i hate being ambushed

after telling you over and over how much it hurts to be ambushed, you ambush me. deliberately and with forethought, you ambush me. you act like nothing in the world is the matter except the same bullshit at your work -- but that's not true, is it? that damned email was eating away at you every day and you made no attempt to even try to work it through. yes, i was sick, but we have a journal, right? you couldn't use the journal. you couldn't even give me a heads up, even though i've made every effort to let you know that it's okay to take shit with you to talk about. and that's all i've asked.

i guess i should've known the other day when you didn't want to talk about work. you'd acted as if that was all that was on your mind, but when i came to comfort you, you said that you wanted to wait to talk about it in session. i should've known that you were hiding something else because you never not want to talk about work. you'd talk about it to God if you thought God had nothing better to do than listen to you whine incessently about how many managerial levels of people you've whined incessantly to, how many different managers or directors you've whined to even though half of them only stay around for maybe six months of your incessant 'they won't respect me' whiny assed drivel. but suddenly, that friday evening, sitting at your desk with your head lodged between my tits, you somehow didn't want to talk about work. that should've been my first clue.

i hate being sick. but more than being sick, i hate being ambushed.

at any point, you could've said, 'y'know that email you sent me really hurt but let's talk about it in session'. i've never had a problem with that. well, not true. i did have a problem with it when you said it right before i was scheduled to get on a plane and go halfway cross the world into a third world country. sometimes i think you pulled that shit about the key because it was the very last thing you could do or say that would make me delay leaving. you knew i could never leave you knowing that there was a problem between us.

or if you didn't know, you damned well should have. what the fuck made you think that after having to go through the whole process of making sure my affairs were in order by my fucking self, after doing all the fucking laundry and packing and cleaning by my fucking self just so that YOU could live and not worry too much about taking care of the house in my absence, after spending time comforting you in your whinywussypussyassed blubbering -- time i shoulda spent finding my keys cuz THAT'S what you decided to use to fuck with my head five minutes before i needed to get to the airport . . . what makes you think that after doing all of that BY MY FUCKING SELF BECAUSE YOU WERE ABOUT AS USEFUL AS A DULL KNIFE ON A SOFT WRIST, that i would be okay with leaving with my relationship with a problem so huge that my lover felt the need to tell me we'd have to wait until i got back to work it out?

you fucked with my head. you deliberately fucked with my head. and then when i called you on it, when i told you how hurtful it was to have you jumpin my shit over a fuckin CAR KEY -- that after you wussed out and laid in bed and fucking spazzed out so i couldn't do anything but take care of you wussinpussyin out ass and LOCKING YOUR CAR KEY IN THE CAR . . . and me taking all this in stride and being understanding and making sure someone would check on you and cleaning up and doing all the laundry and doing all of my own packing with more help from a dead fly than i could've EVER have gotten from you and taking care of all of those oh-shit-i-might-die documents with only a weakassed 'thank-you-honey' coming from you . . . after busting my ass to take care of both of us while being understanding and sympathetic of you going through your weakasseddodderingoldlady form of separation anxiety . . . that the thing you thought to be such a huge problem that we'd have to wait and talk about it in session . . . that that thing was a fucking KEY. you were upset because i couldn't be your wheres-the-fucking-carkey backup???? you were upset with me because you might forget and my key wasn't available for you to fall back on??? you know what? YOUR MEMORY SHIT IS YOUR FUCKING PROBLEM!!!!! or at least, that's what i remember you telling me, so long ago when you started feeling like a useless sack of shit when i TRIED to HELP you find ways of remembering stuff.

and even if it ain't, what gives you the right to bust my ass about my keys when YOU'RE the one who had just LOCKED YOUR OWN FUCKING KEYS IN THE CAR that very day? at least i could get to mine without having to ask a stranger to break into our car -- with a whole parking lot full of people as an audience. you wanna talk irresponsible? fuck you.

and after dealing with that . . . after telling you what a crock of shit it was for you to even consider bustin my ass over somethin stupid -- and telling me that just before i fly halfway round the world . . . i . . . sorta . . . forgot about it all. i relaxed and enjoyed being home. you took care of me. i was so sick and you took care of me, lulling me into the false sense of security that comes with believing that everything was okay. but it wasn't, was it?

you know, it's fine that you were still hurt over the email i sent you about the fucking car key. it's even fine that you wanted to wait and discuss it in session. sometimes there's stuff that i only want to discuss in session, and i let you know that. i don't tell you just as you're leaving for work; i tell you in the evenings, after you get home, and then i tell you again a day or so before the next session. i don't sneak shit in to talk about. i tell you if i'm bringing something because we're there to work together, not fight each other. i'm not preparing for battle with you. i'm preparing to work in love with you. i don't want to sneak-attack you and i don't want you to feel ambushed cuz that shit just hurts. it fucking sucks. so if i've gotta bring something to help me focus my thoughts on whatever it is i need help in discussing with you, i'm gonna let you know what i'm bringing and why i'm bringing it. i'm not gonna waste energy and effort by hiding my intentions from you. that's not the relationship i want.

you got what you deserved when i went off on you about the key issue. it was minor, so minor in fact that you knew that it was something that could've waited til i got back to even bring up. you knew i didn't need to know that in that minute. and if you didn't, you should have. because we're adults, and adults think things through before they say them. adults are considerate and they don't fuck with each others' heads by throwing them into a panic attack over little minor shit. if you knew that it could wait til i got back to discuss it, then you also had to know that it could wait til i got back to even bring it up. and if you didn't, you should have. because that's the way i treat you. i would never let you walk out the door, whether you're going to work or you're going halfway round the world, never let you walk out the door with a relationship issue hanging over your head -- not an issue about a sex, drugs, or politics, and DEFINITELY not an issue about fucking carkey.

you fucked with my head. whether it was an accident or an intention, that's what you did. and you did it five minutes before i had to leave the country. and you did it knowing that i had been awake for over twenty-four hours straight. and you did it knowing that i'd busted my ass to take care of you, in every way i could. and you did it knowing that i did all that with nothing more than a few weakly, trembly thank-you-honeys coming from you. oh, and the pleasure of watching a stranger break into our car to retrieve the keys you'd locked in there.

if anybody else had fucked with my head with even only ONE of those conditions present, they'd be lucky to live to tell about it. you're lucky i didn't knock your funky little ass halfway into the next county for fuckin with my head over a fuckin car key. i have killed for less than this.

and then you ambush me . . . you sneak shit into session as if you're preparing to do battle and you don't want the enemy to know what you're armed with, or even that you're armed. and you ambush me with it.

and you ask me today if there's anything we need to talk about.

no. not really. i'm just glad we didn't fuck last night. i'd really hate you, if we had've.