The Story of Us: Ebb and Flow

Ah. Tuesday. Just after Monday so not as crappy, but crappy enough because it's not Friday. But by the time this gets out it will be Wednesday. Sigh. Not that Friday matters to me. I'm wouldn't even know it was Tuesday if my Mac didn't tell me so. Sigh. Life trapped in a kitchen. I feel like a genie. Maybe if you all rub me the right way I can escape and grant you wishes. Not that I'm sure exactly how I would grant wishes, but I promise you I wouldn't let them turn into a curse. Or would I?

Speaking of curse, have I talked about mine lately? What is that you say? You don't mean Aunt Flo, do you Donna? No. Ladies, but I am referring to another set of M words. Yes, money is one of them. And Marriage. Oh gawd is marriage is the big one of them. Mistake, maybe. Mother fucker? Most defiantly.

Warning: Brutal Honesty up Ahead

I started this blog as a kind of journal to keep my sanity and well. I need to use it like that again. You've been warned.



I often post quotes about marriage on my facebook. They are often witty and right on the mark, because marriage as far as I am concerned is a crock of shit. Whoever told me to do this should get fucking bitch slapped. Society, I'm looking at you.

Marriage is honestly the hardest thing I have ever done in my life. It's harder than school ever was or possibly could be, it's harder than learning to to do that spinny thing in the middle of the skating rink, and it's even harder than the time I spent in the hospital with H during his multiple surgeries. Really Donna? Harder than watching your child suffer. Yeh, really. But not by much.

Marriage is everyday. For the rest of my gawd forsaken life. I can't believe I signed up for this sometimes. Where were the big fucking warning signs? Huh? Huh? Oh, yeh. Love makes you blind to them. Fucking giddy ass new love. All sunshine and fucking lollypops, right? And then one day you wake up next to this person that is really quite different from you and has altered your life much more than you bargained for and you can't help but wonder, what the fuck did I do, why didn't I run, and what the fuck am I still doing here. Because you were in love, Donna dear, and still are. Pink puffy heart fucking love. Gag. I signed that contract. Donna isn't a quitter. Just a whiner, sometimes.

Sigh.

I have a few friends who I am sooooo fucking jealous of them and their sickening happiness that I just want to shake them and scream, IT"S NOT GAWD DAMN FAIR! I deserve that, too. I'm a good person. I've been creating good Karma for years now. Sigh. But if I have learned anything about my life I have learned that I was not set up for an easy ride, nothing has ever been easy let alone fair for me, and the harder I have to work at something the more I appreciate it. I just can't accept that our marriage will always be this rocky. It's got to change at some point, right? Something has got to give. I really can't give up, now can I? Sometimes I just don't know.

The idea of roles in ones early life has a great impact on ones ideas of roles in later life. We learn these things through our own families, television, Hollywood, the media, and fairy tales. What we believe is right another may certainly think it's ludicrous. The loving and wonderful memories of our family roles often do not outweigh the tramitc times in our lives. The traumatic impacts upon our childhood, our teenage years and our young adulthood greatly shape us into what we become once we really have to be adults. And if your parents weren't so hot at teaching you to be well rounded, then well, unless your extremely mindful of the situation, you're kind of screwed and so are your kids.

So what happens when one side is overly mindful and the other half is often blind to the reality? My marriage. That's what. A mishmash of living hell and undying love.

I find it truly amazing that there are people out there that are so well adjusted that their lives follow the ebb and flow of the beast with such little turbulence. If there is a bump, they simply deal with the issue in the most healthy manner possible all because they were brought up well, and were able to grow and thrive in society because of the tools that they were given in childhood and adolescence.

Sigh. This is not me, nor my husband. I scream. He shuts down. (Isn't this every marriage?) The only tools I have I learned to deal where from debate in high school and logic in college (damn ass hard mother fucking class). But I can only keep my cool for so long. I don't handle stupid well, or ignorance, or nonacceptance of what the fuck is right in your god damn face and you are totally blind to it almost on purpose! Hello, if I say I'm lonely and tired of fucking Facebook, jump on that shit mo fo.

AHHHHH. Fuck.

I try to handle things fairly diplomatically, but he can't be logical or diplomatic. He just doesn't have those tools (a very hard thing for me to accept). And through these years the lack of said skills creates an instantly frustrated, fucking screaming two headed bitch that comes out to rip his head off. I wonder where she ever came from, that second head I mean. I don't remember her before I was married. I bet it grew when I signed that paper. No man has ever angered me as much as my husband. Man, can he piss me off.

Seriously.

There should be a long term compatibility questionnaire form that goes along with applying for a marriage license. Or maybe one that asks questions about your upbringing and your ideas of roles in a marriage. That would work. Maybe. If I ran this country like the dictator I am everything would work. Well, at least for me. Me who is just as fucked up as him, just in a different way.

My dad was drunk. My mom was a cheat. I had la la fucking fairy tale land until I was 8 when she left my dad for another man. A man who became a whole other issue that I need therapy for and a whole other blog post. After that, her life went on, mine was crushed, and my dad got drunk. So with that said. I have this sliver of an idea of what marriage means to me which is twisted by society, the 80s and the beauty of my grandmother. I have this great influence from my grandmother's marriage of 60+ years. If you've kept up with me you know that my grandmama was the most important and influential woman in my life as it pertains to what my ideas of marriage roles and housewifery. But it surely has been interwoven with my warped sense of marriage creating this fucked up lost housewife constantly trying to find a means of escape through a job, pills, or murder suicide. I jest you know. But not totally.

Now my dear, dear husband of almost 5 years now grew up tough, but he grew up right (sorta, not really), as a Tennessee boy on a Tennessee night. Well, that is after his mother sent him to live with his dad at 15 or so for being uncontrollable. I've also hear rumors of issues with the law, but those just are *rumors.* So, anywhoot, Mr. Urbilly, my dear, really is half urban and half hillbilly. And that make him one effed up dude sometimes. Effed up enough to drive me crazy and push everyone of my fucked up childhood issue buttons.

The man's dad was just a big kid himself so learning any life skills that are oh so important in those waning teenage years went up in smoke. Literally. His dad never had to be his parent seeing that his mother left him when he and his sister were small. So when he arrived as the troubled teen, the old man took him under his wing and made him his buddy. His buddy who gave him beer and disappeared for days on end. How can you learn how to be a good father or even a good husband when you don't know what one is? I guess I can't hold it against him. But I do wish he'd notice that he is just as screwed up as I am, and just as screwed up as the rest of the world. Well. Not all of them. Who the fuck are these people that aren't fucked up anyway? Well, one of them for sure is our marriage counselor. That guy is so well rounded I'm afraid he's going to roll away.

Sigh. My husband is the exact kind of man that I would have loved in high school. Loner, bad attitude, pissy streak, tough guy with a chip on his shoulder. These are all the reasons I can't stand him now. I hate it when theories are right. And I hate sometimes that I am so aware that we are both walking text book fuck ups. I guess we do belong together. Well, at least today. Tomorrow I may threaten him with poison again, or dream of running away, but most likely by the end of the day I'll just want to hug him again. Especially when he's sleeping. He's so sweet when he's sleeping.

So to lay it out, if you haven't been keepin up with my recent rants about my fucking MIL and her parenting skills, here it is...He expects a dutiful housewife from the 50s who does it all (because his mom had to as a single mother) and I expect some fucking respect. R.E.S.P.E.C.T. find out what the fuck it means to me. Sock it to me, sock it to me. And some acknowledgement that I am so much more than a fucking housewife.

Look buddy, I can clean the house from top to bottom, but that is not going to make you less of a narcissistic ass that showers me with respect, love and some fucking flowers once in a while, damnitall.

You hear me? Flowers. And don't turn this into some trip to New York. Just simple flowers will do.

(I once asked for a relaxing break after going through the hell of getting my dad detoxed in the middle of the most important semester of college for me. He took me to New York. Sigh.)


Well. There it is. Some dirty laundry for you. Obviously my husband doesn't read my blog. Hell, he hardly reads my facebook. But he's my princess. And I love him. Regardless.






Cheers,

Donna Freakin' Reed

He'd be so mad if he knew I posted that pic. But it proves a point. He doesnt pay attention like he should.



Xoxo