Anyone who's been in an intimate relationship knows that every once in awhile there's going to be an altercation. If you live in the south, you might know it as a "fuss," a "flap," a "scrap," or a "ruckus." Whatever you want to call it, we had one last night and oh mama, it was a doozy.
Keep in mind I wasn't having the best day by any means anyway. Heh, I'm already getting defensive and no one's even said anything yet. That's funny. But seriously - shit day. He'd called shortly before I left work to let me know he might be a little late getting home, as his uncle and cousin got stuck out in the woods while turkey hunting and he was going to help them get out.
Jesus, if that's not the most redneck sentence I've ever written in my life.
But that was fine; I went home and to calm down I took a brisk walk, then started gathering up sticks in the yard for the fire I was so looking forward to having later on. I'd just started seeing the glimmer of a good mood begin when Crazy (my mom) called. Oh hell, here we go. She'd sent me a book in the mail, so I knew it was only a matter of time before I had to talk to her, but I was figuring on waiting another few days. For the next twenty-six minutes I listened to her passive-aggressively bitch about everything that had gone on since the last time we'd talked. I should've known better than to ask about my niece's birthday party - you'd think I'd have learned by now not to venture any deeper than the most surface of topics. Thank God Johnann called which effectively got me off the hook. Gotta go, Mom; I'll call you in a couple of days. And by days I mean weeks. Johnann's timing couldn't have been any better, and venting to her everything Crazy had just said brought my blood pressure back down to a safe level.
While I was on the phone with her, I prepared a fabulous broccoli casserole I thought would go great with the steaks we were marinating for dinner. When all else is sucky, food does wonders to cheer me. And if I do say so myself, this was the best broc casserole I'd ever produced. Not that it mattered.
He didn't get home until after 11:00.
He wasn't exactly drunk per se, but if a cop had pulled him over, he'd probably be in some trouble right now.
To say I was not pleased is to not give me the credit my ballistic nature deserves.
He came in, smiled at me and gleefully walked to the kitchen, saying Dinner smells great! He either didn't see or ignored my glowering in his direction and proceeded to get himself some broccoli, not noticing (or should I say caring) there was no steak to go with it because cooking the steak was supposed to have been his job. It's not like I'd even asked; he had offered. When his super Spidey senses finally picked up on the fact I was PISSED OFF, his entire face changed and he realized as Britney used to say, Oops I did it again.
But let's get this out of the way. He's by no means a bad guy. This isn't something that happens very often. In fact it's been so long since it has happened, I think it caught me by surprise. In my head, yes we're both stressed the hell out and sort of on edge, but in a weird way it's brought us closer together. I don't expect never to fight; in fact if that happened again it would scare the hell out of me, because we didn't fight for a long time right before our marriage imploded - because we weren't giving the relationship enough time or energy to fight. Scary. So yes - every so often, at least with us, there is going to be a blow-out. Excuse me, a squabble. Whatever! I guess I was just disappointed it had to be on the night of a poop-ridden day when I'd tried to make it a nice night. Tried and FAILED LIKE A BITCH!
When we fight, I'm the yeller. I'm the thrower of things and the caller of names. I'm not proud of this, I'm just admitting it. He rarely raises his voice and the only time he's ever called me a name is admittedly when I had just thrown so many obscenity-laced words his way, it would've been weird if he hadn't. I hate getting to the point where you say shit that causes you to cringe the next day after you've had time to calm down. I wish there was a way to check myself (before I wreck myself) in the moment so that I could control that a little better. It's fine to try and work on it, but in the moment all rationale goes right out the window for me.
But I'm not one of those wives who will ever bring the pillow and blanket out and throw it on the couch for him. No. I will always be the one to abandon the bed. Not that it's happened very often either; I'm pretty sure this is only the second or third time ever, but there's no way I'm sleeping in the same bed when I'm that pissed off, because it never fails that we'll wake up cuddled up. And OH HELLS NO, that was not going to happen last night. Besides, as shitty as our mattress is, the real punishment is for the person sleeping in the bed. Me and the doggie were perfectly fine on the futon in my closet room, though it would've been nicer had I thought to turn on the heat since we froze all night.
Today he called twice before I picked up my phone to talk. He told me he felt bad about everything but the worst thing was that I'm pretty much the only thing he's happy about right now, that I'm his biggest source of comfort and support and the fact he did something to upset me that much made him feel like shit. I know he means it. And that was the exact right thing for him to say to me so that I was able to let go of the last little piece of anger I'd been stubbornly clinging to. It also allowed him to tell me this piece of news: it's snowing in Atlanta right now.
AND DAMMIT, THAT MAKES ME ANGRY ALL OVER AGAIN!
Just kidding. Today, despite getting some very upsetting news about a dog I'm almost related to (can't talk about that now), I'm doing good.
And really, that's all I ever want to be.