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|This is one of those spouting shit to get it off my chest posts - no more, no less.
During my "relationship counselling" I got to the point where it seemed possible to make some sort of action plan to go forwards. This involved persuading my ex to tell me what he needed from the relationship to move forwards. Apparently he'd already told me this already OMG! So I just sucked that one down and asked for it clearly outlined in an email. Got that.
Like a twat, I offered to do yet more emotional fucking labour and turn this into relationship guidelines and we could take it to therapy and move forward. Problem is, looking at a big stream of electronic text is massively difficult for me to process. Known thing - I'm that person who needs to print work emails to wrangle them around with a pencil to process them. I'm actually slightly embarrassed at that, but I can deal.
Being the sort of dirty hippy I am, I'm of the opinion that not everybody needs one of everything. I share lawnmowers, shredders, printers. Even washing machines. It builds community and it socks one to the man. So I needed to use the exes printer to get this piece of emotional labour done. Trying to sort out printer access didn't happen. Maybe it interfered with their work and gaming shcedule? Who knows. But I just pushed on through and did the thing of making the list of demands into something useful, which was actually a massive achievement in my mind.
Obvoiously there was negative feedback on it, because there always was. Every time I went the extra mile, I got some detail wrong. Everyone's a fucking critic, right?
Anyway, take it to therapy. And there's a snidey comment from my ex about how I asked to use his printer but it didn't really seem necessary. Huh huh huh.
Fucking dick. Really. We were already past the point where I'd use a pretext to spend time with him. That was getting less and less appealing by the second. Apparently the main problem was not asking for help - well I just did that. I'm not vulnerable enough - did that by admitting I couldn't do yet more emotional labour without two sheets of A4 paper and a smear of ink.
I honestly wonder how some people get as far as they do in life by being entitled supercilious cunts. But anyway, I swore I'd never put myself in that position again and bought myself a printer. Which I'm happy to share with anyone who needs it.
During my "relationship counselling" I got to the point where it seemed possible to make some sort of action plan to go forwards. This involved persuading my ex to tell me what he needed from the relationship to move forwards. Apparently he'd already told me this already OMG! So I just sucked that one down and asked for it clearly outlined in an email. Got that.
Like a twat, I offered to do yet more emotional fucking labour and turn this into relationship guidelines and we could take it to therapy and move forward. Problem is, looking at a big stream of electronic text is massively difficult for me to process. Known thing - I'm that person who needs to print work emails to wrangle them around with a pencil to process them. I'm actually slightly embarrassed at that, but I can deal.
Being the sort of dirty hippy I am, I'm of the opinion that not everybody needs one of everything. I share lawnmowers, shredders, printers. Even washing machines. It builds community and it socks one to the man. So I needed to use the exes printer to get this piece of emotional labour done. Trying to sort out printer access didn't happen. Maybe it interfered with their work and gaming shcedule? Who knows. But I just pushed on through and did the thing of making the list of demands into something useful, which was actually a massive achievement in my mind.
Obvoiously there was negative feedback on it, because there always was. Every time I went the extra mile, I got some detail wrong. Everyone's a fucking critic, right?
Anyway, take it to therapy. And there's a snidey comment from my ex about how I asked to use his printer but it didn't really seem necessary. Huh huh huh.
Fucking dick. Really. We were already past the point where I'd use a pretext to spend time with him. That was getting less and less appealing by the second. Apparently the main problem was not asking for help - well I just did that. I'm not vulnerable enough - did that by admitting I couldn't do yet more emotional labour without two sheets of A4 paper and a smear of ink.
I honestly wonder how some people get as far as they do in life by being entitled supercilious cunts. But anyway, I swore I'd never put myself in that position again and bought myself a printer. Which I'm happy to share with anyone who needs it.
