Skirmishes on the Domestic Front

I am furious indeed this morning. I’ve just had a fight with the Man. Or rather, he threw a tantrum while I was getting ready this morning. Then I got all teary eyed and couldn’t speak, not because I was upset, but because I was so livid. I get like that when I’m furious. I start crying, and people think I’m soft. But I’m not, crying for me is just a knee-jerk reaction. So inconvenient.

So anyway, I sort of sensed last night that the Man was spoiling for a fight when I got in late last night (after ballet class) and he was about to tackle the washing up. But please don’t imagine he stayed in alone all evening cleaning. Actually, he was motorbike helmet shopping. Bikes are all that he has talked about for the past three weeks or so. So either he’d just got in himself, and decided to tackle the washing up, or he’d been waiting for me to arrive so that I could feel guilty watching him do it. So I was all, “no, let me do it, a lot of this stuff is mine” and I said this several times, but he insisted. And I probably washed up the last time, so I let him do it, and went to bed before he decided to start a fight, because I know what he’s like.

This morning, he woke up apparently in a perfectly good mood. Then he called out that he couldn’t see the little jug thingy for using with the iron. I said something vague and went back to what I was doing. Only thirty seconds or so later, he’d found it, but was going off about how he would have helped me if I’d lost something, and how it must be nice for me to have someone who:

a) posts stuff for me at the Post Office
b) hand delivers a document for me to DIMIA. (Which is kind of on the way home from work for him.)
c) and erm, I think that was about it;

all of which he has done for me this week. Because he offered. Because he often finishes work around 2 or earlier (and we both start at the same time) and it’s more convenient for him.

I basically ignored him because there’s nothing I can do when he’s in such a jerky mood, and I’m damned if I’m going to apologise for accepting the help that he so happily (or so it seemed at the time) offered.

Though maybe I should have responded the way he wanted, because he then said he wasn’t going to drive me to my concert this weekend. Now this concert is way out of Sydney, and I wasn’t originally going to do it, but he encouraged me to, saying we could go down the day before, visit some wineries he’s been wanting to take me to, and stay with a friend. So I told the organiser I’d do it. And now he’s bloody pulled out at the eleventh hour, because he doesn’t feel like taking me now (said all prissy-like). I’ve had to text the organiser asking for a lift, and maybe accommodation if I have to go down the day before. I’ll probably have to stay with old, nerdy orchestra types, that is, if I can go at all. If I can’t, I’ll feel hideous for letting them down. Did I mention, I’m furious?

The weird thing is, apart from being angry about the orchestra thing, I almost like being furious with him. It makes it easier not to love him. OK, so maybe I don’t love him less just because of a fight, but I certainly like him less. And that’s good, because it’s not that great being in a relationship whose sex life took its final, tortured breath in March 2007. Yes, that’s right boys and girls, it is possible to not have sex for 13 months and not die. I'm living proof! Maybe I should donate my body to science?

So when he’s finally speaking to me again, and starts whining and accusing me of not caring enough, and only thinking of myself - instead of crying and saying he was completely wrong, like I used to, maybe I’ll tell him he’s right. I really don’t care that much.

In some ways I would so love to be free and single again. The only problem is loving him, and if I could get over that, it would be just fine.

I woke up feeling a bit guilty over a dream I’d had where I was having an affair with a guy at the office who I’m kind of attracted to. But now I don’t feel guilty at all. Hah!