3:10 p.m. I get out of bed.
Breakfast: Hot Oat Bran with Cinnamon, Brown Sugar, Blueberries, and Milk. Orange Mangosteen Juice. Zinc, Vitamin D.
Selling Meridian Lamps to a couple from Williamsburg.
Changing some bulbs in my van.
Lunch: Egg Salad Sandwich with Tomato. Salt n Vinegar Chips with Avocado. Honey Green Tea.
Work at China Wok.
Preparing the house for 2011.
Baking a cake and eating it too.
Performing as Monkey Beatz with Elliott right at the stroke of midnight—banging on the drums—banging on water jugs—blast beat—techno beat—Daniel Gassmann deejays and fills in the rhythm gaps with samples and rips from the turn tables. Total impromptu sound. The cohesion of everything felt good.
Standing next to Caitlin Pasko—observing the wildness of the environment with her. She makes good company.
It’s good to see Emily and Margot getting along and dancing together—being their classic selves.
Later, in my room, the drama is stirring. Caitlin, Erin, and I try to tend to Margot. A few different things rile her up emotionally—none of this having to do with me, at least as far as I can tell. Little did I know what was in store. She takes her stress out on me and blames me for the Worst New Years Ever. “C’mon! You’re letting things get to you. You choose to be happy or unhappy.” I find it amusing and helpful that Caitlin is able to get a glimpse into the kinds of spats that Margot and I have—she’s like a fly on the wall.
She’s so stubborn and thickheaded. Once an idea is created in her mind, it’s pretty much impossible to get her out of her shoes to see past herself. She’s always the victim. Never anybody else. All of a sudden, she’s mad because I didn’t kiss her at midnight or even try to after Monkey Beatz was done. She’s mad I have to work at 3am—feeling crunched for time. Loud and harsh words are exchanged in my room. Something snapped inside. Her ignorance infuriates me to the point that I pick up her purse, throw it at her, and demand she leave. Opening up a windstorm of anger. She gets really offended when I suggest she “Grow up!” Stepping toward me and threatening to slap me, I immediately grab and squeeze her close to my chest attempting to calm her and myself down. “Let me go!” “No! I’m not letting you go.” After a long while of this back and forth resistance and breathing and crying, we leave.
She tags along in the passenger seat while I drive around Chesapeake doing my paper route. I’m losing patience because she refuses to open up her mind to her faults. I sincerely didn’t do anything so severe to deserve this kind of attitude and bitterness. Where did this come from? It’s not like she got wasted and drunkenly unstable. The problem is, 80% of the time this happens is when she’s been drinking. Stomping out of the car—replacing newspaper issues in the vending racks. “You are stressing me out! Why do you stress me out? You brought the absolute worse out in me tonight. I don’t like acting like this. This isn’t me.” She repeats the same complaints over and over again expecting that pushing guilt upon me will make her feel better and solve everything, but it doesn’t. It only makes me feel inadequate.
After a Cracker Barrel stop she finds it in her to produce an authentic “I’m sorry. I love you.” I accept it and ditto her statement. I don’t know how that happened. It almost seemed futile at one point.
I stop at 7-11 to warm up some Salmon and Rice with Peppers and Onions. She’s acting on her soft and sweet side now. Hallelujah! We park behind a shopping plaza and engage in furious lovemaking. Nothing like good old fashion sex to solve, or at least, alleviate the relational conflicts between two people. Pleasure beats pain every time. On to a new year…
Back home.
Chocolate Milk.
Sleep 8 a.m.
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