We spend a
great deal of our "quality" time together driving around in the
car...when we're sitting two feet apart with no distractions, we can't avoid
interacting. So we will be motoring down
the highway, feeling amiable and content, almost married...and the issue I've
tried to bury will bubble to the surface. I can't help it.
"So you
really don't want to go to Klamath with me?"
From his
side of the front seat, there will be silence, or a hesitant, "Not
really..." And my eyes well up, and
I have to turn and look out the window for five or ten minutes, willing myself
to drag my thoughts out of that sinkhole and scramble back to the congenial but
shallow equilibrium we shared before I opened my stupid mouth.
During one
of these ill-advised forays through waters into which I should know better than
to wade, I tried to calmly nudge the conversation forward, beyond his honest
but soul-killing response to my question.
Something in the back of my mind suggested that perhaps he was
maintaining this bland negativity because he was hurt that I would plan to go
without him, even though he didn't want to go.
I knew chances of that being the case were slim to non-existent; but I
couldn't help throwing him a bone, in case it would make a difference.
”You know,
when it comes to doing the stuff I want to do, I can do it by myself. It's kind of lonely and it's not as much fun,
but it's better than not going at all." Silence from the other seat. I had no idea if or how the information affected
him. So.
Back to looking out the window for ten minutes, sucking back the tears
back and re-establishing the more comfortable mood.
At the very
least, I think I've established that I will do the things I love to do without
him, if he doesn't love those same things.
I want him to get that the decision is not an easy one for me, but I
can't stop living because he won't live with me. Especially since I have so much free time on
my hands in the winter. I have to do SOMETHING.
And...I
really want to believe it myself. I want
to talk myself into being strong and brave and decisive and adventurous. I want to pretend so hard that it is no big
deal for me to make arrangements to go off and do fun and interesting things on
my own, that it makes it true. That it
erases the fact that I'm really so timid and frightened and unsure of myself
that when I DO go off on my own, I spend a great deal of the time I should be
enjoying, wrestling my own relentless demons.
Would that
my solitary adventures were solitary; Exhaustion and Exhilaration, competing
for attention, are my faithful companions every time I strike out alone. And then there's Loneliness...always bringing
up the rear, but always present. Always
eager to show me that there are limits to solitary enjoyment...always keen to
demonstrate exactly how much, or how little, a single cup will hold. Always insistent upon whining in my ear,
"Why is a person, joined for life to another person, doing things all by
herself?"
I have to
kick those guys in the ass every time I venture out alone.
Sometimes it
works.
Sometimes it
doesn't.
And letting
the husband get any hint of what I go through to live without him...just isn't
an option.
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