Wednesday, October 31, 2001
Got up early today. Greg and I played the morning grumpiness game wherein he pretends to be in good humor while subtly verbally provoking me and I get progressively more and more grumpy. We break this up with random winks and "I love you's" to reassure one another this isn't damaging to our relationship.
I sit at the counter looking through a Crate and Barrel catalog. I find a beautiful quilt in the magazine--the same quilt I drooled over in Nordstrom's last year. $225 for king size. I show Greg. He says, "that’s what we need, another blanket", pointing to the three blankets readily visible in the living room. "We need to do laundry, not buy a quilt." He adds, "I know you'll be mad at me for saying this, but you do not really want that quilt, what you want is for our house to look like that catalog. No one has to clean a catalog house."
It irritated me, but he was probably right.
Last night. I leave work early and have a relaxing hour, pouring a glass of Merlot, [cleaning Greg's bathtub-brackets due to this not being relaxing], filling the tub, and climbing into hot soothing water. Udo thinks containers full of water are for him and has to be discouraged from joining me. I settle into my book, sipping wine.
Greg calls and wants to know if I want to take advantage of the hour of daylight left and throw some discs. Joining him sounds fun. I dry off and throw on jeans. The course is wet, washed clean. Our footsteps are muffled and no one else is on the course for most of the time. Greg and I throw mostly in companionable silence, an occasional, "nice throw. Mmm. Should have used a different disc." We throw well.
I plan spaghetti and garlic bread for dinner. Greg is going to the store for half-and-half for my morning tea. I'm distracted when I get home by the need to call my car loan company and prevent my account rolling into collections. The account representative almost sends me off the deep end. He starts the conversation with "what do you want". He understands nothing I say. I repeat myself over and over in slightly different ways until finally he says, Now you finally get to the point. I should have asked for his manager. I do not start dinner.
Greg gets home. He puts on a pot of water. Cleans a baking dish, pre-heats the oven. Unwraps the garlic bread and lays it out. Sets the microwave timer. I'm pouring a glass of wine and sitting on a barstool. Greg says, "I'm going to sit on the couch and relax for awhile. When the bread timer goes off, the noodles need to be started." This is not a command, nor a request, it is statement. Only my subjective perception gives a clue as to how Greg means me to take the statement.
I am thrown into a different mood. My emotions and thoughts chaotic. I attempt to still myself and try to unravel the feelings. One thought: I do not want to cook, I want to sit on the couch and watch baseball. Another: I'm very tired. Thought: I have cooked the last few nights. Realize: you are irritated with the car loan account representative--that, before Greg. Thought: you have an ongoing guilt-complex that you are not a "good-wife"--that it is your responsibility to have groceries in the house, cook dinner, clean. This guilt-complex is an issue that we tried to resolve at the beginning of our marriage (Greg: I did not marry you to be my maid, you are not your mother) and yet it still comes up over and over. I know these things. The anger does not dissolve.
An outsider watching the next 15 minutes would perhaps know little of what was going on. Our dialogue was quiet. Our respective positions shifted--me on the couch, him in the kitchen, both in the kitchen, little was being said-certainly no anger showed on our faces. Under the surface of this scene, we simmer. We both know that an element of tension has entered the kitchen. In the end, Greg tastes the pasta and states that there isn't enough water in the pot to cook rigatoni--he thought we were having spaghetti. I take over and finish the meal. As he leaves, he raises his voice slightly and says, "why do we have to be so fucking grumpy tonight!" The outsider wonders where this outburst came from. Greg and I know.
We finally sit down to eat. We both say we are done being angry. I explain all the thoughts that were going through my head. Greg already knew, but appreciates me saying it out loud. I prompt him to apologize too--he says that he knew I had been cooking for several nights and that it was his turn, but he just wanted to see if I would cook anyway tonight. He was irritated I hadn't started the water when he got home. We ate together, tension dissolved for now.
¶ 9:21 AM
I sit at the counter looking through a Crate and Barrel catalog. I find a beautiful quilt in the magazine--the same quilt I drooled over in Nordstrom's last year. $225 for king size. I show Greg. He says, "that’s what we need, another blanket", pointing to the three blankets readily visible in the living room. "We need to do laundry, not buy a quilt." He adds, "I know you'll be mad at me for saying this, but you do not really want that quilt, what you want is for our house to look like that catalog. No one has to clean a catalog house."
It irritated me, but he was probably right.
Last night. I leave work early and have a relaxing hour, pouring a glass of Merlot, [cleaning Greg's bathtub-brackets due to this not being relaxing], filling the tub, and climbing into hot soothing water. Udo thinks containers full of water are for him and has to be discouraged from joining me. I settle into my book, sipping wine.
Greg calls and wants to know if I want to take advantage of the hour of daylight left and throw some discs. Joining him sounds fun. I dry off and throw on jeans. The course is wet, washed clean. Our footsteps are muffled and no one else is on the course for most of the time. Greg and I throw mostly in companionable silence, an occasional, "nice throw. Mmm. Should have used a different disc." We throw well.
I plan spaghetti and garlic bread for dinner. Greg is going to the store for half-and-half for my morning tea. I'm distracted when I get home by the need to call my car loan company and prevent my account rolling into collections. The account representative almost sends me off the deep end. He starts the conversation with "what do you want". He understands nothing I say. I repeat myself over and over in slightly different ways until finally he says, Now you finally get to the point. I should have asked for his manager. I do not start dinner.
Greg gets home. He puts on a pot of water. Cleans a baking dish, pre-heats the oven. Unwraps the garlic bread and lays it out. Sets the microwave timer. I'm pouring a glass of wine and sitting on a barstool. Greg says, "I'm going to sit on the couch and relax for awhile. When the bread timer goes off, the noodles need to be started." This is not a command, nor a request, it is statement. Only my subjective perception gives a clue as to how Greg means me to take the statement.
I am thrown into a different mood. My emotions and thoughts chaotic. I attempt to still myself and try to unravel the feelings. One thought: I do not want to cook, I want to sit on the couch and watch baseball. Another: I'm very tired. Thought: I have cooked the last few nights. Realize: you are irritated with the car loan account representative--that, before Greg. Thought: you have an ongoing guilt-complex that you are not a "good-wife"--that it is your responsibility to have groceries in the house, cook dinner, clean. This guilt-complex is an issue that we tried to resolve at the beginning of our marriage (Greg: I did not marry you to be my maid, you are not your mother) and yet it still comes up over and over. I know these things. The anger does not dissolve.
An outsider watching the next 15 minutes would perhaps know little of what was going on. Our dialogue was quiet. Our respective positions shifted--me on the couch, him in the kitchen, both in the kitchen, little was being said-certainly no anger showed on our faces. Under the surface of this scene, we simmer. We both know that an element of tension has entered the kitchen. In the end, Greg tastes the pasta and states that there isn't enough water in the pot to cook rigatoni--he thought we were having spaghetti. I take over and finish the meal. As he leaves, he raises his voice slightly and says, "why do we have to be so fucking grumpy tonight!" The outsider wonders where this outburst came from. Greg and I know.
We finally sit down to eat. We both say we are done being angry. I explain all the thoughts that were going through my head. Greg already knew, but appreciates me saying it out loud. I prompt him to apologize too--he says that he knew I had been cooking for several nights and that it was his turn, but he just wanted to see if I would cook anyway tonight. He was irritated I hadn't started the water when he got home. We ate together, tension dissolved for now.
¶ 9:21 AM
