Friday, December 6, 2013

Massive Attack

A few hours ago, I was seething in anger.

It's probably subsided because I'm really tired.

Here's the deal:

I gave Guy and his family a mass card (a Catholic thing, where a priest will say a special mass for those departed into the stratosphere, and you pay a modest sum of money to do so). I put it in the proper receptacle at the wake before I paid Madame Guy my respects and visited with Guy. I signed the guest register as did Meg, with my name and home address.

Meg got an acknowledgment note from the family of Guy, none of them apart from Guy knowing who she was some time go. Madame Guy's been dead for almost 2 months... you'd think with the volume of offspring in that family, I'd have received word by now if they got it, or appreciated it. It was one of the things the family requested in lieu of flowers.

The mass was said for Guy's mother on Sunday, the 1st. That's when I realized I'd heard nothing from the Guy clan, which is bizarrely rude. How Meg got a note and I didn't just doesn't make sense, unless Guy was assigned to send notes to all the people who were his friends, and the other siblings to their friends, and so on.

He did mention getting BMF's mass card in the mail and to thank him for it, which I did, which was nice of BMF. BMF won't receive a note because there's no way in hell I'm giving Camp Guy his address. I think Guy thanked me verbally on the phone for my mass card, but it was an in-passing thought. Proper protocol and manners dictate that you send out notes, regardless.

I guess, in literally every respect of Guy's life the last few months, I've been grazed over. He wouldn't go out with Meg and I Monday night (part of which was celebrating my new grant writing internship for next semester at a local mental health agency). He let me know via text that he would be out of sight to me until I ended the "verbal war" with Ms. Blog Stalker, and to "drop him a note" when that happened. Jesus, the police said if she attempts to contact me again, or steps on my property, she'll be in jail.. I won already.  I emerged victorious. Besides, we can talk about a myriad of other things that don't involve Balderdash  & Verities whatsoever.

I understand it, I really do. Mom died. Putting houses on the market, estate bullshit to deal with, sibling rivalry.. Finding a new house and  remodeling some of the big house now, the holidays coming, work stress..3 week vacations, still; according to his phone calls, he and Lady GG have time to spend evenings with their other friends and cohorts. That's great, Guy, and while you asked me to be more spontaneous and invite you on  group gatherings,  I did just that and still got a kick in the head. Evidently, dinner or coffee after work one night cuts too deeply into his schedule, not that I was any more important than a dental appointment on the calendar, which I'm sure Lady GG manages for his free time. I'm tired of the concussions.

What I ended up giving him in a private card ( I probably said this already) was a pressed flower from my father's funeral. I think if he's going to keep acting this way, in denial and avoidance (his 2 glaring traits), when he and I have some legitimate business to handle in January, I might ask for it back to save for my grandchildren. It was a gesture of honest love towards Guy, though he hasn't remotely reciprocated, so I'm fooling myself, really.

My intention in telling him what went down with Ms. BS wasn't to get her in trouble at work. I could care less. But I did leave him a voicemail that his office staff was at my door at almost 10 pm on Saturday night ready to beat the shit of me. I found this information prudent. In any event, they're gone and I'd like to *not* be shot down for every single suggestion I provide to get together in some fashion with Guy.

I'm done suggesting. If he wants to see me, I'll see when I can pencil him in. As I told Meg, he's probably more relieved than anything that my pesky ass is out of his way for a while as he sulks and avoids all of his complicated and repressed thoughts and feelings.

God, I hate the holidays.                

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