Our counselor suggested that I spend more time at the house, oh say like three days. I spent one night and now I’m at the apartment. It’s too painful to go back and forth. Sorry, I can’t do half measures. If I’m here, I’m here. If I’m there, I’m there.
Problem, I’m not sure it’s time to be there. I was feeling good about going home around the first of May. After the sleep over? I’m not sure, and here is where the brat part enters in.
All I saw when I walked into the house was work. The cabinet fronts need attention, the kitchen is tidy, but not clean with coffee on the cabinet doors. He doesn’t see this stuff, and I don’t think he gets how important it is to me. The house hasn’t been vacuumed since I left [six weeks]. I had to clean up my bathroom and bedroom. Really? We need to come to an understanding about the house. He works, I work and there has to be an agreement on the house and yard work. HAS–TO–BE – I’m a shameless brat. I don’t want to walk into 40 hours of house and garden work. If I do, what was the point of leaving to begin with. That’s how I feel.
Then he made a small comment about a payment going out on a day he didn’t expect and how that caused problems. Blank stare. If you know you have a payment of X dollars, it shouldn’t matter when it comes out. You take it off the balance and go on with your life. Right? I mean what does it matter unless it comes out before the pay period you indicated, which in this case you should wait, how could this cause problems? This financial thing is huge for me.
I simply can’t think about going on the way we’ve been. His views on this subject really need to mature. We’ve always butted heads on money. Was I naive to think he would grow up at some point? Apparently so. My heart dropped with his seemingly innocent comment. All the hopes I had of going home the first, dashed.
I’m feeling selfish to expect so much of him. I’m feeling self-indulgent about continue paying the rent on the apartment.
Bottom line? If I go back without working these things out, we’re doomed to fail. All of the heartache for not. Damn, this is hard.
Tomorrow I’m going to the house and he and I are going to have to talk about the hard stuff. Us getting along was easy, these sticking points may prove more difficult. Reminding myself that this isn’t about settling is unnerving. The compromiser in me cries out to take what I can get and reality draws me up short.
Brat, yep, that’s me.