4/29/00
"And he said 'what do you love to do? Outside your world, who spends time with you? To whom do you run when you're not working, sweet girl?'"
Last night I thought that perhaps we could wave the white flag and simmer down, but it seems like Miss Thang wanted to continue chewing on my ass. So I left for class with a "fuck you!" and a slam of the door. Of course, "class" consisted of the prof's substitute (I didn't know PhD's actually sent subs in for themselves) telling us that, of the 3 movies she was supposed to rent for us to watch, none of them could be found by either her or the student assigned to find them. So, having no movies, we sat and listened to her blather on and on and on about "how to write your paper--" okay, it's a 5-page paper, you only need 5 sources, and the topic is "a trend in crime and projections for the 21st century." HOW FUCKING HARD CAN THAT BE? If I weren't so busy and sick of school (and hadn't already delegated the task to Megan), I could whip that out in a matter of minutes. So I show up today, and sure as shit, we're watching movies. Some action flick starring Charlie Sheen as the President's head honcho. "All the President's Men?" I don't know, I'm not into shoot'emup-bang-bang movies. So I checked my name off on the sign-in sheet, watched twenty minutes of Charlie dodging bullets in a most miraculous manner for a guy in a 3-piece suit, and then decided this wasn't teaching me jack shit about crime in America and left. I'm now in the campus lab, doing a bit of fucking off before I begin work in earnest on the CS106 paper. I've figured out there is half a chance. All I need are a couple of B's and a C on the final, and I can pass the class with a low C. Rock on, gold dust woman...
"Everybody's trying to say I'm wrong, I just want to be back where I belong...maybe I'm wrong but who's to say what's right? I need somebody to help me through the night...world turning, I gotta get my feet back on the ground...everybody's got me down..."
I'm so bad, I've snuck a whole cup of coffee (complete in my brand new Quik Trip travel mug--QT is the most kick-ass convenience store in the world) and a box of chocolate covered donettes into the lab. Ooooh, please don't hurt me, mister computer geek man! I promise not to spill anything on the computers that my tuition and fees have paid for!
So last night when I left "class" I decided I was tired of fighting and called Megan to offer to buy her dinner at this shopping center next door to my office, because The Firm gave us grunts $25 gift certificates to any shop/restaurant there for suck-retaries' week. We decided to go to the sushi bar, because I love sushi, and even though Megan hates it, she prefers teriyaki chicken these days to hamburgers. And on the way there we start fighting again. Her big beef is that I'm so insensitive to her feelings I saw nothing wrong with expecting her to drop her plans just because I had tickets to a ball game. My beef is that she sees her family ALL THE FUCKING TIME and that it didn't seem like such a big deal to reschedule a barbecue with the family she sees ALL THE FUCKING TIME to see a baseball game for free, which happens like, never once you graduate from the sixth grade and don't get to go as part of the safety patrols program. (You've seen the t-shirts, "love me, love my family, every weekend, for the rest of your life?" I swear she made them.) By the end of the night I half wanted to smack her and half wanted to just stop arguing.
"Days when the rain and the sun are gone...black as night...agony's torn at my heart too long...so afraid...slip and I fall and I die..."
This morning (and last night) I was seriously wondering why the hell we stay together, and I don't think it's my neurosis talking, I think a lot of it truly is financial--and that's sick. There's no doubt in my mind that we love one another on some twisted level, but to answer the age-old question, no, love isn't enough. You've got to at least have some personality similarities or you'll drive each other crazy. Like we have done for the last 4 years. I'm neat (most of the time), she's a pig (most of the time--we both have our moments). I like to eat out, she prefers Hamburger Helper. I have expensive tastes, she wants to buy everything at Big Lots. I love animals, she hates anything that isn't Noodle. I'm more social, she's a total loner. We drive each other bonkers. And what else is scary is watching the way she's slowly becoming her mother. I've seen the woman order her husband around like a plantation boss on speed. "Get in there and finish remodeling the bathroom." "You need to get outside and plant those marigolds." "Do this, do that." And what's more, it's always dad that's expected to forgive mom for her misgivings. I suspect that if dad pulled half the shit that mom has pulled during their marriage, there'd be two houses to visit on weekends. And that kind of freaks me out, because if I had to live with mom for the rest of my life, I'd kill myself.
"If you were my husband, I'd put poison in your coffee." "If you were my wife, I'd drink it."
The kicker is that, even if we were to finally decide that we were not meant to be romantically, neither of us would ever leave. We both love the house, we have too many "joint" pieces of furniture, and neither of us can afford to continue our present standard of living on our own. This morning we actually started referring to each other as "Oliver" and "Barbara." (War of the Roses? God, I love that movie, but it's starting to feel a bit too realistic.) And that's a sticky situation, but with a bit of decorum, it can actually be done--I mean, the ex-husband and I lived together a good 4 months after Megan and I hooked up. Thing is, I don't think Megan HAS a bit of decorum. Or a miniscule shred of dignity, for that matter.
I did question her last night regarding her meds, and yes, she has been skipping her evening dose. I think it's because she doesn't lose weight as quickly when she's not hyperthyroid, even though she swears that's not why she quit taking it. She said she liked being alert and awake in the morning. Yes, well, that's a good part, and the other good part is that you can drop a couple pounds in a week, but the bad thing is you have the attention span of a 2-year-old on crack and the temperament of an angry bumblebee. So quit fucking around and TAKE YOUR PILLS.
Speaking of, I was thinking this morning back to the whole web-as-therapy business. I've decided that's not always a good thing. When Megan was first diagnosed with Graves', I freaked--I mean, "graves," that's what they bury you in, right? Ick. So I found some Graves Disease support group on line, and man, the way these people talked, I just wanted to shoot her and put her out of her misery. The reality is that she's been on the drugs since December and has managed to function just fine. So what's the deal? Is she just healthier than these other people, or is she mentally healthier? I'm reminded of the webmaster who disapproved of my manner of dealing with life. I'm also thinking of Dennis Leary's approach to therapy--"SHUT THE FUCK UP!" I don't think I have a destination for this train of thought, just something I was thinking about... More
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