This week has been excessively hard, for work-related reasons that I shouldn’t get into on the interwebs, hence the not writing. I have been consumed with the inability to cope, so much so that I spent a good portion of the evening Thursday night crying in the closet (my preferred break-down spot). Things are getting a little easier though, and I have a glimmer of hope which is all I needed.
In any case, let’s talk about that fridge, shall we?
We went to the RCWilley Outlet (which is the only sort of RCWilley I will go to) on Tuesday after the bomb was dropped by my dad Monday night. Going in we said that we would spend no more than a thousand bucks, and even that I feel was a bit much since we just bought that goddamned bed. (Which I still hate but am still trying not to hate)
The outlet store seemed to have slim pickins, but we found 2 that we liked. One I loved, one Hubs loved. Eventually we got the salesman to take the price of the one I loved down from the 1400 it was at to 1199, which was acceptable. We still went slightly over our limit, but I think it was worth it for a fridge that was originally 2500 bucks. It was marked so far down because of a tiny dent on the side of one of the doors. Sweet deal.
We did this thing where we paid 4 extra bucks to make any additional purchases there this year deliverable for free, taking shipping costs from 50 to 54. Why the fuck not? They had a rather large selection of furniture that is not at the ludricrous prices of the regular RCWilleys, and we may be able to afford a couch that is not “Southwestern Handmedown” sometime this year. We got our lay-z-boy reclining love seat a couple years back for a similar steal as this fridge, and we have no friends – let alone ones with trucks – so it’s worth it to pay 4 dollars in case we go back for more sweet deals. Plus, apparently we get 2% back on any purchases made there that we have delivered. You know how I love percentages back, especially if you’re American Express.
So they’ll be calling us tomorrow morning to give us an idea of when they’ll be coming by, it works out well that they’re delivering tomorrow because I had a voicemail on my phone this evening from Stepmom2 informing me that they were still on for tomorrow at 1:00, as if it was a dinner party instead of them randomly taking our appliance. Whatever, good riddance. One less thing that binds me to them. We purchased a cooler and have bags of ice from the icemaker stockpiled in case there is in-between time with take-away and delivery. I’m hoping that the delivery comes first, because that way we can have our badass fridge installed, and have the nice young men leave the other one in the entryway so that there will be very little time that I will have to deal with Dad and Stepmom2.
I’m really not as bitter as I let on. After all, we’re getting the badass fridge I wanted, and it has that BOTTOM FREEZER. You either love it or you hate it, and ohmygod I love it.
So that’s the fridge.
***
I think I’m going to trim my hair a little tonight. Let me look at my archive and see how long it’s been since I cut it last….April 1st. Hmm. That’s not a lot of time in between. I’ll justify it by saying that there are still some ends that are very dead and I would like to see more of my natural color instead of the floppy unevenness that the breakage has caused.
Today at work I said “That’s as good as it’s going to get” about something work-related, and the person-who-is-going-to-become-my-boss-even-though-I’m-not-supposed-to-know said “What, your hair?” I had a very lovely moment of this is the last straw and said very bitterly and with much hatred, “FUCK YOU.” But he’s cool with that, and actually had me sit down with him for a bit so that I didn’t kill him/the office with a semi-automatic. Sometimes his dickish remarks set me off, sometimes I let them roll off my back, they always suck ass but I try not to let my shitty-ass self-esteem show at the workplace. It does not mesh well with the super-proficient and professional demeanor that I convey. La le la
So I’m trimming. It’s fucking 2:30 and I’m not asleep, so why the fuck not.
***
I took a nap after work today and woke up to Hubs brushing his teeth and getting ready for bed at 10:30, to which I went noooo! It was supposed to be a nap!
So we stayed up, cleaned the wreck that is our house in preparation for all the people coming and going with large energy-star efficient appliances, talked about work and some things, and watched an episode of our newest television obsession, “The Riches.” Ah, Eddie Izzard. Good stuff.
***
I find it difficult to talk to Hubs about work, not because I don’t want to let him know what’s going on, but because if I talk about what’s happening I fucking lose it. Most days now, I can tell he prepares himself to see me at 5:00, and has to spend a few minutes trying to guage from my body language and responses how I am. Poor guy. And Most Days, I leave so irate and so overwhelmed, so on the verge of tears that I simply cannot talk about it. He asks me how work was, and I say I don’t want to talk about it.
That needs to be worded differently I’ve now realized, into “I can’t talk about it.” See, the thing that has been hardest with this whole work thing, is that my anger and frustration and tear-verge-ness has all been reflected back on him, unfortunately. Little things set me off, and put me in a yelling tantrum to him. I say things I never would say, react in ways I never react. I see it all from outside of me and say “Who the fuck are you now?” I hate that. It is not his fault or his problem that I have been so unhappy. So, this week, I tried very hard to hold to the “If you can’t say anything nice, don’t say anything at all” adage that my Mother taught me as a child, and tried very hard to rationalize and look at my anger from beyond my situation to see if I was even justified in being frustrated. What happens in our relationship, though, is Hubs interprets silence as anger toward him, and when I say “It’s fine” it is most certainly not.
It’s difficult to break old patterns, old thought processes about how we interpret things. Hubs and I have always said that we would be totally honest and open for each other, and have worked very hard to make that the standard. There have been times in the past where one of us would shut down and not speak, or say one thing and mean another, and we would have to have a conversation about the importance of communicating feelings. We talked about how to properly open up the topic, since if I’m mad I don’t usually want a critique or breakdown of what I could have done better. We talked about how to figure out what we’re feeling and what the conversation needs to be like when we’re sad or angry or upset and how we can work through it to figure out what the actual issue is. I think that these steps and lessons we’ve done with each other over the last couple of years have been really helpful in building a foundation of trust (that phrase is totally lame) and help us to understand each other and how the other person thinks.
But sometimes still, things will be misinterpreted. On Thursday I told myself that I would get over myself, and attempt to have a good evening with my husband. He was about 30 minutes late getting out of work so I put the seat back and napped in the car a little to calm myself down. He thought I was mad when he came out, but I had told myself that I wasn’t going to be mad about little things. I was quiet the drive home, which increased his fear. He didn’t broach the subject of why I was mad, and I didn’t tell him my decision to be calm. We were in two totally different worlds and not at all in sync. So, when we got home and I went upstairs to work on the laptop on some things that I felt were necessary to help me feel like I was doing something to better my situation and have a good night, he was downstairs getting increasingly upset that I was taking it all out on him and shutting him out. He angrily cleaned the dishes that we’ve both been ignoring, and angrily cooked me a meal while thinking “This will make her feel bad for treating me so poorly” (that bit is purely conjecture, and what I would have thought in his situation…because I’m a shithead like that)
When I was finished with what I needed to do, I turned off the computer, told myself, “Ok, time to have a fun night with Hubs, and not freak out or be angry” and I went downstairs. I started being playful with him and talking in a silly voice. He stopped me in my tracks when he said he needed me to leave him alone. I said ok, and went back upstairs, a little bit in shock.
We try really hard to never do the “I need to be alone” bit, as it terrifies the other party whenever that is said. We’ve always said that no matter how upset we are, it’s better to talk it out than let things fester when there could just be a misinterpretation of intentions going on. Everyone knows that there’s no bigger chance for misinterpretation of intention than “I need to be alone.” I understand though that sometimes people just need to sit and think about how they’re feeling, why they’re feeling it, and if it’s right that they’re feeling it before they can talk it out. So I’ll respect it, but it doesn’t mean that I’m not scared shitless.
I went to the closet and sat down to cry quietly. The closet is probably bigger than our guest bathroom, but cozy enough to feel like you’re hiding, so it’s a nice place to cry for some reason.
Hubs came up after about 10 minutes, explained all of the above, and I sobbed for about half an hour in his arms. SOBBED. I kept telling him that I felt like I was doing the best I can, but it’s not good enough, and I’m trapped, etc etc etc. That none of it is his fault and when I tried not to project my work frustrations on to him I got burned like this.
Pretty much could have avoided the whole thing if I wasn’t a dumbass and just explained to him what I was doing and how I was feeling from the beginning, instead of holding back for fear that I would start crying.
Heh. Yeah, lesson learned on that one…Can’t avoid crying. It is either daily small cry sessions, or a muscle-spasming sob fest all at once. I don’t know why I’m so ashamed of tears. And honestly I don’t know which one I would choose over the other, there’s a healing quality to the breakdown -lung heaving sobs, but there’s the higher sense of control with the daily tears.
In any case, things were worked out quickly and fully, I received my glimmer of hope today, and I have the first weekend in about a month in which I am not working, nor am I allowing myself to think or talk about work. Instead I will think of the irony of a television show about two (in real life) British people “Stealing the American Dream.” While getting a vanilla diet Pepsi from the can holder in our new fridge.
I think it will be a very nice weekend. Thank you for your patience during my hiatus.
