Life is full of decisions...
Some decisions come easy. Some decision require careful deliberation. All decisions are final.
I know what you're thinking, "I can change my mind if I want to." Sure you can... but that's simply another decision. The fact of the matter is - once you have made a decision, the contemplation surrounding the outcome has been decided. It is what it is, as they say.
I am an analyzer. To death, actually. I will radically weigh the pros and cons of any decision I make, even those as simple as which earrings to wear today. Hell, you should see how long I stare at the shelves of wine before I settle on the bottle I will enjoy while blogging. Today's bottle is Murphy's Law. Light, fruity, and inexpensive. And particularly appropriate following the comedy of errors that has been the last week of my life.
Well, Murphy... you and I are going to figure this out together. And if I'm lucky, I'll feel better once this is all said and done. Sure, I won't know if it is the written release or the alcohol content - nonetheless.
Back to decisions. Contemplations. Successes. Regrets. All-encompassing life decisions. Yep. Made one of those.
My boyfriend moved in last weekend. He is the light of my life. My butterflies in the stomach, first thought in the morning, last thought at night, chills when he touches me, happy-at-the-end-of-the day, love of my life. How could this not be a seamless, effortless, stressless decision?
Okay... stop laughing. I'm an optimist, damnit! I live with rose-colored glasses over my eyes every day. No amount of pros and cons lists, venn diagrams, or extensive self exploration could have prepared me for what I walked into. Or rather, what walked into my house.
Mary, mother of God, this is hard!
Who knew that coexisting in a shared space would produce so much tension?!
Okay... I probably should have. But I wasn't the optimist I am today during either of my prior live-in-boyfriend(husband) situations. Oh, but that Val is headed back.
My greatest contention is with my outlook right now. I can see myself drifting back into the land of the miserable. Back into a dark place where bitten tongues bleed, tension is palpable, and couches receive nightly loving.
I don't want to go there again. I don't want to lose myself through a sheet of thin ice. I don't want to forget my voice and transform back into a timid dormouse. And I for damn sure don't want to forget how much I love my colossal pain in the ass!
What's a girl to do?
One of the main reasons my boyfriend and I work is because we are both jackasses. Theoretically, he can take my shit and I can take his. That is the case most of the time. But why not in this instance?
I find myself muttering irritations to myself because my one-time thick-skinned boyfriend has somehow developed a vagina... and it is full of sand. I can't say anything because it will invite a war. Not a screaming match, but rather a shoot-and-duck situation.
During our brief period of cohabitation, anything I ask receives a defensive response and then a wall.
What is it with men and feeling as though every time a woman asks a question regarding a particular behavior or action is a direct attack on them as a human being? This question perplexes me daily. Sometimes they are very simple, very innocent questions...
Example #1
Hey babe, do you know where the step stool is?
You and [child] were using it earlier. I had it in the garage.
Albeit you can't tell from that exchange, there the reply was laced in defensive attitude. I was not suggesting the step stool was moved an hidden. I was simply asking because it wasn't where I last had it and I couldn't find it anywhere. In order to expedite the search and rescue mission, I thought I'd ask the other adult in the house whether he'd seen it elsewhere. Clearly, a mistake on my behalf.
I have racked my brain and cannot devise a different way to ask that question, save for being a full force asshole. But I was not accusing... so the thought never crossed my mind. Yet the defenses came out.
Example #2
Today is Tuesday, which means blog-day. I have my "office" set up outside on the porch. I am typing away. He stands from his seat and then stands off beside me, saying nothing. I turn, cock my eyes and ask "Can I help you?" His response... "Is this what it's going to be like all the time?" I ask "Is what what it's going to be like?" as he walks in the house - saying nothing.
Again, for background... I was not snotty or sarcastic in my question. It was more of a playful request. So what did I do wrong? True, I don't like people reading over my shoulder... or staring at me wordlessly as I do something... but I am certain I did not expel any contempt in my question. Truthfully, I was wondering if he was waiting to say something.
So... I finished writing my blog and ignored it. When I went in the house, I tried to iron out what that was all about. Still no real answer. Well, roomie... thanks for participating in a conversation.
I am not sure what to think about all of this. Is the expectation that because someone lives with you, they receive your undivided attention when you get home? I said hello when I first saw him. Shockingly, he said NOTHING to me. As if my presence wasn't noticeable. I could have absolutely been angry about that - but I wasn't. I went on my merry way doing my home-from-work chores.
PS - I did mention this earlier in conversation when I was accused of not saying anything to him yet. I reminded him that I said "hello" to which he replied with "I was in the middle of doing something."
Ooooh. Ok. I didn't realize that your tasks carried more weight than mine. My apologies. I will reserve all future hello's for a time that you aren't simply walking {insert headache inducing eye roll here].
I am by no means suggesting that all activity stop at my arrival. In fact, I did not even come outside to bother him when I arrived because I saw him working on the computer. Instead, I extended my hello when he walked in the house while I was emptying the dishwasher. Was my fault not saying hello the second I walked in the door?
My greatest flaw exists in my density. I am extraordinarily smart - but when it comes the the Martian, I am completely clueless. I understand men to be simple creatures of singular focus. At least this is what society teaches women. Be direct. Don't hide behind subtleties. Accept what you see/hear and do not read into it.
So, penesia unite! What am I doing wrong?
I would like to see this decision work. I would like my rosey view of living with the love of my life to hold true.
My plan for the rest of the night is to let this little tift go, finish my glass of wine, and go to sleep. Psychological history tells me this is the best course of action when dealing with men. Fingers crossed that my guy is not the exception to the rule.
Murphy and Val - signing out.
