here today

 

cliffhanger

I am sorry.  I promised a cliffhanger and then left you on the cliff.  Because, in my head, although I do get comments once in awhile, I assume that really, nobody reads my blog.  Which helps keep me honest.  And quite lazy about posting.

The Friday Night Fight:
Friday night followed Thursday which was a day spent in my hometown, talking to mom and dad about gardening.  Talking to mom and dad about gardening without a beer in my hand, which is just Not Fun.  My parents are lovely, generous, often kind yet boring people who love Jesus and hate the booze.  I love them most of the time, am ambivalent about JC, and, when discussing what my mom had for breakfast, or what color carpeting they should put in the family room, would give up my favorite rock star tan boots for a cold one. 

That was Thursday.  Painful, dry, long, and topped off by the fact that mom is not such a good cook.  Dad does the cooking normally, but on holidays, they get all traditional and mom puts on her apron and leaves the food in too long and dad stands around feeling useless and trying to add spices when mom's not looking.  Things get burned and they're too salty and did I mention the absence of beer?

friday. really, I mean it this time:
I am procrastinating.  I am procrastinating because the fight that we had.  Was bad.  And I don't want to talk about it.  I don't want to talk about it because I like to be the girl with it all figured out.  The girl who has it all together, the one you turn to for advice, the friend with the clean house, sexy husband, stylish and always forever sure of herself.  I graduated from therapy, remember? 

That was a good day.

The fight is the one we used to have a lot.  It was the one where I read a letter from my traveling friend and then told Ben about it.  The letter talked about Cuba and beaches and painting in the sun.  The letter made me think about the stuck-ed-ness of life, house, marriage, dog, same town, same people, same job.  The letter sent me to New York, to Venice, to moving across the country, to dropping the stuff that's keeping me Here Today.  And Ben hates this conversation.  Because it starts with me accusing him of holding me here.  In this town he's never left.  And then the fight moved into how different we are - and then there we were in separate rooms, separate worlds, wishing the house were bigger.

So, I went to him.  And I've never done that before.  I like Ben to come to me.  I like to be the righteous one and to gently forgive him for the wrongs.  But, you know what?  I'm right, we're different.  And, yeah, if I weren't married to him I'd probably be in New York.  But I'd be there without Ben.  So, I went into the kitchen and I kissed his shoulder and we didn't talk anymore that night.

That's the story.

 

Posted by: 120pages at 15:39 | link | comments (2) |