thousandfold
i had a really rough time yesterday afternoon. i shut down while erik and i were making dinner, as i tried to ask him questions about what he wanted to cook. he wasn't answering. that's mostly just his thing. he thinks before he speaks, and sometimes this translates into thinking instead of speaking. obviously, if you know me, you know that's far from my thing. i do all the talking in our family.

regardless, yesterday i wasn't going to have any of this thinking vs. talking business. i told him that it makes me feel like what i say is stupid and insignificant when he doesn't answer my questions. and that it makes me feel like less of a person. i sat in the dark dining room while erik finished making dinner. when he came through and turned the light on for me, i went down into the darker living room and lied down on the couch. if i hadn't been so hungry, i would have just went upstairs and climbed into bed. sleeping would be easier than living right now, i thought to myself.

we ate dinner quickly, mostly in silence. i told erik that i felt like i was depressed because wanting to sleep when you're not tired just so you can avoid being awake isn't normal. i went back downstairs to the couch and stupidly started trying to figure out what was really wrong, because somebody not answering a "do you want to stir some peas in with the couscous?" question totally shouldn't make me feel like this. i started doing inventory of what sucked. erik's joblessness. me being tied to a job because the salary is survivable for two people paying a super cheap sort-of-rent payment. not feeling like i do anything meaningful. living in a place like san diego where we're shunned to the suburbs with non-like-minded people because there's no way we can live anywhere remotely metropolitan. and the wax-lady telling me, "your belly is so hard!" and then after noting how huge it was, she asked, "are you sure you're not pregnant?" yes, lady, i'm sure. i just have a giant, hard belly.

erik sat with me on the couch and told me that he's sorry that he makes me so sad. this wasn't so much salt in any sort of wound, it was more like mixing sugar in rotten milk. i cried with him for a good long while and told him what was bothering me as best as i could, and he told me that he would get a job cleaning toilets for me, if only he could. he doesn't have any experience cleaning toilets. so my Feeling Sorry For Myself bout had turned into Let's Make Erik Feel Sorry For Himself Too. sadness while in love is inherently shared by everyone involved, but i still couldn't help but feel lousy for turning it around on sweet erik. it's confusing for us both. why isn't enough to love each other as much as we do? why is one (or both) of us still not completely happy? i caught myself thinking that sure, i wouldn't have some of these problems if i wasn't married to erik. but i would rather take these problems a thousandfold than live a life without him.

i know i need to see a therapist or something to help me work through this, but it seems so ridiculous when 75% of the time i'm totally happy! it's like when you make an appointment to go to the dermatologist for bad skin, and the day you go you have the clearest, glowing skin in the world. the doctor basically chides you for wasting her time and tells you to get over yourself. or when your car's X is doing Y, and that doesn't sound too good, so you have your dad take a spin in it to see what's wrong. inevitably, the X doesn't Y for your dad and he sends you home and tells you to stop being paranoid. on the drive home, the X starts Y-ing again and you glance in the rear view mirror only to notice a little red zit forming on your forehead.