Buying another car has taken over my life. I am exhausted, frustrated, humiliated and well informed about every make and model of car on the road today. Car dealers, salesman and finance managers are evil, nosy, self-righteous demon spawn. I am resolved to pay cash for a car from a private seller. It’s the only way for me to preserve any modicum of self-respect and dignity.
I won’t go into all of the details here, but suffice it to say that my unresolved marital problem leaves me dangling by the balls at Ex’s mercy. I want this to be over and behind me but no matter how separated I am, this week has proven, it ain’t over ’til it’s over. I want it to be over. I am so sick of being judged by this one little number that, in so many, many, many ways is out of my control for the moment. If one more person looks at me like I’m stupid (or insinuates that I am) for gaining my freedom at the cost of my credit I will scream. If I have to explain to one more person why I would move out of the martial home instead of kicking his ass out, I will gauge out their eyeballs and hawk spit on their pea-sized brain. I picked my battles. I couldn’t control remaining separated for the requisite period of time if he moved out (assuming that somehow I could have forced that). He could always move back any time he wanted to. There is not a law in my state to prevent him. I moved so that I could control how separated we remained. That left him in our house with a mortgage in my name. I could only hope that keeping a roof over his own head would motivate him to pay the mortgage. He hasn’t been as motivated as I’d hoped. But then again, he has nothing to lose. He’s not on the loan. So much for not going into the details.
I try to remind myself that this will all be over soon. I have a hell of a hole to dig myself out of, but at least I will be at a place where no more damage can be done. It feels like it’s taking an eternity to get to that place. I long for that place.
This week has been a miserable reminder of my past misery. It’s more than ripping off a scab. The scab was healed. It was re-opening a scar. I don’t particularly fancy apathy, I think it’s counter productive, but I feel like I’m very close. I’m numb in many ways. I’m exhausted of wishing I knew then what I know now. I want 1993-2005 to be a distant memory. But it keeps resurfacing in the most insidious ways. This week, in the form of loan officers. Fuck loan officers. It’s a matter of principle. I will not spend my money to bring the mortgage current on a house he’s living in. I’m not going to put a roof over my head and his too. If I do it once, I’ll be doing it until the house is sold (or however we resolve this shit in the divorce). Call me stubborn, but this is where I draw the line. Would it make things easier on me to just pay it? Probably in the short run. But it will be more of the same “saving his ass” shit I did for 12 years. I stopped doing that in April 2005. I’m not going back to it now.
I know there’s a car out there I can afford to buy outright. It may take a while to find it, but I’ll keep looking. Car dealers are evil, crafty, bait and switch pariah. I’ve never known another industry to be so deceptive and predatory. I hate it with an unspeakable passion. I hate being bounced around from one person to another. I hate the crabs in the barrel who are each protecting their own interests (at the customer’s expense). Thank God for craigslist. Oh, wait, that’s a filthy beast all its own too, huh? I’ll take my chances.
I’ll be watching my Sex and the City DVDs if you find a seller. Don’t worry about interrupting me.