The Five Strands of A Sedentary Empress

Reluctance

So, my good news yesterday was that I got a second poem published. I opened up the editor's email, smiled, promptly went into M's office to tell him and saw by his face that I was not, at that moment, his favourite person.

I guess no one is perfect, and if we really scrutinized every existing relationship we're bound to find flaws, reasons the two involved aren't suited, but I have to say that he disappoints me when he gets angry over things I don't understand. I cannot tap into the root of the problem, can't find a reason to feel anything about what he's angry about, so I behave accordingly: I freeze him out.

He has a right, though, to get angry with me about things I do or say which offend him even if I don't mean to. The problem is that if I tried to defend myself yesterday by pointing out that he is constantly leaving things all over the house and that his getting angry about the one thing I left out is kind of stupid, he would have erupted with accusations. He hates when I come back at him with his wrongdoings, says it's typical of me to deflect the blame by pointing out what he did wrong. It's like I'm a Conservative.

I have also decided that the small arguments which come up from time to time seem to be cyclical. Also, I dwell on them more than most people would. In my previous relationship, arguments were as essential as eating dinner and brushing teeth, very seldom leaving an imprint on me, but with M., the expectations I have of our relationship are heads and shoulders over the ones I had before. I guess I am looking for perfection, which logically I know is impossible, but that doesn't stop me from subconsciously demanding it. When he behaves foolishly, or selfishly, I have to say I am completely surprised, given my perception of him being one of the most mature and rational people I've ever met. I have literally found myself standing with an open mouth at times, wanting to punch him or belittle him with my razor-edged tongue, but unable to move because I have been stunned by the malicious little boy who has commanded his body.

Then, occasionally, I try to see me from his point of view. I suppose, if I'm honest, one might be inclined to describe me as 'moody'. I am given to fits of unanticipated silence, and my feelings get hurt very easily, often when someone thinks they're being funny, but are actually coming off as cruel. I don't deal well with criticism, even if I know it's warranted, and if I'm feeling especially base and human, I can be destructive and unreasonable, a feeling of dark rage enveloping anyone who dares to come near me. I know I can change the feel of a room, just by being in it. Even if people don't often like to speak to me, mostly because I seem unapproachable even when I am desperate for conversation, I can affect the overall mood of everyone around me just by feeling what I feel. I've seen it, and have always marvelled at the unintentional contagiousness of my anxiousness and anger. I am marvelled, just as I am shamed.

He's been good about the joblessness. He hasn't badgered me, and he has seemed more content since I said I'm seriously considering going to school for training. I am grateful that he isn't a nagger about these things, even though he did nag me to the point of my almost screaming at him about paying off my dentist's bill. His theory is that if I don't take care of my financial debts, it reflects badly on him. He's right, I suppose, but that doesn't stop me from pouting and shooting arrows from my eyeballs whenever he asks me about some unfinished financial business. This is my fault, though. I can be very much a procrastinator about that kind of thing.

One thing I remember from watching that Secret film was that whenever you have a negative thought, you should try to think of things you are grateful for. Makes sense, I think, but when I have tried to employ this practice over the past couple days I have been startled to realize that not only is it reflex for me to be negative, but that I almost seem to prefer it. This is kind of an odd thing to know about myself. It's like thinking of something I'm grateful for in those kind of moments seems unfavourable. I suppose this explains a lot about my lack of happiness in life, it's like I say I want it, but deep down, I am more at ease being the Empress of Darkness.

I am grateful, though. I am grateful for him, even if right now I'm not feeling it as intensely as I normally would. He is mostly a positive person, and it's not entirely his fault that I've infected him with my acerbic personality. I siphon his good and he is injected with my hysteria. I know it, and I am trying to be careful of doing so. I was attracted to his happiness, I don't want to take it from him. I am grateful for my sweet, sweet girl, for my three ridiculously human cats, for the beauty of this spring morning which hints at no rain, only busy bumblebees and busy squirrels. I am grateful to have been published, twice(!), and to know that maybe I can do this thing. I am grateful for the new fabric softener I've been using, because right now this sweater is softer than it's ever been and I smell like a child who has been loved by her mother. I am grateful for music, poetry and the stories I can't peel my eyes from. I am grateful for the tulip that sprung up next to the chimney even though I did not plant it, and it has seemingly been planted by unseen fingers. I am grateful for the moments in which I feel healthy and awake, and I am grateful for the clean sheets on the bed. I am grateful for the near perfect dinner I made last night, and for how my parents took second helpings of everything. I am grateful that my dad has come into his warmness as he's gotten older, that I can really feel his love now, whereas before it was simply implied. He hugs me now, and what's more, I know he respects me. My mother...well, she didn't fight once with me yesterday, and when she asked me if she could borrow some of my perfume to go to her concert, I obliged by telling her where to look and to help herself. When she came down the stairs, I knew immediately which scent she'd chosen; she had doused herself with M.'s cologne. I could not stop giggling.

I'm grateful, in a way, for the lay off. I've had a lot of time to be at home, where I'm happiest, and I've spent many rainy afternoons cuddling with my daughter. I am learning about appreciation too, mainly because I was so wasteful with money before, and now I really think before I part with a cent. I eat the food more slowly, I research things before I commit to buying them, I put more thought into what makes sense and what doesn't. I'm not saying I like feel poor, but I will say that in a way, there is beauty in it. There is truth. I think when you spend blindly you lose the value in things, become overwhelmed and addicted to what you can buy next, but when the option isn't there, when the means to be frivolous are done, you look at what you really need and what really equates to happiness and come to know that you can make it on very little. I want things, yes, but I don't believe I'll ever again throw away plates of untouched food after dinner like I used to, and I'll never eat out at restaurants as often as I once did. I have discovered the freedom of a library, rather than how I used to haunt the book store, spending fifty dollars in a flash, only to marginally appreciate the book I'd brought home, which I still have to find space for. I want clothes, too, probably will never get past the girlish need to be pretty, but for the most part, I've acquired a deeper understanding of what real beauty is.

I have to admit, too, that my panic attacks, which I openly despise, have also educated me. I am still a fearful person, still haven't found my way around fits of terror and subsequent depression, but I intellectually understand that this isn't something that will be passed by taking a shortcut. I am far more apt to smile in a moment of peace than I ever did before, always taking that kind of thing for granted, but as anyone who deal with depression or anxiety will tell you, the good moments are something you don't let pass without acknowledgement. It's like weight loss: people still buy the drugs and dietary aids hoping that they will burn the fat away forever, but they never work well, often causing more damage, and the answer to the problem was always perserverance, proper diet and exercise; there are no shortcuts. I hate that this is something I may never get away from, and in those moments of physical discomfort and mental anguish when things feel completely beyond my control and I tend to think 'what's the use?'. Then, it stops. It's like the funnel cloud has been pulled up toward the heavens and what is left are slightly damaged surroundings which warm to the return of the sun. I am grateful to know people who've found their way to a funnel-free world and continually reassure me that one day, I'll get there too. It'll be bumpy until then, but at least it's a destination.

I am grateful that I am genuinely open to wanting to know things. I don't want to be an eye-roller anymore. I don't want to think that cynicism is reality. I am happy that I am searching and wanting to learn. It makes things more interesting.

I'll leave it at that.