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Conversation Over Coffee

July 21st, 2009

purplecoffeecupOver at Eden Cafe, CarrieAnn posted an article entitled “Put Down the Blackberry.  Seriously.”  You should go read it.  Right now, even.  If you don’t, I’ll be quoting some of it here, so you’ll get the general idea.  But I still say you should.  It’s both sad and funny at the same time.

I sat and read the beginning of the article with my jaw on the desk.  I can’t imagine how quickly my marriage would die if M or I sat texting – or especially tweeting! – about our problems through a dinner date.  And I was pretty high and mighty for a second about the fact that, while I air a lot of our dirty laundry here, I don’t do it instead of trying to work things out with Him.  Matter of fact, I usually do it after we’ve already talked about it and/or worked things out.

But then I got to this part:

It’s not that I’m old and out of the technology loop.  It’s that I mourn the loss of personal, face to face connections.  I advocate putting the person you’re with ahead of a text message, Twitter, Facebook or even a phone call.  And I’m a firm believer in experiencing the experiences you’re having rather than being wrapped up in instantly telling everyone else about them.

I don’t want to date someone that can’t put me first for an hour or two. I don’t want to be in a committed, long term relationship with someone who can’t focus on me for a bit without constantly looking at their i-phone for the latest text or Twitter message.  I certainly don’t feel romantic toward or sexually excited by someone who can’t put the phone or laptop down and actually see and hear me, enjoy my company.

And her last line was like a slap in the face.

You just may be surprised.  It just may be you who’s disconnnected from life, love and romance and overconnected to a PDA.

It brought me back to our most recent argument and something M said.

And I know all the things wrong with that.  I shouldn’t have to see one of my friends, knowingly or not, point out one of my faults to believe it’s a fault.

M gets these cramps in His calves at night.  Usually when He stretches.  And He leaps out of bed and sometimes has to pace to make them go away.  Occasionally, I have to massage His muscle so He can go back to sleep.

Last night, it was barely enough to wake Him up, but it jolted me awake.  Usually, I can go back to sleep, but lately I haven’t been able to.  So from 4:30 till about 5:45ish? I laid there thinking about all this shit spinning in my head.  At 5:45ish, He woke up again (I’d been accidentally waking Him up since He woke me up) and saw me staring at the ceiling.

He asked me what was wrong and I told Him that I feel like I’m buried under this huge pile of shit and I can’t figure out how to climb out.

I’ve decided that it’s time to make a change.  I’ve decided that it’s time to be a better version of me.  The version of me that He used to have and deserves to still have.  And I feel like every time I pull out a shit-folder, look inside and try to figure out how to clean it up, another one gets added to the pile.  Like I’m trying to dig myself out and someone (Me, again! I rock!) is standing at the top continuously dumping more shit on top of me.

Ugh.  I told myself I wasn’t going to do another one of these “I’m a crazy nutball and I destroy everything I touch.” posts.  But I have to get it out of my head.  Feel free to turn the page.  :/

There’s just so much.

Neither of us communicates very well.  He tries but I change the rules and definitions too often.  Today a rose is a beautiful flower that we both love to look at.  Tomorrow it’s a weed that we can do without.  So in order for Him to be able to communicate with me, He has to be psychic, or discover the new rules of engagement early on in a conversation, or we end up toe-to-toe for a little while.  And I usually don’t do it on purpose, or even realize I’m doing it.  But I’ll sure as shit argue that I’m not when He tries to tell me I am!

I’m great at debate when it doesn’t concern me.  I could convince Mother Theresa that she was worshiping Satan if given the chance.  But when I’m involved? I’m all over the place.  I can’t nail down any one specific issue and, instead, want to address a thousand.  And, once I get beyond a certain point, I will argue with anything anyone says.  They could tell me my name is Rayne and I have blue eyes and brown hair and I’d tell them that my name is Misty and I have green eyes and orange hair.

We are constantly trying to change each other.  It’s His right.  I gave it to Him.  But, all of a sudden, I’m fighting like hell.  I want things to change but I’m afraid that, if they do, I won’t get my needs met.  Not because He can’t or won’t.  But because I change the rules so often.  And then I’m afraid I’ll be backing us into the same cycle I’ve had us in since day one.  The cycle of me asking for things I want, or know I need, and then bitching about them until He stops doing them.

We both get frustrated, give up and stop doing things we really enjoy doing – instead of trying to find some happy medium – because, for some reason, it bothers the other of us.  We’re both very black and white.  One extreme or another.  Finding middle ground, in the instances where He’s willing, is almost impossible.  We’re both extremely stubborn.  Again, it’s His right.  But I’m fighting like hell.

We put things between us.  Our computers, His phone, the TV, the stereo…  We talk more over IM than we ever do in person.  Hell, some days we’re sitting ten feet away from each other with the stereo blaring chattering back and forth over AIM while we play the same Reflexive game to see who can finish it first.

He always wins but He has an unfair advantage…  No one orders Him to the kitchen for drinks and food and chores. =D

I let my pride get in the way.  Pride.  Hah.  A fine quality in a slave.  After a certain point, I realize I’m wrong (Not on the days that I’m out of control.  On days that I’m fully in control and really feel passionately about whatever we’re discussing.) and start searching for the tiniest opening to prove myself right just so I don’t have to admit I was wrong.  That’s fucking disgusting.

So this morning, I decided to talk about it.  It was totally the wrong time.  No one wants to wake up to a crying wife who was, accidentally or on purpose, keeping them up for hours when they have to head off to work.  But it had to be addressed and I knew that if I didn’t say something while it was on the tip of my tongue, I wouldn’t.  And by the end of the day, I’d be a total basket case and we’d be fighting over what shade of green the tile in the kitchen is and things would be so much worse.

We had a really nice discussion.  An amazing discussion.  Once I was able to convince Him that there wasn’t some major, show-stopping problem and that, really, I was irritated with myself, we were able to talk like civil human beings.  And it felt very good to not already be so flustered that I couldn’t think straight.  To be able to express myself in a way that He could understand what I was saying and wasn’t on the defensive.

It also felt pretty awesome to be honest with Him, and myself, about my faults.  Even though it hurt.

I’m trying to approach these problems (My faults.  Things that I need to change.  Not any of the issues within the relationship that we have to work on together.) one at a time to keep from getting overwhelmed, but so many of them are connected.  So I sit there going “Well, I can’t fix this until I fix that.  And I can’t fix that until I fix this over here.  And I can’t fix this over here until…”  Blah.  And then I’ve lost interest because it seems like so much work just to end up back at the beginning.  Because it never sticks.  Because I’m a dumb twat who can’t be taught.  So why should I think it will now?

Pessimist? Who me? Nah!

He said, “Rayne, when you were anal about being a slave we didn’t have these problems.  When we were entrenched in ritual and I was chaining you up all the time and constantly reminding you of what you were, we didn’t have these problems.  But you have got to get to a place where you don’t need that.  And soon!”

And He’s right.  He’s been offered a promotion and it’s going to require Him to work odd hours and spend even less time at home.  And He’ll be working when He is home more often as well.

And even if that wasn’t the case, I am twenty-nine years old.  Not two.  I shouldn’t need a babysitter.  Micromanagement was great when He had the time.  But now He needs to be able to step away from the playpen for five minutes without worrying that I’ll be climbing on the bookshelves when he comes back.

This is where I usually say “But He took His hands off the wheel.”  And I did when we were talking (Talking.  Not screaming.  It was really awesome.).  It needed to be said.  And I could go back to the dinosaurs with “But He took His hands off the wheel because I told Him I wanted to take things slowly.” and “But I told Him I wanted to take things slowly because our marriage was in trouble.” and “But our marriage was in trouble because I made a couple bad decisions.” and…

We can’t work on these things separately.  They are not separate issues.  And neither of us can work on them alone.  If we are going to make this work we’re going to have to do it together.

But I have to accept the parts that are mine alone.  And I have to make the commitment to fix them and honor it.  Me.  Alone.  That’s a scary word.

The most I can expect from Him is understanding when I’m going through what appears to be [[PMDD]].  And even if it isn’t PMDD, the fact still remains that my PMS has obviously worsened and I have to figure out how to control it somehow.

Two days ago, I would have said that’s unfair.  Hell, this morning I made sure to say, “I refuse to accept that this is all my fault.”  Whether it’s fair or not, they’re my faults.  If they’re going to be fixed, I have to be the one to fix them.

I’m making this all so much harder than it has to be.  I gotta stop that shit, too.

See what I mean about the shit-folders? God damn.

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  1. July 21st, 2009 at 14:33 | #1

    Oy. My head is spinning around, reading that. I would go insane if I had to live one day in your brain, I swear to gods.

    I love ya and all but, holy shit woman, you sure do make stuff complicated.

    Stop that!

    (Easier said than done, I know)

  2. July 21st, 2009 at 14:55 | #2

    @Carrie Ann I know I do. I think I used to be sane and I am steadily driving myself crazy. Ugh.

  3. July 21st, 2009 at 22:18 | #3

    Sounds like you and i are kind of in the same sort of place. my Master and i had a fight the other day, and i kept circling back to “But You didn’t take out the trash” like the trash is the root of my misbehavior… (rolls eyes at self)

    Here’s to hoping we both figure it out and find our sanity intact. 🙂

  4. July 22nd, 2009 at 06:40 | #4

    @jenpet Haha. Here’s hoping.

    He didn’t take out the trash… Lol. I’m sorry. It’s funny to me because M just doesn’t. All the chores around here are my chores unless He gets bored or feels like being nice. =D

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