Archive for the 'marriage' Category

Dreaming my Dreams

This Sunday, we will celebrate a few special occasions. First off, I am going to be celebrating what my mother calls “my golden birthday.” Meaning that I will be turning 28 years old on the 28th day of the month. Additionally, B and I will also be celebrating our 8 year anniversary of couplehood.

We have had our share of bumps along the way. (Okay so maybe a little bigger than “bumps.”) There have been births, deaths, depression, abortion, separations, divorce lawyers, custody arrangements, child support orders, separate residences, cheating, deception, alcohol binges, and so much more. And yet, here we are. Still. I would never have guessed that we would have made it this far. In fact, just a few short months ago I didn’t even believe we’d still be together in 2007. Talk about STAMINA. Click the photo below for our slideshow.

The Nice Guy

In the past, I’ve read comments from female bloggers about how annoying it is to see fellow writers use their blogs as a platform for husband bashing. I can sort of understand their point of view. However, this is my personal journal and I’ll bitch about whatever I choose. So fuck you if you don’t like it. Besides, B doesn’t read this blog and neither do any of his friends.

So as many of you know, I’m married to The Nice Guy. You know that guy. As far back as you can remember, this is the guy who has been willing to give up the shirt off his own back. He’s polite, well mannered, a bit insecure, somewhat of a pussy. He constantly gets walked on. The nice guy who always finishes last. The quintessential mama’s boy.

However, in the last several weeks, I have felt as if I’m married to an abusive, alcoholic, wife beating husband. Okay, to be fair, he’s never laid a hand on me. But this is the kind of man he’s reminded me of. And honestly, it wouldn’t surprise me if a smack here and there was on the horizon.

It all started around the first of the year. I don’t know if it’s simply a result of nicotine withdrawals, or if it’s the stress of our new place, or a combination of the two. My Dad said that scientists have performed experiements with lab rats who were perfectly peaceful until they placed them in a much smaller cage. The rats went crazy and started eating each other and shit. He likens it to what is happening in my new 1100 square foot home. We’re constantly at each other’s throats.

Nevertheless, I have been putting up with a lot of verbal abuse from the man of the house. And it’s in front of the kids. One time, he even called me a “cunt” in front of Animal. As in “Your mama is such a cunt, isn’t she Animal?” It’s almost as if all of the sudden, he’s trying to exert some control over me, and in doing so, is acting completely out of character. I can’t even believe the asshole he’s become. Today I was told to “shut my fucking trap”, and when I questioned him at the dinner table about whether or not he was going to sell his gun that he’s only used *once* in the 6 years we’ve been married, he totally flipped his lid. Yesterday, he threw a wet soapy sponge directly at Einstein’s face and when I got on his case about it, he got in my face like I was a dude trying to fight him or something. Again today, he stepped into my comfort zone to yell something to the effect of “Remember that you wanted to fucking live here, so now you’re going to have to deal with me never being home while I’m commuting.”

I’ve explained to him that he’s been really irritable lately, and the things he has said/done are hurting my feelings and that I feel as if I’m being verbally and emotionally abused. He has apologized, but doesn’t change. It just keeps on happening. Coincidentally (?) the drinking has continued, and perhaps on a larger scale. Last week, I put my foot down and told him that he WOULD stop drinking during his evening commute, and he flat out refused like a defiant child.

God knows we haven’t had the happiest of marriages. It’s been a bumpy ride every step of the way. But I really thought that once we moved into our own place that we could be be happy again. Only two weeks into it and I have lost all hope.

There Will Be Time

There is time still
for sitting in cafes
in Paris
sipping wine.
Time still
for going to meet
the guru.
There is time still.
Now I am caring for eternity.
Carrying bodies soft with sleep
to beds of flowered
quilts and pillows.
Answering cries deep out of
nighttime fears.
Buckling shoes.
Opening doors.
My soul now is dwelling in
the house of tomorrow.
Tomorrow there will be time
for long leisurely conversations,
for poems to write,
and dances to perform.
Time still.
So I surrender now
to them and this,
knowing it is they
who will teach me
how to do it all.

Peggy O’Mara

The Anchor

This afternoon, B and I found ourselves in a familiar spot–my parents deck. From this vantage point, we can see the water and we watch the activity of the city below us.

It’s always the same lazy Sunday afternoon dance. We sit in wooden lounge chairs. The sun is warm, but there is a cool breeze blowing in from the ocean. Every once in awhile, you can smell the salt in the air. He is, as usual, sucking on a Marlboro red, flicking the ashes into a soda-can-turned-ashtray. I (as usual) am sucking down a rum and Coke.

We are arguing. Not a dramatic, heated passionate argument, but a laid back conversation about a topic that has been discussed hundreds of times during our 7 years together. It’s something that neither of us are willing to budge on. We’ve beaten this thing into the ground and now it has become apparent that it has come down to the wire. Someone will have to give, because our future and our happiness is at stake, and there is no obvious compromise.

And so, like always, I utter the same words I’ve said again and again. The words that always bring this argument to a close. The phrase he never knows how to respond to.

I say “I’m just a free spirit. I can’t help it.”

He looks over at me, takes a drag of his cigarette, and exhales. This time is different. This time he speaks.

He says, plain and simple, “And I am an anchor.”

I don’t know why, but his response really touched me. I repeated it back to him. “Yes, you’re right. You are an anchor.” I nodded and smiled and sat back in my chair and thought about it. I wonder what sort of life I would have lived, where I would be today, what kind of person I would have become, if it weren’t for that anchor. Holding me tight, refusing to let go, no matter how much I twisted and turned and fought against it.

Thank you B, for doing what you thought was best, and keeping me grounded in a crazy world.