Friday, June 11, 2004

Reminder to self: piss off, cheer up (6/9)

"Sweetness, are you OK?" Ahhhh. Ummm. Lemme think.

No.

I am in the tub, staring at the faucet. I've been here for an hour. I do not answer him. I am not OK.

I am, in fact, awful. I would have thought he'd recognize the signs.

Perhaps I should clarify: I am being awful, not just feeling awful. I am being contrary, unamused. Angry. I am not smiling. My mouth is slack with gravity and I am not blinking. (The resemblance to Gene Hackman is profound.)

I am not sure when this started. Two weeks ago? Three? I am, all at once, six months' pregnant with sullenness and irritation. Why am I showing now, all of a sudden?

J doesn't deserve it, I know. He is full of goodness, good intentions, good ideas, good judgement. A good husband, to be sure.

What he doesn't know yet--and what I just figured out--is that I don't want to be cheered up, given pep talks and good ideas; I don't even want to be held and told that I'm loved, or that we're happy with just each other, aren't we?

I want to be pregnant. I want whatever's broken to be fixed. He can't fix it.

I realize that I need to make some changes; I can't continue to hurl my anger and coldness at him with impunity. He must be shocked; I gave him nothing but wholehearted affection and respect for seven years, and then this? His kindness must have limits, and I don't want to find out what they are.

J's birthday was last week. I didn't get him anything. No card. I didn't make dinner. I didn't come home early. I didn't dress. I tried to smile, to make love, but I was in a snug bubble of sadness--foolish, selfish sadness.

I remember some advice from drama class; perhaps it will come in useful: "Memorize the lines and the feeling will follow." My lines for tonight are bright, cheerful, heartfelt--"Honey, I'm home!" and "I've missed you, love"--and I'll try to give them the appropriate inflection, the appropriate expression. Who knows, it might work. Maybe the oppressive beast that has taken to sitting on my chest will feel unwelcome and move on. If not, I'll have to think of a new plan. Perhaps the very act of planning will make me feel more in control? (Ah, control! Control! A little control might go a long way!)

Mostly, I just need to snap out of it. J's right: We are happy with just each other, there is no gaping hole in our lives: just a small indentation, really.

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