Went to bed fuming yesterday because X and I had a minor disagreement which led to unfair accusations and it kinda escalated to unnecessary proportions. I decided to stop speaking to him (very mature behaviour, I know) and him to me. Fine. Very well.
While I was in a funk (it is impossible to go to sleep when you’re on fire), I replayed our conversation and went over the nitty gritty of he said she said just to make sure I wasn’t behaving like an unruly brat. I eventually blamed it on PMS (it’s real, guys) but I still will not talk to him first.
Guess what we fought about? Time. Or rather the lack of. He’s been making empty promises of meeting up from freaking months back. It’s always “next month will be better”, “maybe next next week” but it has been a load of bull. Now, did I sit on the floor and kick my legs about like a three-year-old? No I didn’t. I simply let time lapse and believed it would eventually materialise. Yeah perhaps I’ll be dead and reincarnated by then.
So I attempt to make advanced plans because he’s busier than Barack Obama right? I shit you not. One minute he says “can!” with as much enthusiasm as how active an elephant will look like when it has a gabascabazillion ants crawling in its underpants, and the next he launches into this tirade of how he cannot afford to make plans. And I thought I was the one who sometimes display signs of possessing dual personalities.
So I said to forget I ever asked and let’s just all fucking move on with our lives. But noooooo, he starts saying things like how I don’t understand his work as a freelancer, how he has demanding clients who will not offer him a job if he refuses to pander to their immediate and crazy demands such as making him wear his dirty underwear on his head while attending meetings, how he’s so busy pitching proposals, how he has to make time for his teaching classes and he doesn’t know his schedules blah de blah de fucking blah, and he ends the fanfare with this killer line: “You don’t understand because you have a stable full-time job”.
Well, fuck me. No, fuck you actually. I apologise that along with 90% of the human population I work regular hours for my wages. And stop saying I don’t understand. If I didn’t, I would be like that whiny little bitch who goes wahwahwah you never have time for me whehwhehwheh I haven’t seen you in ages or something like that. No. Not once did I pressure him to meet (in fact he was the one who has been making those dinner plans). And if I didn’t understand how hectic his schedules are, would I work into wee hours into the night translating client proposals for him because I know of its urgency after my fucking regular hours?!
The way he’s accusing me is as if I asked him to bring me the fucking moon, stars and Uranus. All I wanted was to bring him out to dinner for his birthday in October. ONE lousy dinner that would take up maybe a maximum of three hours of his precious time. Of course he has time for other engagements because of their importance. I’m the plankton in the food chain of his life. I’m not saying he should offend his clients but he needs to manage their expectations a little, prioritise and not give in to their every whim or fancy.
I told him that his accusations against me was unfair because I really felt wronged. But he’s such a freaking stick-in-a-mud of course he would never apologise, he would just go on and on till this year ends trying to justify that he’s right and I’m being an unreasonable bitch.
So you see, I don’t think I was wrong in not wanting to speak to him any longer. I might be able to convince a cement wall sooner than him. I told you this PMS shit is real.
And I made up the part of him wearing his underpants as a form of headgear.