An Email to My Husband [ 2005-02-01, 10:52 p.m. ]

I know I was a bitch this morning when you said goodbye to me and I pretended not to hear you over my hair dryer but then came running out of the bathroom and banged on the window as you were leaving the building in a passive aggressive attempt to get your attention and make you come back to me even though you were already running late and Iím so, so sorry that I acted that way, and I wish I had something better to offer in the way of explanation but really the truth is that sometimes I done git all crazy and last night and this morning were some of those times. But on nights when Iím crazy or acting like a shrew, donít think that what I am telling you doesnít matter because I am still serious and still lucid and still trying my hardest to communicate with you even through the tears and drama and yes, the spoiled-rotten assy shenanigans I tend to pull, like throwing the digital camera or remote control or slamming down the bottle of red wine with so much force that our kitchen walls look like something from CSI with the red-wine splatter pattern and all. I swear to you, I am trying the best I can to be good and even Good and I want more than anything to be a good person, I want it so much that at night my head spins with all the things I think I should do or the things I think I should do better and I know itís hard to be you, but kiddo, it is hard to be me sometimes, and I need a break every now and then and while I know last night at 10:14 was not the best time to take a break and certainly not the best circumstances I needed that break and Iím sorry you got caught in my wrath but you are not guiltless either, my friend. No, as much as we may deny it we are both grown-ups here and we are both capable and culpable and I donít want to fight, ever ever ever, but for the love of Christ, man, would you just LISTEN to me every now and then instead of getting defensive and assuming Iím mad at you because do you know what that does? It gets me mad at you. And when Iím mad I do foolish, sloppy things and say cruel, sloppy things and that is how we ended up with red wine splattered on the walls in the kitchen which pisses me off to no end because when I tried to clean it up this morning the red wine was still visible but the fucking paint washes off so now the kitchen looks like it has some selective faux-finishing and you KNOW how I feel about faux finishing. I donít remember exactly how our fight started but I know that I was feeling like your work Ė well, your school Ė takes up all your attention and that things like me and home and fun and free time all get pushed into another category of Other Stuff To Be Addressed Later and I hate that. I hate it so much. I hate that you are so one-track mind about things and I hate that you end up feeling like you owe me time or something because the last thing in the world I want to be is a responsibility of yours and I donít know how to tell you any clearer than I already have but donít come home early because you feel bad for not spending more time with me, come home early because you want to and when you do come home early donít think about school and donít make it feel like maintenance because I donít want to be handled or managed or maintained, I just want someone to talk to at night and maybe to kiss and hug. So I am apologizing for being a bitch last night but I still want you to understand that an apology does not negate the shit that was pissing me off and the fastest way to get back where we were is for you to ignore what I was trying to tell you, which is that I want us to be better even if I donít know what better means and even if we are already good. Maybe Iím wiggy because everyone is buying houses and having babies and I feel like I am in the remedial class and canít figure out how to make 2x2 = happily ever after, or maybe itís because weíre going to San Diego in two days for Angelaís wedding and Iím going to see a bunch of friends from college who werenít really friends, not the kind that you totally trust and open up to and stay in touch with but the kind you share a ride to the Zeta house with and the kind you hold their hair for but then forget about within a year of graduation, and anyway I will be seeing all these friends from college who Iíve not seen or talked to in about eight years and I kind of feel like if you are going to disappear off the face of the planet for the better part of ten years, when you reappear you should have something to show for it, so I want to show up with my shit together and I just donít know how together all the shit really is, and besides which, all that is just my way of saying that I want to look skinny and pretty and make the girls I used to be intimidated by think that I am cool. Itís shallow and petty and I guarantee that if you asked any of my friends Ė the real ones Ė they would agree 100% and offer me their best push-up bra or fancy earrings. I think I want to wear that green dress but I am worried about looking just right, and I know you have no idea how hard it is to just get dressed sometimes, but trust me, it is hard. And I just found out that a bunch of people will be at the bar in our hotel after the rehearsal dinner which means that I need a preliminary hot outfit since that is when I will see people first, and by people I mean the sorority sisters of mine who are bridesmaids and may or may not be showing up with babies and masters degrees and professional baseball-playing fiancťs, so if I bring that skimpy purple top to wear on Friday night, donít look at me like Iím crazy for getting so dressed up but try to understand that my clothes are my armor and that if I am wearing the right outfit, walking into that bar will be a whole lot easier than if I am wearing those stupid cargo pants that I always end up bringing with me on every trip we take. So, dear husband, bear with me while I adjust to a new job and cold weather and another year and another wedding and another and another and the news that S is having a baby and the hope for clarity, always clarity, as I face my 30th year on this big marble, doing the very best I can. And weíre out of dog food.

Yours,
Always yours.
m.

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