I thought I saw a ray of sun, perhaps, maybe, gasp, hope the other night. Nope, it was a train. Again.
I was studying tonight. (I got into the training I’d hoped to.) My husband perches himself on a chair next to me and intently stares in my direction. I smile, and continue to read. There’s lots of ground to cover and little time to do it, oh and I have to sleep. He doesn’t budge, nor does he say anything. pfft.
Not wanting to, but understanding if I didn’t he’d sit there for eternity, I asked him what he wanted. He inquired after my work load, which he was interrupting. The expression on his face told me he wasn’t going anywhere, and nothing was going to get done until he had his say.
Me – Spill it. What’s going on?
Him – Can we talk?
Me – Am I going to end up crying?
Him – huh? expression. I don’t know.
‘Oh Great’ Me – What?
Here’s where he launches into how he’s not comfortable with the conversation we had about counseling. Uh, huh, and ?
He only agreed with me because he didn’t know what else to do. (bangs head on table in frustration) SSSSSoooooo, I go over it again, using small words and easy to understand phrases. He tells me what he thought he heard before. Paraphrasing here, “It’s all my fault and you’re done trying.” Blank stare, this isn’t what I said at all, not even remotely close. I explain again, cuz I’ve got nothing better in the world to do than to make you feel better. groan
I’m getting very weary of being diplomatic. I really am. What I want to do is scream , of course it’s your fault! You checked out on me and then proceeded to have needs met outside of the marriage which should have been kept in bounds! Putz! Grow a pair and call me when you’ve got it figured out. Dang. Scowl
At this stage it would be nice if I didn’t know him so well. It really would. My interpretation of the conversation? I’m afraid. I want you in counseling with me to help fix ME. Not us, Me. I don’t want to do it on my own. You need to share responsibility for my recovery.
Em, let me think about that for a moment. If it quacks like a duck, walks like a duck and poops like a duck – It’s a duck.
You’re sick. You want me to continue holding your sorry butt up because you don’t want to do the work to take care of it yourself. This is my problem how? Peels duck-person off of me and heads off to wash.
I’ve been taking care of myself, thank you very much. Let me repeat; you’re the putz, not me.
You will not be collapsing on me in any manner, emotionally, spiritually or physically. I CAN’T fix this mess, nor do I have inclination to do so. He sounds like a ten-year old wanting his mother to make it better. Icky, not going there any more. He’s been coughing, wheezing and otherwise acting ill. I will not engage this behavior. Won’t do it.
At some point I will explode at him. He will be gravely injured by hearing the facts of the matter. How dare I be so blunt? Let me see, cuz tactful doesn’t work? Gah!
Is being married to a man too much to ask? Apparently so. Shakes head.