Friday, August 1, 2014

SHE drives me crazy! (Woh, woh) - Rebuttal/Apology for yesterday

So, it would appear that I was unkind yesterday, or that I was asking Stephen to leave forever.  That is not the intent of yesterday's post, but no matter intent.  My feelings are my own, but by the same token, your feelings are YOUR own.  This post (today) is my "take" on Stephen's rebuke of my yesterday's post, if he were to "guest blog."  I offered him the opportunity, but he's a real writer, and has no desire to blog.  I hope that I can find his "voice" for today.  Consider this a "she said, he said," but understand that it's essentially my hearing that's being put here today.

Today started off lousy.  We got up around 9 again, together-ish, and I hit the head first, as usual (how does she hold her bladder so long?), and I cleaned the litterbox.  I think she always knows that it needs cleaning first thing, and she holds her bladder on purpose.  I know she doesn't like to clean it, but neither do I, so why am I always the one to do it?  And no thanks for it, either.  Love the cats, but that damn litterbox.  Ugh.

So to make it better, I go out to the kitchen to make coffee.  She's got the kitchen blinds closed again, so I fetch the box fan from the bedroom and install it in the kitchen window.  The handle of the blinds begin clackity-clacking against the side of the fan, so I open the blinds further.  She's taken the "good signal" seat on the futon, so I've got to sit at the living room window for us to both have access to the internet.  That's wardriving, I guess.  I'll be glad when I have a job, so we can afford our own connection from anywhere in the apartment!  But I digress.  I get up to do something, maybe pour a cuppa joe? and she moves the box fan to the window where I was sitting.  Does she not even want me in the room with her?  What's up with that?  And not a word as to why she's doing it.  Damn.

So I go into the bedroom.  Fine.  Then I read her frakkin' blog from yesterday.  Holy Shit, does she hate me?  Does she wish I'd never come back into her life?  Am I that bad as a husband that she's got to share it with the world how miserable I make her?  FINE.  I will get a damn job and I will get out of her hair and I will not spend any time with her again, ever.  Damn.  I love her, and I tell her all the time, and now I know how she really feels, don't I?  This sucks.  This really hurts.  Why does she hate me so much?  What am I supposed to do now?

Stephen, my dearest love.  I had no idea that ^this^ is how you would feel when I put those words out into the world yesterday.  I don't need you to fix my bad days for me, but I do need to be heard.  Apparently, this morning you "heard" me, even through your own filters.  I am so incredibly sorry to have hurt you with my words.  Thank you for every little thing you do.  Thank you for cleaning the cat box.  Thank you for making the bed.  Thank you for doing what you can to help me save money while we're still both out there, looking for work.  I hope that if the interview you're on right now feels like "the one" for you, that you also feel like "the one" for them, and this process will be over.  I know it's stressful for you.

I love you so much, and I should say it more.  I'm grateful for you, and I should say that more, too.  I know you love me.  You say it plenty.  I think you're grateful for me, but maybe you could say that more. ;)

Thank you for putting up with my nagging and my passive-aggression.  I don't want to do either, but I'm the wife - I think somewhere, there's a handbook that has "nagging and passive-aggression" listed as my job description.  Please forgive me, and please let me know if I'm driving you crazy.  We really are in this together.  I want you; I need you; I love you.

No comments:

Post a Comment

I LOVE your feedback; give it to me, Baby. Uh-huh, uh-huh.