The Hoover Has Lost Its Suction

Early electric vacuum cleaner by Electric Suction Sweeper Company, circa 1908, predecessor of Hoover vacuum cleaner (1922). Exhibit in National Museum of American History, Washington, DC, USA. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

When I started this blog, I had recently moved out from a home I shared with my (undiagnosed) OCPD boyfriend, though at the time we were continuing to "date."  As things progressed, I realized I was not and never could be happy with him, and decided to make an official split after the New Year, about three years ago.

And then, I couldn't wait. I couldn't, absolutely could NOT, be "with him" to ring in the New Year as part of a couple, when I was all but chewing my own leg off to be completely free. So, I made an official break with him, in between Christmas and before New Year's, though we have "stayed friends," and I have seen him from time to time.

And he is... not, miraculously, cured. He is always on his best behavior when we meet or speak, and hoovers as best he can. He tells me he loves me, he thinks of me every day, misses me, blah blah, and yet

• He has not made a move to get of  any of the items that cluttered our home and garage. In fact, the hoard has increased in the room that had been our shared office.
• He has not "had time" to set up the computer I gave him over two years ago when his old one was failing. (He has no real day job, and he used to work on computers for a living, so it's not beyond his skillset.)
• He is very proud of his anorectic "discipline" in losing weight and fitting into his older jeans. (He was 160 lbs on a 6'1" frame - he looks to have lost at least 10-15 lbs. And he's critical of me because I have gone in the opposite direction.)
• He continues in monologue "loops" repeating the same thing 3-5 times in the course of several minutes. Much of what I say to him doesn't "stick" in his memory till the next time we talk, and his "conversation" is more a kind of verbal diarrhea/loosing the floodgates. There is no interrupting, changing the subject, or squeezing a word in edgewise until he's talked himself out.
• I don't know if he is drinking to excess all the time, but he seems to do it quite a bit before he calls me, or on the rare occasions we've visited together. Doesn't help the monologuing.

He's made various attempts to control me, to no avail. For instance, there was a family event to which we were both invited, in September. (One of the reasons I can't entirely cut him out of my life, he has a decades-long friendship with several members of my family.) He called to ask if I could give him a ride to/from the event (in theory, so he could save on gas, but actually, so he could drink). I said I would, but as part of the event included a religious ceremony beforehand, I would need to pick him up at XX time.

Well, he didn't want to go to the religious ceremony. It would be too hot, he whined. (This was three weeks before the event.) I said, yep, it's hot right now, it could very well still be hot then, or it might not, but I was going to the religious ceremony, so if he wanted to ride with me, he'd have to deal with it.  Or we could see if another family member could give him a ride, and I could give him a ride home afterwards. Then he got all snippy about how he was perfectly capable of getting there by himself and didn't need a ride from me. I think he thought I'd apologize for offending him, as I would've done, back in the day, but I just said, "Okay, whatever."

At the event, he fastened himself to my side like a barnacle.  Which was fine; it was a very noisy venue, and it wasn't like I was planning to pick up a date or engage in serious conversation there anyway.  Then he left in somewhat of a tiff because he got offended at something or I wasn't paying him enough attention, who knows?! I think he was simply overwhelmed - by the crowd, by the noise - and because he was driving, he wasn't able to drink enough to quell his anxiety.

I had him over for drinks on Thanksgiving - but did not ask him to stay for dinner, and declined his invitation to come to his place (our old place) for dinner, but did go see him last weekend, though NOT on Christmas itself nor Christmas Eve.

 Oh, hilarious, I showed him a recent picture of one of my sisters, who he knows, and he thought she looked "scary" because she was wearing "too much makeup." (Trust me, she wasn't, and even if she was, he thought saying that would endear him to me?)

On TV, because he always has the TV on, he had on some surfing documentary (he surfed as a teen, before he decided he hated the beach because it has icky sand and salt water). Primed by that, he engaged in his lecture mode which I remember so well. Obviously, he'd seen the program before - perhaps several times. He would parrot the points the narrator had either just made or was about to make, seemingly unaware that he wasn't bringing anything new to the table. He used to do this several times a week when I was living with him, and it drove me crazy. Now I find it pitiful and only slightly annoying, though I also know I could NEVER stand a steady diet of it again.

I noticed the sofa and chair are now entirely covered by towels and blankets, so as to keep the material from getting soiled.  He kept offering me food and drinks, trying to press me to drink something more, something more even though I declined.

War Horse (film) (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

We also watched a movie he wanted to share with me. (I brought one down with me I thought he'd like, but he couldn't deal with a change of plans.) So we saw War Horse, which I did enjoy very much, though I found I had to slip into old habits to block out his babbling during the movie. At a few dramatic scenes, he held my hand, and I let him, but I felt... nothing for this alcoholic old man, almost 60 now, but pity and revulsion.


It's so sad, all in all. I know he is bitterly lonely. All these things are his efforts to connect; he just doesn't have in him a way to connect that is real and honest and interesting.  At the risk of being rude, I will say it - he BORES me now. His old man crochets and his whining fussiness and his monologuing and his nervous chain smoking...

Yuck, I came home and couldn't get my clothes off fast enough, as despite the many smokeless ashtrays and air cleaners my clothes smelled like an ashtray.

The single, part-time job he has - being property manager of his little house, and one up front - has now thrown him for a tizzy because he may have to find new renters for the front house.  Which means he might have to go online (he's kept subscriptions to all the movie channels, but not for internet access, because I paid for that, and he can't afford the expense. *snort*)  I suggested that he get internet access, or go online through his best buddy, or at the library. (In other words, don't look at me, dude.)

He tried all the rehearsed moves he had made decades before, the husky whispers, the "I'm still so in love with you," and they left me cold. His lips have apologized many times for hurting me - but he never really understood how and why he hurt me, and he still doesn't.  The last time I tried to discuss one of the more egregious instances, he insisted that "in an emergency situation" ( a hot water pipe had burst) he was entitled to scream obscenities at me (for not mopping the floor fast enough). While I held to the bizarre notion that even in a true, life-threatening emergency - which that was not - neither of us had the right to scream obscenities at one another, but were still obligated to treat each other with dignity and respect, even if we got excited and raised our voices.

Of course, he has no intention of getting professional help for body or mind.  Doesn't need it; can't afford it.

Although he is showing few signs of the explosive anger that used to frighten me back in the day, I'm not convinced it's gone. He cried over the Sandy Hook massacre, but I'm not entirely sure he won't "suicide by cop" someday, or decide to punish me for humiliating him via this blog, or when I begin dating again.  I don't expect it, I have no grounds to report him as an imminent threat to me or himself, but it wouldn't surprise me. Like the guy who just ambushed the firefighters in Webster, New York, my ex is not in his right mind, AND he has a cache of several weapons and plenty of ammo.  So, I will be careful, and continue to keep contact between us to the minimum, with no false promises or hints of reconciliation on my end.

I can and do pity the man, but the Hoover has lost all suction for me.

Going Off Script

From The Oatmeal's Why I'd Rather
Get Punched in the Testicles
Than Call Customer Service

So I got a new computer.  Joy! 

Except that there were the inevitable bobbles, for which I had to contact.... Customer Service.  <you can cue the Jaws theme music here.>

When I moved away from OCPD ex b-f in June, I switched from DSL internet connection to cable, and due to who knows why, my ISP had to assign me a new username and passcode for my new connection.  I should have written it down, but I had a lot on my mind then, and anyway, I'd picked an easy name and passcode, because I knew I would remember it...

You knew I wouldn't, right?

So I decided that, instead of calling in to my ISP helpline, and trying to verbally communicate with "Muffy" and "Jeff" and "Ashleigh," whose thick Indian accents have almost driven me to eating my own head in the past, I would try to resolve it via chat on my work 'puter during my morning break.  I got "Rocky" and "Juliet," instead.

I'm not unsympathetic to Rocky and Juliet.  (Or even Muffy and Jeff.)  They work long hours, don't earn a lot of money, and are working in an unfamiliar language.  Plus, many of the people they're trying to help are idiots.  (I might even count myself as one of those idiots.)  I'm sure I would do much worse as a Customer Service Rep if I was trying to communicate in their language.  I don't want to be nasty to Rocky & Juliet.

I just wish communications felt a little less like Rocky & Bullwinkle.

So I'm typing away, but Rocky is intent on going through the full script.  He's not listening to what I'm saying (or in this case, typing.)

ME: Hi, I have a new home computer, I need to find out my online log-in name for my cable connection, so that I can log in.

ROCKY: Congratulations on your new computer.  We can certainly help you with this.  For help with your cable connection, you will have to contact your local cable company.

ME: There's nothing wrong with my cable, it was working fine with my old computer.  I just need the username, which I forgot, so that I can get online with the new computer.

ROCKY: Are you chatting from your new computer?

ME <taking a deep breath>: NO, I can't get online from my new computer.  I need the username which logs me onto the cable connection.

ROCKY: Let me direct you to the site which gives you the steps to get online.

ME: Thank you, see that first step?  Login with your username.  You guys set me up with a new username in June, but I don't remember what it is.  I just need the username for the account, and possibly a password reset.

ROCKY: Are you online from your new computer now?

ME: No, I CAN'T GET ONLINE FROM MY NEW COMPUTER.  Look, just give me the CS to call, I'll call later from home.  (Meanwhile, I have scrolled through My Account and finally located the mystery username - it's my usual username, plus the number 1.  Genius!)

I get off chat with Rocky, try fruitlessly to log in or reset the passcodes myself to that username e-mail account, and eventually "Juliet" does a passcode reset for me.  When I get home later that evening, voila!  All better.

But this reminded me soooo much of a discussion on one of my "boards" about those with OCPD and their scripts.  Sometimes it feels like we are trying to have a discussion, and the other person isn't so much listening and responding to us, but stuck in a groove.  Like they're onstage, and are trying to feed us a cue.  And they're going to keep tossing it to us, regardless of what we say back to them. 

Which leads to fights and bad feelings all around.

Some OCPDrs themselves have described this seeking for the "right" answer, the right response.  They may not know exactly what they wanted to hear back, but they knew they weren't getting it, so they felt obligated to press on, until they heard - whatever it was - that they needed to hear.  This was unlikely, depending on how long the interaction had gone on, to be a true reflection of their partner's feeling or thoughts, but it was the right answer.

Here's what one frustrated partner joked:

I have told my DW rather than having a pointless discussion she should prepare a script in advance. She'd give me a copy. She'd read her lines. I'd read my lines. I'd know when I'm allowed to speak and when I'm not. She'd hear exactly what she wants to hear. We could even use the same scripts over and over. I'd know when it was going to end. We could both be happy.

Has this ever happened to you?

Frequently, I would begin speaking. DW would anticipate that I was about to say X. She would cut me off and start responding to X. I would tell her I was not going to say X; I was going to say Y. She would then insist that I was lying. We would then get into a ridiculous argument about what I would have said had she not interrupted.

I have been there, done that.  And <hanging my head in shame> have done my share of interrupting others as well, though I've never gotten into arguments about what somebody else would have said.

Maybe we need to take a bit of advice from Patsy.


So how does one deal with someone who won't "Stop, look and listen"?

One tactic is to walk away and start ignoring the person.  They'll ask why.  Answer: "It seemed you were not interested in a conversation, but a monologue.  Since my participation is not required, I thought I'd keep myself occupied while you finished up."  (It's important if you take this approach, to keep your tone neutral and pleasant - no heavy sarcasm in your tone, please.)

Another is to yell at them to Quit Interrupting!

Another is to simply not answer at all, unless asked why.  Then give the same answer (my participation seemed unnecessary.)

You can buy your own sock monkey puppet at
Colonial Candle

I thought about trying a sock puppet, myself.  Talk to the monkey!

Theoretically, you could talk to the Rambler during a moment of lucidity, like I did, and say, "You know, sometimes one of us might be talking, maybe when we've had a bit too much to drink, or are really excited about something, and we kind of talk right over the other person, and don't listen very well.  How about we agree on a signal so the other person realizes they're doing it?  A code word, holding up a hand or something...?" 

I thought, by making it neutral, by saying this is something we both do, something we both should be allowed to halt, that he would agree.  And he did.

Agree, that is.

In practice... it didn't work so well.  Often his mouth was like the Aerosmith song, "Train keep a-rollin', all night long."  But not in a good way.

I don't think there is any one approach that will work with everyone, all the time, because we are all individuals, and so are the people who, uhmmm, have their scripts.

For myself, I'm going to try to work on the bad habit of interrupting others in my own conversations.  To be aware that if what I have to say is that important, the opportunity to say it will arise again, and if it doesn't... maybe what I had to say wasn't that important, after all.

To realize that every moment does not have to be filled with noise, to babble words just for the sake of filling the empty pauses.  Silences are meaningful, and often, beautiful and essential parts of listening.

To breathe more.  To smile more.  To hold up a hand or walk away if others interrupt me.

What are you going to do to improve the quality of your conversations?

Leave a comment, below.