“Somewhere, deep within her, surfaces a tiny clockwork submarine. There are times when you can only take the next step. And then another.” ― William Gibson, Pattern Recognition
“They” all tell us that we are not alone, that we always have someone to rely on, whoever “they” are. They tell us we have friends, families, spouses, lovers, to help us along the path. But there are times when this support network converges at the center and it is zero, null – void. Then, at that moment, we realize the cold hard fact that we were born naked and alone and when our time comes we will meet the end in exactly the same way.
I think the hardest task any of us have to face in our lifetime is to learn to trust ourselves. Trust our instincts; trust that inner compass that tells us we are headed in the right direction. Things get a lot dicier when we have a mental disorder and are told that sometimes we can’t trust ourselves. What the heck am I supposed to do with that mental tidbit?
What a mind job! Trust yourself, no wait, don’t trust yourself. Listen to you friends, but you have to make the final decision. If it feels right to you, it might actually be wrong and vice versa. I feel like I’ve been dropped into a maze and told to find my way out only to find that, if I listen hard enough, I can hear the master puppeteer laughing because he knows there is no way out.
I’m writer, a story-teller, at heart so I tend to modify or embellish details to further the story. But even when I’m attempting to relate a “true” story things may get a bit skewed, because I don’t have a perfect, photographic memory. Not many do.
Mr. Husband evidently thinks he is one of those chosen few. He has a habit of sitting there during a group conversation, with his eyes closed, (I kid you not) and only joins in the conversation when he can interrupt me mid-sentence to correct or contradict what I am trying to say.
We went out to lunch yesterday with his mother and then dinner with a friend. On both occasions, several times, he butted into a sentence to correct me on minor details that really had nothing to do with the gist of the conversation. This is only called for in a situation where you claim the heroine was wearing a green dress when the topic is of conversion is “that psychopath who is running around killing women who are wearing a red dress.” Otherwise it’s just plain rude. Excuse me Bubba, but we’re having a pleasant gab fest here. You are welcome to join us, however, we do not recall hiring you on as a fact checker. Many times his correction isn’t correct either. That’s makes it doubly annoying.
Well, last night at dinner I finally snapped and said something along the lines of “what the hell is your problem? Seriously, must you correct or contradict every damned thing I say???” Oh boy, that didn’t go over well at all. He got really really pissed.
I stood up and departed the restaurant to walk around for a few minutes to calm down. I didn’t want to make or participate in a scene in front of his friend in a restaurant. Then I went back and said “I think this is going to be an extremely awkward dinner, I’m going to go across the parking lot over to the Hobby Lobby and wander around for a bit.” Hubman wasn’t OK with that so instead, dinner aborted, we went home. Our friend, a very wise man, immediately took his leave and went in search of dinner elsewhere.
So Hubman stormed around the house like a constipated thundercloud. I finally went in his office to ask him what had happened, from his point of view. I was shaking in my shoes because I really did want to know. He informed me that I have been acting like a bitch for the last week. Okey, Dokey. Well, can you give me an example? No, he couldn’t or wouldn’t. I asked him how exactly I was supposed to modify my behavior if I do not know what I am doing that is so “bitchy.”
So now I’m in a confused limbo. I thought I was doing rather well this past week. I was feeling happy and productive. I was writing again, getting dressed before noon, put on makeup and even left the house unsupervised. Imagine that. Turns out I’m a bitch? I don’t know how to wrap my head around this. My head is pretty flexible, but this I can’t process. This is the first time in my entire life that I’ve been accused of bitchiness by someone who I gave even the smallest bit of a hoot about what they thought.
Maybe he is having trouble coping with changes in our relationship. I know I’m standing up for myself more than I was in the past. And maybe he has a lot of stored up pain and anger and it’s coming out like a 12 gauge buck shot blast. I asked him last night to try an experiment – in which he would say something at the moment something happened so we can talk about right then. As opposed to him storing up his own personal arsenal of grievances. I guess I just have to wait and see where this is going.