This Is What a Month of The Snots Does

My Sweetie and I have both been sick since just before Christmas. If it weren't for being alive, we'd be feeling better by now.

I've already ranted about HIM, so let me tell you about US.

Friday, I was so tired I couldn't focus my eyes. I was crumpled on the couch, trying to watch (and hear) the TV. I don't watch much TV, because, well, most of what interests me does not interest my beloved, and he has this delightful man-way of making it impossible to watch anything.

Which is, after all, a good thing, because most of what is on TV is drivel.

But when you're miserable sick, and too tired to focus your eyes, the TV is a beautiful thing. It's distracting, especially if you're watching a Lifetime sapfest or a drivelly sitcom.

The Howler who very much understands grumpy sick Mommy was kind enough to not be shrieking and whining. My Sweetie, who is stressed from work, decides that this would be a good time to pick up the 500 thousand billion pieces of clutter about the house.

The Howler decides she needs the skin peeled off her apple (it was cuter when she would ask us to "cut the crusts off" her apples, but I digress.) I state, loudly, I'll do it on a commercial. He was in the room when I said it.

My Sweetie, who demands a lot of attention, especially if I'm involved in something that he does not find interesting or fulfilling (TV, computer, reading) decides that this is the PERFECT time to ask me about a box that is sitting under the corner shelf--it's been there for 2 solid weeks, and he hasn't thought about it in all that time, either.

So I get mad. Mostly because my head hurts and like any wild animal, pain puts me into claw and bite mode over everything.

I get the crustful apple and take it to the kitchen for decrusting. He follows me, saying repeatedly, "Honey, I said I'd do that." I ignore him, because everything I can think to say to him involves imbedding the decrusting knife somewhere in his body while reciting the F-bomb over and over.

(I should explain here that on the disagreement/fight thing, we do pretty well. If angry, we wait until the anger has subsided a bit, and ALWAYS remember that words, once out, can't be taken back. Even with unpleasant, personal things, we are always careful to treat each other respectfully and lovingly. We BOTH protect our relationship diligently--especially carefully when one, or both, of us is angry. We're careful, but we're honest. There's no silent, submissive, handle with kid-gloves partner here, though.)

A short time later, we discuss this, and being adults, we come to the conclusion that the TV has got to go. It's drivel, and it's a problem. We, the people paying for it, do not get to enjoy it, and therefore, it must go. (We're only half serious in this.)

We discuss how, in the past 8 years, I have been "allowed" to watch exactly ONE TV show regularly whether he liked it or not. Since the end of that, I have been allowed to watch zillions of hours of Spongebob and the Fairly Odd Parents (which I mostly hate, btw) without censure, but if it's a grown-up program of any sort, or worse, a sitcom that amuses me for any reason, I am not to watch it. (and if I get to actually watch it, I'm not allowed to hear it.) He and the Howler are in cohoots on this. It's been HER diabolical plot since the day of her birth. (The funniest part of that is then, Saturday evening, he announces that he's going to go buy an HDTV. While complaining that he doesn't get to watch the TV we currently have. Go figure.)

My Sweetie (bless his heart) will go so far as to get on the phone and have a very loud conversation with his hearing-aidless father while sitting right next to me. He will decide to clear out clutter, rearrange furniture, discuss budgetary issues, question the filing system, and make grocery lists all while in the room with me.

If I remove myself from the main living area room TV, and relocate to a more private, less accessible room in the house, he will FOLLOW ME THERE. He will increase his volume and the need for my vital input. And it's all done DURING THE PROGRAM. Play a jingle or flash to a logo, and WHAMMO! He's silent. Most of TV viewing is of commercials (the drivelliest drivel.)

Then he will be offended and confused when I finally shut off the TV and commence doing something else (usually, when I'm totally angry, cleaning--mostly filing and throwing things out--is a really good release.) He'll then try to placate the angry beast confronting him.

In time, he has improved on his use of the telephone during these times, but what that really means is that he relies, instead, on his unfailing need to clean, straighten, or otherwise purge the house of clutter.

I will admit that it is, in part, my fault. Especially if I'm on the computer, trying to write something (for a blog, or my pleasure, or even as part of my mission from God.) I was in a slump when we met, and began this thing called us, and in all honesty, until recently, it hasn't been all that important.

It's become important again, and even by repeatedly trying to explain and share, because it's not HIS interest and not important to HIM, it's relegated to NON-IMPORTANCE.

Quite honestly, I resent that HIS interests are important, and vital, and mine are, well, classified as "dicking off." I acknowledge I do quite a bit of this "dicking off" anyway, but at the same time, he cannot, even if I spell it out for him, using brightly colored visual aids and charts, determine that what I'm doing is important to me.

I love him, and I can't say it often enough: I have it really really good with him. I don't have to do much by way of housework. I don't have to do much by way of laundry. I work parttime. I get to "dick off" several hours a week, no questions asked. Whatever I want (within reason and budget) I have--including unnecessary office supplies like white-out and multicolored markers, paper and paperclips.

But I do resent what feels very much as if my interests--if they are outside of his interests--are secondary, and are always considered part of my "dicking off." Even if it's the mission from God stuff--which means that if it involves a book, or the computer, it's "dicking off."

No, he doesn't beat me. No, he doesn't verbally abuse me or belittle me. He doesn't really belittle what interests me. He just can't recognize it, see it, accept it as important.

Like I said, eight years ago, there were things about me that weren't important at the time. Now, they're growing in importance again, and he can't seem to wrap his head around the changes.

I don't want to fight with him, but I don't want to give up those things (again) and I really don't believe that I should have to make this kind of choice.