Archive for February 2nd, 2010

When Oh-no meets A-ha Part 1

February 2nd, 2010 Comments off

The past few weeks have been a bit rough in Casa de la Boonies. i haven’t been the best in the property department. Hell, to be blunt, i haven’t even qualified as a good wife in my opinion. i’ve been restless, snappish and prone to having my feelings hurt for no fucking logical reason. Breathing deep and biting my tongue only gets me so far before i’ve hyperventilated and my tongue is hanging by a thread. Finally, after two weeks of pain and harsh words and late night talks, i think i’ve finally screwed my head back on fairly straight.

It started with N going out bowling. He does this every other Thursday, from when He gets off work until 9:45 or so at night. He throws a few down the lane, has a drink or two, bullshits with His teammates and ogles the women in the Women’s League down the alley. He says He needs it to unwind and just get away. To my logical form of thought (please stop laughing), it mostly makes sense.  It costs Him $20 plus the drinks, so i guess it is a good investment. Unfortunately, since we’ve moved out here, i’ve come to resent Thursdays. They make me on edge, resentful, emotional. He comes home and tells me about the great time He had and all i hear is “I went out and looked at girls and had a great time while you sat here with three cabin-fever afflicted boys and sat staring out the window pulling your hair out hating me for having such a great time. How’s it feel, bitch?”  No wonder He isn’t in any hurry to come home those nights.

Money’s been tight lately, and i’ve gone without things so that the rest of the house can function somewhat normally. So it really chaps my ass to think of Him blowing 20 bucks on something as frivolous as bowling. i mean, fuck, what exactly does He need to escape? He isn’t trapped in this house, with these kids, here for a week or two at a time,  denying Himself things so the kids can have nice enough clothes. (Heh.  i’m angling for sainthood.)

Then it hit me after i came uncunted that night. After a long, bitter drawn out guerrilla warfare in my mind, He pointed out a few things that i had apparently forgot:

  • i’m the bottom bitch. Property. Slave. The only say in how things are run is the say He gives me. And He didn’t ask.
  • It’s not my place to say how the money is spent. Not my money.
  • Definitely not my place to be lecturing Him about my wants.
  • My ego was getting too big for its britches.

It hurt. Bad. i had been so grossly disobedient and out of line. The worst part was having my ego put in check. i fucking all out hate dislike being stuck here on this farm, with telephone as my only communication with other people aside from Him. In the summer, not so bad, i can go outside and garden, or chase the kids, or even just bask in the sun. During the winter, it’s dark by 5 at the darkest point of winter. i can’t let the kids out because of the wind chills. i have even gone as far as resenting our beautiful, intelligent children because they tether me to this hateful house. i figured this should be top priority over Him wanting to hang with the boys. And i was wrong.  His wants come before some of my needs. It stung to realize this. It hurt to think that my sanity meant less than His desire to hang with friends.  i cried myself to sleep that night.

It slowly got better for me, as i started to accept my fate. Thursdays aren’t going away. He isn’t going to cave to my demands, no matter how shrill i scream. And even though it makes me hiss and growl at Him every Thursday after He comes home, i find small solace in knowing that no matter the fits i throw, the emotional blackmail i might try, He won’t be swayed. He won’t relent if He doesn’t want to. i have no right to expect, much less demand that my wants come before His.

He won’t back down and relinquish ownership just because i said so.

That, that little gem of truth, makes all the fucking Thursdays worth it.

Just don’t remind me of that Friday morning.

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Driving and navigating

February 2nd, 2010 Comments off

DK will sometimes compare me to his car. He doesn’t do it to say he doesn’t care, he does it to point out that I am there to serve a purpose. I am a working part of his life, not a cherished pet that just gets fed and cuddled.

This analogy bleeds into life. In terms of the relationship, he drives. He decides where we go. Occasionally, I am allowed to help navigate. I am allowed to point out potential traffic blackspots and warn him about roadblocks. It is, however, up to him what route we take.

Whether he does round those roadblocks or just smashes through them and then fixes the car up after getting past it. He decides whether the scenery after the traffic blackspot is worth waiting while the traffic clears… Am I taking this too far?

Basically, he decides on a path for our relationship. If he tells me about it or I recognise where we’re going, I will give him my input. If I foresee an emotional roadblock, I tell him. He chooses whether to dismantle it brick by brick or whether to drive through it. Driving through it may damage the car but he’s my mechanic. Dismantling it slowly delays the journey and the car just sits there idling. If he stopped and broke down every issue I have with teeny baby steps, I’d be frustrated and we wouldn’t be on the path I agreed to. Of course the other part of that is I know that part of his plan is a complete rebuild of this vehicle. It’s Trigger with a broom all over again. “This old brooms had 17 new heads and 14 new handles in its time.” Same broom or not the same broom? Doesn’t matter… It’s his car, I mean broom.

Sometimes, I am promoted to navigator. If I have a better grip on where we are, what’s ahead, how to get there, all the blocks and pitfalls, he’ll ask me to route-plan. He gives me a goal, I aim the car at it, then let him drive.

We’re at that stage now. We took a wrong turn. He wants me to show him one or two ways back to the road we were on and then he’ll take the map off me again. I have a problem, though.

I can’t read maps. Need more explanation? OK.

Read more…

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