It's 11:07 a.m. and she's not there. Who is she? And why is she important? Well, the idea was that someone would come along with me, a person to assist out and about and around downtown Phoenix and vicinity. Could I have gotten away without the assistance? Probably. Maybe. But things would have been more difficult in doing so.
Dial-A-Ride drivers only standby for 7 minutes waiting for the total package to arrive. In my case the total package included me, and my former wife. I was ready and already on board the bus, and we were waiting for her to show up. She's late for everything. Like, seriously late. Always late. Consistently late. Just plain flat out late.
In any case, the driver waited an additional 3 and 1/2 minutes. Yes, she arrived. And we were ready to roll.
The idea behind the idea was that Friday, April 14th may well have been the final cool day of the spring (here in the desert). Or perhaps not. It's always difficult to make that determination with any certainty. But we'd had a very cool well below normal winter, which was nice. And we recently touched 100° (and we're likely going to be up and around and beyond 100° every day for the next 5 months). Those kinds of temperatures limit my ability to be outdoors.
So when the forecast came up as being 76°, I decided to go for it. I decided to get my chair repaired. And then I also decided that going to the Phoenix Art museum was a thing that needed to be done. And to make these experiences more enjoyable, I would be inviting my former wife to tag along.
Basically, we hang out once per week for a few hours at a time. We also talk on the phone, maybe once a week as well. And that about covers it. That's just the right amount (for now). Oh, and the experiences are positive and sometimes positively productive.
Anyways, I went out and enjoyed myself, just like a NORMAL person! Hooray for improvements made!
And here are some images of interest:
View from observation point (Estrella Mountains in background) -
My Helper -
Us -
While I enjoyed myself immensely, my visit to the museum brought back painful remembrances. And probably, I shouldn't have written the following (putting this all out in the open), but by not doing so, I am protecting the guilty. And back then, the mother of my son (nope, NOT my former wife) had everyone believing that I was the bad parent, because… well… that was her obsession - to discredit me, while making herself out to be the immaculate victim.
Anyway, within the following paragraphs I've written about a few of these matters, so you may wish to forgo reading altogether. The subject matter is upsetting to me, but mostly I've introspectively processed, then worked through these issues in recent years.
Over a decade ago I took my son to the Phoenix Art Museum, so that he could further explore the greater aspects of surrealism. At seven years of age he'd been a rather enthusiastic Salvador Dali fan - so much so, that I uncharacteristically purchased an unnecessarily overpriced Dali statuette for him on our way out the museum door.
Back then, I openly encouraged his artistry and intellect. But also back then, my Evil Ex was doing all that she could do in discouraging him. Remember her? She was the awful human being (NOT my Ex-wife) who had me locked in her sites years past our expiration date. She's the one who openly and obviously tortured my son as a means to get back at me.
For example, she kept him from playing sports (until I finally relented and gave up custody), and also from participating in the gifted programs at school (insisting to the school administrators that he was intellectually challenged - which based on test results, he obviously was not).
And that wasn't even the worst of it. She disciplined him hands-on, slapping and smacking him as she saw fit… all the while, knowing corporal punishment (and physical abuse) deeply upset me.
Because I had long hair, she would regularly shave his head (so that we would look more physically dissimilar). If he challenged his mother by not immediately obeying her directed commands, she would criticize him for being "just like your father." And that goes for anytime his behavior or mannerisms weren't up to her OCD standards.
She would openly and often suggest to my son that he was going to grow up and be (an awful person) just like me. Then she would repeatedly list (in her estimations) my personal character flaws out loud, in order to establish my awfulness as a parent.
I know these things because my son would confide in me daily (without prompting) - always upset, but mostly angry. And I would repeatedly explain to him that her terrible behaviors weren't his fault… simply stating that his mother had serious anger issues.
Eh. The bottom line is that my son never quite believed the hype that was bestowed upon him by a multitude of loving caring adults (and peers alike). There was always that voice in the back of his head, the one telling him that he wasn't special or talented.
Yes. The Evil One did whatever it took to make my existence as difficult as humanly possible (because I left her in 2003), not recognizing, realizing (or perhaps caring) that our child's prospects of becoming a well adjusted adult were being harmed.
Perhaps interestingly, my family members believe the entirety of my current illness was caused by the constant attacks and threats from her (and her husband), and most especially due to the unfair treatment of my son. He's the one who suffered most, and in a sense, much of his suffering is my fault.
I'm the one who decided to have a child with a purely evil human being (not having identified her undesirable traits until it was too late). And really, I should have found a way to eliminate her from the equation long ago.
And that's what happens when you allow yourself to be bullied into having a child with a complete total opposite personality, someone whose value system is entirely dissimilar.
My fault. My mistake. I did not recognize her intentions. And I should have predicted the bait and switch. The evidence was readily available, ready to be assembled, but I failed to do the math.
In any case, my son used to mimic Dali's artistry. Pencil drawings and sketches. I was happy that he was so happily engaged. But despite kudos from teachers and peers alike, he gave up drawing because he didn't think he was any good. Back then, he lacked confidence in his abilities. Perhaps today (and right now) he's working through those issues.
So my trip to the museum unexpectedly hit home. Perhaps my son shall more readily engage me once he's escaped the Evil One's clutches. But probably not, until after she's dead.
Oh, and Surrealism was not the theme during this particular visit. There really didn't seem to be an overall theme.
Enough of that. Sometimes I need to get things off my chest. And even to this day, I still cannot quite believe how awful some humans truly are.
Take care,
Howard
Dial-A-Ride drivers only standby for 7 minutes waiting for the total package to arrive. In my case the total package included me, and my former wife. I was ready and already on board the bus, and we were waiting for her to show up. She's late for everything. Like, seriously late. Always late. Consistently late. Just plain flat out late.
In any case, the driver waited an additional 3 and 1/2 minutes. Yes, she arrived. And we were ready to roll.
The idea behind the idea was that Friday, April 14th may well have been the final cool day of the spring (here in the desert). Or perhaps not. It's always difficult to make that determination with any certainty. But we'd had a very cool well below normal winter, which was nice. And we recently touched 100° (and we're likely going to be up and around and beyond 100° every day for the next 5 months). Those kinds of temperatures limit my ability to be outdoors.
So when the forecast came up as being 76°, I decided to go for it. I decided to get my chair repaired. And then I also decided that going to the Phoenix Art museum was a thing that needed to be done. And to make these experiences more enjoyable, I would be inviting my former wife to tag along.
Basically, we hang out once per week for a few hours at a time. We also talk on the phone, maybe once a week as well. And that about covers it. That's just the right amount (for now). Oh, and the experiences are positive and sometimes positively productive.
Anyways, I went out and enjoyed myself, just like a NORMAL person! Hooray for improvements made!
And here are some images of interest:
View from observation point (Estrella Mountains in background) -
My Helper -
Us -
While I enjoyed myself immensely, my visit to the museum brought back painful remembrances. And probably, I shouldn't have written the following (putting this all out in the open), but by not doing so, I am protecting the guilty. And back then, the mother of my son (nope, NOT my former wife) had everyone believing that I was the bad parent, because… well… that was her obsession - to discredit me, while making herself out to be the immaculate victim.
Anyway, within the following paragraphs I've written about a few of these matters, so you may wish to forgo reading altogether. The subject matter is upsetting to me, but mostly I've introspectively processed, then worked through these issues in recent years.
Over a decade ago I took my son to the Phoenix Art Museum, so that he could further explore the greater aspects of surrealism. At seven years of age he'd been a rather enthusiastic Salvador Dali fan - so much so, that I uncharacteristically purchased an unnecessarily overpriced Dali statuette for him on our way out the museum door.
Back then, I openly encouraged his artistry and intellect. But also back then, my Evil Ex was doing all that she could do in discouraging him. Remember her? She was the awful human being (NOT my Ex-wife) who had me locked in her sites years past our expiration date. She's the one who openly and obviously tortured my son as a means to get back at me.
For example, she kept him from playing sports (until I finally relented and gave up custody), and also from participating in the gifted programs at school (insisting to the school administrators that he was intellectually challenged - which based on test results, he obviously was not).
And that wasn't even the worst of it. She disciplined him hands-on, slapping and smacking him as she saw fit… all the while, knowing corporal punishment (and physical abuse) deeply upset me.
Because I had long hair, she would regularly shave his head (so that we would look more physically dissimilar). If he challenged his mother by not immediately obeying her directed commands, she would criticize him for being "just like your father." And that goes for anytime his behavior or mannerisms weren't up to her OCD standards.
She would openly and often suggest to my son that he was going to grow up and be (an awful person) just like me. Then she would repeatedly list (in her estimations) my personal character flaws out loud, in order to establish my awfulness as a parent.
I know these things because my son would confide in me daily (without prompting) - always upset, but mostly angry. And I would repeatedly explain to him that her terrible behaviors weren't his fault… simply stating that his mother had serious anger issues.
Eh. The bottom line is that my son never quite believed the hype that was bestowed upon him by a multitude of loving caring adults (and peers alike). There was always that voice in the back of his head, the one telling him that he wasn't special or talented.
Yes. The Evil One did whatever it took to make my existence as difficult as humanly possible (because I left her in 2003), not recognizing, realizing (or perhaps caring) that our child's prospects of becoming a well adjusted adult were being harmed.
Perhaps interestingly, my family members believe the entirety of my current illness was caused by the constant attacks and threats from her (and her husband), and most especially due to the unfair treatment of my son. He's the one who suffered most, and in a sense, much of his suffering is my fault.
I'm the one who decided to have a child with a purely evil human being (not having identified her undesirable traits until it was too late). And really, I should have found a way to eliminate her from the equation long ago.
And that's what happens when you allow yourself to be bullied into having a child with a complete total opposite personality, someone whose value system is entirely dissimilar.
My fault. My mistake. I did not recognize her intentions. And I should have predicted the bait and switch. The evidence was readily available, ready to be assembled, but I failed to do the math.
In any case, my son used to mimic Dali's artistry. Pencil drawings and sketches. I was happy that he was so happily engaged. But despite kudos from teachers and peers alike, he gave up drawing because he didn't think he was any good. Back then, he lacked confidence in his abilities. Perhaps today (and right now) he's working through those issues.
So my trip to the museum unexpectedly hit home. Perhaps my son shall more readily engage me once he's escaped the Evil One's clutches. But probably not, until after she's dead.
Oh, and Surrealism was not the theme during this particular visit. There really didn't seem to be an overall theme.
Enough of that. Sometimes I need to get things off my chest. And even to this day, I still cannot quite believe how awful some humans truly are.
Take care,
Howard
