Love and Name-calling

No, I'm not angry with you. But if I say you are acting like Superwoman, will you leap off of something high?! Just asking.

Love and Becoming Lost

"The way to love anything is to realize that it might be lost." GK Chesterton

What happens if I lose you? This thought has plagued me for the past couple of days as I endure my long drive to and from work.

This morning, in wee, dark hours before the sun, I got up to get ready for another wearing day of work. For a few moments, I watched you sleeping peacefully in my bed, your 28-hour work week done. I thought of how you complained about your job, the way you make it sound as though you slave away, 80-hours a week in a third world country sweat shop. You would certainly put my 60-plus hour schedule to shame if it were true. But there you were, with a 3 relaxing days ahead and not a demand in sight ... aside from tending to your Farmville crops and your Facebook friends.

And what will I come home this evening? A happy, uncomplaining mate? A fine meal ready? No. That would mean I had slipped into a dream. Or, I was awake and you were prepping me for some expensive demand.

No, I will come home the same as it is has been since you've moved in: not only do I get to spend a long day making the bacon, I get to cook it too. Of course, the cooking takes place only after a rousing round of "guess what she wants to eat".

What will happen if I lose you? I'm not certain. But I'm beginning to think that regret won't be a part of it.

Love and the Gump

Sometimes when we talk - actually, it's more you talk and I listen - I feel like I'm in a scene from "Forrest Gump". You're Pvt. Benjamin Buford 'Bubba' Blue and I'm Forrest Gump.

You remember those scenes: while Forrest and Bubba assemble their rifles, shine their boots, scrub the floor with toothbrush, Bubba continues on and on about preparing shrimp, eating shrimp, and making a multitude of foods with shrimp. Finally, there's a pause and Bubba says, "That - that's about it."

There's no "that's about it" with you. You go on and on about your life's plans, your kids' plans, your parents' plan; what your kids are doing wrong, what your parents are doing wrong, what I'm doing wrong; why your kids should be doing this, why your parents should be doing that, why we should be doing the other. This goes on during our shopping trips, our television viewing, our drives to help your kids, and as I'm trying to get to a few hours of sleep after a long day of trying to earn enough money to keep your unemployed self safe and sound under my roof.

Like Forrest, I keep my mouth shut and take in your almost-ceaseless droning. I know better now than to engage you with my thoughts - be they in agreement or otherwise.

I'm not saying that you have the mental capacity of Bubba Blue. You are far above that. Yet, given the way you've been treating me, I can't help but feel as though I'm only a simple-mined Gump in your life. And that's all you want.

No, I'm not Forrest. First of all, I don't have a movie directing fate to bring my outcomes into wondrous conclusions. And you are definitely no Jenny.

love and sad possibilities

I hope you are having a wonderful time visiting your children in Virginia. When you called tonight, you mentioned how relaxed I sounded. We both know it's your code for "I had a drink". A silly code because I don't drink alcohol very often. I have too much to do and too many demands - especially since you have entered my household. But when I do imbibe this past year, you suddenly become a self-righteous teetotaler.

So, yes, I didn't had a drink flowing through my system when you called. Instead, it was the first time in several weeks that you weren't here. In a way, you were correct. I was feeling very relaxed - no worries from listening to your situation, no Spanish inquisition about what I haven't done according to your agenda, no aggravation about my son's stay in MY home. I was able to concentrate on vital projects for my future (and perhaps ours). For the first time in a long while, I was ... happy.

This realization scared me. What if I tell you that you are no longer the soul mate that lovers need? Would you have become vindictive because of spurned affection? Would you then destroy my home that I have opened to you? Would I need to get a restraining order during the next time you are away?

Our lives shouldn't be this complicated. For a woman of 56 and two failed marriages under her belt, you know what I have to offer. Perhaps I'm the trusting fool that should not have let us reach this stage.

I don't know what to do at this moment. I do know that love doesn't exist when fear abounds.

Love of Post-it Notes

Until a few years ago, you would surprise me with Post-it notes of your love and admiration placed on the bathroom mirror, on my pillow, sometimes in my lunch. The sight of your passionate messages always made my day.

All of that is in the past now. Lately you've only left messages when you want something done, or not done.

"Please don’t put the milk in the top shelf." I understand. I certainly don't want the milk to be upset and pout because it didn't get top position in the refrigerator. But if we give milk its way all of the time, won't it get spoiled?

"Please leave the TV on for the cat." Yes, of course. When your cat awakes after spending most of its day in the other side the house away from the TV, we certainly don't want her to miss the melodrama of the daily soap operas. I guess she doesn't get enough from when we are at home.

Out of curiosity, I left a note reminding everyone to take off their shoes at the door. For almost 10 years, you thought this guideline was a great way to keep the house little cleaner for us and for company. Yet during the past few months, you decided to not respect this little wish. So I left my little note to see what would happen. As I expected, you became incensed when you found my written words. How dare I do such a thing as tacked up a gentle request!

I see where this relationship is going. It's as though your sticky notes of love have lost their adhesion to my heart. Your continual claims of love are becoming more like empty sounds as your actions do less and less to prove your words. Here's note: while you're playing on the computer, start looking for an apartment - try zillow.com instead farmville.

love and stupid postings

I quietly get up at 5 am and do everything I can to keep your sleep undisturbed. Yet, in the evening, you complain that I don't stay up long enough. You want me to sit by your side as you play Farmville and chat with people until 2 in the morning. I'm sorry. 12 hour days at work are a tad tiring. Still, I try to make you happy.

And then, I saw your Facebook post this morning, "I need a hug."

I'm sorry that I've been more prone to sleep than to listening to your daily rants. These past few days have been especially draining on me. But a supportive spouse would recognize that.

The only reason that I'm writing this is because I am becoming a little tiresome of your childish demands. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to earn money to pay my bills - and your bills while you remain unemployed.

Love and the bonus

I did very well at work last year. I made my company lots of money; I developed several innovative systems; I raised morale of my coworkers in spite of bad times. And so, for my efforts, I received a bonus of a few hundred dollars.

I was so proud of my accomplishment that I almost told you about it when I held you in my arms that day. Almost. Then the words unconsciously stuck in my throat until I realized their spoken consequences.

In the past, you would have bolstered my victory with encouraging words of your own. Now, I can only expect you to rail about how I should spend my hard-earned reward along the lines of your desires and not to my guidelines for our lives.

When this realization struck me, my little victory disappeared in a sad realization of how our relationship has changed. And so, tearfully, I have told you nothing. Perhaps that doesn't matter. We both know I'll end up spending on you and your bills any way.