in a twelve year old who won’t clean her room. I can’t let her get away with this behavior anymore. That means I have to be assertive. That runs counter to my normal easy-going, non-confrontational persona. Yikes.

She has two trump cards, bullet proof excuses. 1) She is tired after work. 2) She has a kidney stone working its way out. These excuses won’t “cut it” any more. I cannot live in a mess.

I was unwilling to acknowledge that this mess of a house is a BIG deal. I never viewed it as disrespect towards me. This was possible when I didn’t view myself as worthy of, deserving of and needing respect.

This is about my self-perception changing.

Three AM 21 August 2019.

I have been awake about two hours, forty five minutes. Finally the sleepiness is returning. I’m coming to understand that I need to write now more than I need to read. I need to purge more than I need to acquire. One of the hard lessons to learn in this culture is that nearly all of us have enough Stuff. That’s why t ou see so many thrift shops. I’ll bet there aren’t a lot of thrift shops in Burkina Faso, Guatemala, or Bangladesh. And so it is back to bed, to be beside my wife.

Awake at Midnight

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Sexual Content. Be Advised.

I was so tired last evening, I went to bed at 8:30. I slept for four hours, had a dream in which I spanked J, her skirt raised, she was wearing pantyhose, nothing else, and in the dream, I did not feel like rolling them down to expose her naked buttocks. This is pretty explicit, as far as my dreaming goes, The spanking took place in my old apartment, where we first made love.

So thoughts are bubbling up. That I went up early means something. That I was with her, rather than downstairs channel-surfing YouTube, is the other main point.

Talking about sex is still the Mount Everest of our marriage. We have to climb that mountain together. The big deal for me now is I have to not be nice. Talk about climbing Mt Everest!

Little Appetites

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Little appetites accumulate as desires deepen and fancies swell.

It is your neck I want at first to lightly kiss then tease your ear lobes with little nibbles, reminding you of who owns you.

The promises of reason do not ignite the soul; as such they fire no sparks.

And now, it is you, naked, that I want, to wrest from you, surrender and submission.

You become mine to please and pleasure, as you are treasured and taken, the slave transformed to goddess, in the magic night.

Records Management

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J and I have two really bad complementary habits. We hoard and we procrastinate going through the piles and piles of pay stubs, paid invoices, paid medical bills, greeting cards, church bulletins (for both important and trivial occasions), Holy Cards, and interwoven with all of this conglomeration of paper, junk mail.

Well, there’s a new David in town and he is attacking one of the Rooms O’ Crap. I just spent two hours going through stuff, put some recyclable paper in a shopping bag (or as my grandfather called it a “poke”), and shredded some, but not nearly enough.

This is all part of letting go for me. I have to retain some, I suppose, in case the IRS decides to audit us.

It’s all about avoidance. To grasp the short term pleasure of a book, game, TV show, cup of coffee, even, especially, pornography.

But this is what humans do. I didn’t invent this behaviour, despite what my mother and ex-wives said. I may have perfected it, but I didn’t invent it.

The room is in transition, as the picture will attest.

Peppermint Tea

I woke up fixed a cup of peppermint tea. Right now, I’m watching a Buster Keaton movie,Seven Chances, on Turner Classic Movies.

I am worried about Mrs McDaddy. I heard there were fires in Sonoma County. I think that is where she and her husband live.

I’ve been up an hour. Going back to bed

Father Sunil

Father Sunil was at the 5:00 Mass at St . Bridget’s Sunday to generate support for the Syro-Malabar Catholic parish that is growing here in Richmond. Briefly the Syro-Malabar Catholic Church acknowledges the authority of the Holy See (Pope, Bishop of Rome), but does not use the Latin Mass (Rite).

So after Mass, I introduce myself, and I ask him about cricket. He is a fan! Priests always surprise me when they don’t have their “game faces” on. He is a really nice guy. I have heard him say Daily Mass at The Abbey. I told him I would be there this morning. Now it is 0316. Mass is at 0700. I have been up about 30 minutes. I want to go back to bed. I have had only about three hours sleep.

Sometimes, when I awaken in the middle of the night, I feel the pain of the grieving, broken, brutalized world. I don’t have any solutions.

I will go back to bed soon.

Back Story On Found Stuffy

When J came home about an hour ago, she saw the newly discovered Teddy Bear.

“Dan gave that to my mother for her birthday one year.”

J’s mother, Lola passed away on 26 December 2009, St Stephen’s Day (Boxing Day). She was 92.

Dan, her brother died this year on 29 March. He died of ALS, a result of combat service in Viet Nam. (Maybe from Agent Orange exposure,but the government doesn’t out right admit it.)

Now this bear is even more important, I suspect. Dan’s time in Viet Nam was in 1968-69, when J was around fourteen.

He came back alive, only to die from war nearly fifty years later.

We’ll see where this goes.