And here I am...

My ex-husband, who is 44 years old, took ill quite suddenely in the middle of December. His blood pressure had apparently been extremely high and unmanaged (oh the irony...) for the last few years. Add a pint or so of vodka and two packs a cigarettes a day, he was admitted to the CCU unit of the hospital, put on blood thinners for fear of a heart attack or stroke and there he sat for approximately 8 or 9 weeks fighting off a myriad of ailments that has ultimaly left him with renal failure and he now requires dialysis for 3 to 4 hours a day, three times a week. For the rest of his life. He is still out of work. Good Times.

The little Prince alternates where he sleeps on a pretty regular basis. Although I am the "legal" custodial parent, he splits his time between the both of us. Often choosing to stay with his father since he is the more lenient parent as far as curfews, healthy eating, and boundaries are concerned. Truth be told I often prefer him to stay with his father, because quite frankly I no longer have the patience to deal with another obnoxious, beligerant, substance abusing teenager.

When I walk in the house after working all day and I am greeted, no, lets call it assaulted by the pungeant odor of a recently smoked blunt, it does not a happy homecoming make, to say the least. And so begins the circle-jerk of bullshit, where in I accuse, he denies, I become angry and defensive along the lines, of yeah, by now, do you reallllyy think I dont know what weed smells like by now?? Seriously? Followed up by his dramatic hysterionics of how he hates to be f-ing accused of being high, F-Bombs fly, blah blah blah. Doors slam. and..... end scene. He is, or he tries to be a bully.

The last few times he has slept at my house this week, I was quite sure he was high. My instinct over the years is rarely wrong. So the fight scene above repeats itself. Boundaries. I try to set the boundaries. The rules to live in my home are quite simple. NO DRUG USE. Period. You can not use in my house, you can not bring drugs into my house, I will not give you money, you will not take what doesnt belong to you. Go to school, make curfew, and you will have respect. There will be no telling me to go Fuck myself. Period. And yet.

My M.O. is to throw him the fuck out of my house as I have done before until he decides that my rules are for real. Dont wanna follow them? You know where the door is. However, when he stays with his father or his grandparents, the rules are far and few between. As long as you physically go to school everyday, then psst okay, cool! Homework? Ehh homework is for those studious college bound types. You smoked a little pot? Came home a little stumbly and slurry cause you had a fewtoo many beers? Well thank the little baby jesus that you arent messing with those damn opiates again... No job or desire to secure one? Well, sure, you should probably be working, but as long as you somehow are still managaing to get your cigarettes and weed and a few beers and maybe a pint of vodka or so on the weekends... and as long as I dont have to foot the bill... then it's all good.

Perhaps I am being ever so slightly dramatic. But seriously not so much. This afternoon his new school that he attends for "disaffected students" and others with various emotional disabilities called to tell him he appeared high and reeked of pot in class yesterday, and that today he was removed from a class after being disrespectful and then cursing at a teacher. And he hasn't done a single homework assignment in two of his classes. I called him and explained that he is not to leave the house afterschool today and he will not be allowed to leave the house until said assignments are made up. This was followed up with his typical response of that is stupid. That is so stupid. Bottom line, I told him yet again, my way or the highway and if he wants to continue to have a place to rest his thick head in my home, then I suggest he do as he is told.

I really do not have to energy to do this again.