The Five Strands of A Sedentary Empress

Them Apples.

I'm reading 'Lolita'. I can't believe that it's taken me this long to pick it up, given that it's considered to be one of the best American novels of all time, but it has, and here I am with M's dog-eared, yellowed copy, getting to know Lo and Humbert Humbert. I remember suggesting it for my former 'book club' at work, and now I'm glad it wasn't selected. The language is not what they would have liked. They would have hated it, I think, with it's strange slant on pedophilia and intentionally difficult sentences. They would have told me that it was boring, before they'd gotten past the first page. This book is really one for the bedside lamp. It is better for a room with a Chinese silk pillows.

I have a little bit of a cold today, and I'm bothered by it. A dash of sore throat and a touch of an upset stomach. A hint of a headache. M. has suggested apple picking this afternoon and I agreed because it's another red/orange day and they're swiftly coming to a close. I am not happy with him today, not even remotely, and I accepted the invitation because of the wee one who has trouble being home all day now that she's gotten a taste of school and all of its social benefits. Last night, after I made a brazilian black bean and pumpkin soup for dinner, he asked me if I would like some coffee. I hesitated, unsure as to what I really felt about it, before issuing a shaky 'yes, I guess so.' He said 'okay, and will you make me some too?' and laughed a little, thinking himself clever. I made a comment about how I'd made the dinner and that he could make the coffee, and we bantered back and forth for a moment until I gave in and said, 'Fine, I'll do it in a minute, I just want to sit here for a bit.' I was annoyed, obviously, that he seemed to expect it, but I felt like my refusal to jump sort of evened things out. He got up and said something to the effect of 'you're evil'. There was no laugh, no 'I'm just kidding', just a flat out statement about my unholiness, my dark, indecent self. I asked why he would say something like that, and he said that he 'felt like it'. We are talking about a fifty-year-old man here. I thought that sort of ridiculous behaviour was reserved for muddy-faced boys who run about killing bugs with a magnifying glass and a stream of glaring sunlight. I shutdown immediately, and he ended up making the coffee (enough for two, but I refused it) before taking the wee one up to her bed and tucking her in with a story. My instinctive impulse was to cry, but I barred the tears. I am not evil, I know it, and him saying that I am is his own stupidity, nothing to do with me. Do I really think he meant it? The thing is, I know it wasn't about coffee, so that left me floundering as to what he was actually referring to. Have I done something awful? Said something unforgivable? Shot acid from my eyeballs eviscerating anything in my path?

It's never nice to be misunderstood or unappreciated by the person you love. Whether he meant it or not, he did not try to clear it up. Was I evil when I baked three dozen ginger cookies the day before last and he ate about twenty-eight of them? Was I evil when I cleaned the cat litter for the fourth time the other day, hauling twenty pounds of waste and wet clay from the basement up the steps into the garage? Was I evil when I did the laundry and folded his shirts the way he likes (buttons closed) before putting them away in his wardrobe?

Stupid bastard. I might have meant that.

I talk about love a good deal in here, because I think it's the one thing in life that matters. Of all else, it's the thing that breathes the hardest. What frustrates me is that I spend so much time trying to figure it out, only to have him point his finger at me as though I'm the one with the problem. It's not always my problem, you see. Sometimes, he's an infantile, selfish prick. Though I love him for his good points, I could knock him out for these ones. I'm not one of those people who will cry and beg for someone to understand me. I'm not that hard to figure out. I want to be respected and heard, stroked and occasionally admired, tolerated when I am feeling low and celebrated when I am up. None of these things need to be done constantly, either. I'm not unreasonable. I get that I have my quirks and that they're not always easy to tolerate but he's so much like me in that regard that it really goes in both directions. The difference between us is that I came into this relationship being myself and feel like I have to change, and he came into it being a version he thought I'd want and doesn't know how to change. He makes this too complicated.

He suggested apple picking and now I'm supposed to be grateful that he thought of it. I'm supposed to let all of the animosity go in favour of a family outing, one in which I will be the one who peels, pares and ultimately cooks the apples in the crisps he likes, the pies he likes, the sauce he likes. I do this for him because I love him and want him to be happy. It is not my job, not my station in life. It is not my job to jump and make coffee. My job is to love him, and right now I'm feeling like I have grounds for complaint.

That's it, I'm going to complain. I'm going to go in there and ask him what he meant by saying I was evil.

~a slight pause~

Apparently, he was joking. Or more specifically Why would you think I meant that? How about that you said it without laughing and disappeared shortly thereafter without uttering another word to me? I was tired, I was attempting to be humourous, and obviously you didn't take it that way. *sigh*

It's possible I am too sensitive. That said, it annoys me that when he makes light of something that I automatically begin berating myself for having too thin a skin. Men have that way of making the woman feel like they're overreacting to things just by smiling when she makes a comment about something which displeases her. It is one of their least likeable traits, if you ask me. They do something ridiculous or mean and with a flash of teeth and a tight hug the reaction we have to these things is supposed to disappear, bursting like fireworks with the embers floating toward the black, distant ground.

I realize that in reading this I might come off as high-strung and reactionary. I might be those things in all honesty. What doesn't come through are the nights where I've laid awake, staring at the ceiling, wondering if I'm doing everything right. I am aware that I deserve to be loved properly, but I'm not egocentric enough to assume that I am giving as good as I want to get. I know I made mistakes in my old relationship, behaved horribly at times and I cringe to remember it, so I obsess about the relationship I'm in now, desperate to be the best version of myself so that I will be worthy of the love I seek. Though I am focused on being what he wants me to be, as much as I can be without making radical changes to my personality, I find that I am frustrated when he fails to meet my expectations, all of which are reasonable, I think. To confront him constantly will do nothing but aggravate the situation, because a relationship is never butter smooth. There are always crumbs. No, it's best to be firm about what I need but only approach him when he really falls below the line.

I'm in this too and sometimes it is about me, whether he likes it or not. I don't want to hear about how women are whiny, needy creatures. That's the invention of poor performing men. You will find that with the fine balance of satisfied needs comes comfortable quiet. Why is that hard to remember?

Apple picking. Sore throat and bad humour. Whatever.