Diary of a Sex-Starved Pseudo-Mennonite, Part 15

The first night of my much needed 2-week vacation, I received a text from Satan. That is how my ex-husband is identified in my contacts. Big orange "S." He's not blocked. I'm not really a blocker. Cock or otherwise. The only person currently blocked in my phone is Doc. And that's just sensible. 

Satan should not have known I was on vacation. I do not communicate with him. However, we might or might not still work for the same company. So Satan may or may not have seen my Out of Office message. Or just asked around.

Satan texted to say he found some professional materials of mine in a box I inadvertently gave to him. When I packed his things. Because narcissists get you to do their shit for them.

These materials were for a profession I gleefully retired from almost 10 years ago. (No, not hooking. I still do that.) Satan's mother is in this same profession. (Not hooking. As far as I know.) Forever and still she is in this profession. So if that motherfucker didn't know these materials were useless from a decade of his mother and I talking shop in front of him, he is even more uninterested in his loved ones than I previously thought. 

Satan encouraged me to enter his mother's profession. Cuz he wanted to fuck his mother, then marry her and not fuck her, and take her money from the profession he chose, and punish her for making him think he was more special than the rest of the world seemed to think, by preventing her from having the children she obviously did not deserve.

On the first night of my vacation, I replied to Satan that I didn't want that box. Which he said he figured. So why was he fucking texting me? 

Satan's grandparents married each other twice. Satan's longterm stepdad married the same person twice. Satan's mother married 2 guys with the same name. Which is also Satan's name. And Satan's little brother's middle name. Little bro is also a narcissist. His mother said so when I told her Satan was a narcissist. She supported me. And hugged me and cried when I told her about the kid thing. She wants grandkids like crazy. She is a Pisces, too. She has no grandkids cuz her adult children are not done being babies. When a Pisces loves you, you want to be their baby forever. Even if you have the strength to pretend to walk away.

Satan set this whole divorce wheel in motion 19 days shy of 1 year ago. Once I realized what Satan was, it occurred to me he might be bluffing about wanting a divorce. This may have been a last ditch effort to keep me in check; to snuff out this recent craziness of mine which included texting old friends, taking a weekend trip without him, meditating, getting assignments at work of increasing importance, and picking out some clothes and gasp--shoes--unsupervised. If he made me believe he intended to bail for good cuz I wouldn't shape up, I might finally turn that last tiny percentage of my witheld self over to him. Which I suppose he hoped might fill that seemingly bottomless black hole of need inside him. He may have thought he was so in control and I was so helpless I would never push the divorce through. Like all things in our marriage, it would be up to him. But even with my stepdad and my future baby suddenly dying in the early divorce paperwork period; even with Satan's threats and lies and continued emotional terrorism; even with crushing shadow heartbreak any direction I turned during sudden single Ness, I pushed the fucking thing through. And relearned how to make my own decisions and how money works and changed my name and got a promotion and bought my house and removed dead trees and put in a boss fence and mowed the fucking lawn and procured a magical giant puppy. I did all this and am spending time here on Satan's colorful ancestral patterns cuz this crazy motherfucker might believe that after all my effort to learn to live without him, I will marry him. Again. 

Tonight, 10pm-ish, I was brushing my teeth and Daisy started having a shit fit in front of the curtain-closed picture window. She sometimes thinks she hears things when she's sleepy and the curtain is closed. I was not my best self and told her to shut the fuck up. Then I remembered she's a guard dog. And I heard something on the front stairs. I peeked out the window. No person. No car. A box on my stoop. From Satan. Creepy. As. Fuck. His specialty.

I did not intend to open the box. Then it occurred to me it might contain a bomb or surveillance equipment or God knows what. Satan wrote on the box top that he found some of my writing in the box he texted me about on vacation. Smiley face. Trap.

Why did he go through my boring box of outdated professional crap? Was he dazzled to discover my framed, glass-protected abandoned certification of professional achievement (I passed a 5 hour test to get that fucking thing) and decided I was worth another look? Was this writing he delivered even in that box? When he offered me the box via text, did he want me to invite him over, like Freddy? If he told me he had my old writing, I still would have told him to keep it. It was likely written in his caustic voice anyway, which may be why he insists I have it--no asking.

Before we were married, a small publisher heard me read a few poems 2 times and told me 2 times she wanted to publish a book of my poetry. Satan's specialty was poetry, not mine. He confirmed my grad school mentor's assertion (she was also a failed poet) that my poetry wasn't poetry. He told me I had to ask myself if I really wanted my poetry "out there," implying it would be an embarrassment. To us both. I think you know what happened. 

After Satan left me and came back to talk the first time, I read him a poem I had written the day after Independence Day 2020 and not shared. Satan would not have been interested. Because I am not a poet. The poem is called "Why I Can't Be a Poet." As I finished, Satan cried like a baby. He said the poem was really good and my writing was better than ever and he can't write anymore. He was crying for himself. Not for me. You know why he can't write? Because he's Satan. Producing the kind of writing that touches souls might just require an activated soul.

The tarot says someone is stalking me. And obsessed with me. It always says that. I'm a Pisces. I might be bored if there was just 1 soul trying to get a gander at my intuitive underthings. Some Pisces have so many stalkers that there is a legitimate audience for a Pisces Only tarot reader who does a WEEKLY feature called "Who's Stalking You?" A slow week reveals 3 stalkers. Typically there are 4-6. But I didn't particularly think any of my potential stalkers were Satan. 

He confessed to coming by once without me knowing to look at my new fence, he said. He was living in the Valley. I live in a residential area in town, the northwest tip. He said he was in the neighborhood. I texted him that we both know the only show in my neighborhood is me. He said okay, yeah. I figured this stalk was just a 1 and done. He had refused this fence for years. He had to see it. He said it looked great. The fence was unquestionably the right choice, whatever the cost. Just like my divorce.

When Satan texted me about the bogus box as I started vacation, he said he was moving. I did not ask any questions or respond to the fishing attempt. I'm on vacation. Fuck off. Way off, ideally. Then he delivered a box anyway. Once he knew I was home to receive it.

The tarot says an ex is coming back. It always says that. But Jesus. Not this one.

Until Next Time, Sweeties!

Ness Sweet Ness