Look, I admit it – I was a psycho, and I was certain he was making a mistake by breaking up with me. Continue reading
My marriage is not perfect. In fact, I started this blog over two years ago, because my marriage wasn’t perfect. I was a mess, the marriage was a mess, and I needed an outlet. (Writing, people. My outlet was writing.)
Fast forward to today, and my marriage is solid, not perfect – solid. Rob and I will celebrate our 10th anniversary later this year, and it has taken us nearly 9 years to solidify our marriage. Continue reading
A figurine, given to us as a wedding gift, stands next to a picture of a sunflower Rob drew for me several years ago. (The sunflower is my favorite flower.) The frame, holding the drawing, was a wedding gift from one of my bridesmaids. This picture reminds me of my love for Rob and my friends. Continue reading
In July 2010, I wrote ‘An Escape’, and I was reminded of this story, when I was writing my most recent drabble. Because romance is often tied to ringing in the new year, I thought this love story would be a nice precursor to your celebration. Cheers! Continue reading
Rob is very approachable and friendly. And me? Yes, well, I am about as approachable as a rabid dog (minus the foaming of the mouth, of course). Continue reading
Poor Suzann … she’s been so kind to me and my loudmouth ways. Seems I always try to stir up trouble. Continue reading
His name is David. The attraction was clear to everyone around, including the two of us. Though we had just met, the love was undeniable. If the fluttering of the heart and the butterflies in the belly were an indication of a perfect love, we were going to live happily ever after. And, our journey together was going to start after his job interview.
We said our good-byes for the night, and morning came instantly. I walked into the office building, which looked more like an elegant shopping mall decorated with glass and mirror sculptures. Everyone was dressed in blue or black suits. I felt out of place, as I looked down and noticed my pants were too long and I was not wearing shoes. Still, I proceeded to walk to the center of a lobby-like area, finding a seat on a bench. I was to meet David here, prior to his interview.
I waited. Countless people walked through the revolving doors, though David was no where to be seen. I checked my watch. His interview was to begin within the next 10 minutes. I looked at my friend. I saw the concern in his eyes, as he indicated we should head up to the office where the interview was to take place. I heard him say, “I hope he is here.”
My heart sank. Why wouldn’t he be here? I asked myself. Where would he have gone? My friend nudged me, letting me know we had to get to the elevator. When I stood, I realized – again – I had no shoes on my feet. I noticed one shoe next to our bench, and I put the shoe on my foot. I scrambled to find another abandoned shoe, though I was unsuccessful. My friend began running towards the elevator, and I hobbled behind him.
Many people dressed in suits walked onto the elevator with us. My friend pushed the button for the floor we wanted. I looked. The 147th floor? I was afraid of heights – I didn’t like elevators – I did not have a good feeling about this at all.
The elevator started to move – quickly. I closed my eyes and put my head on the shoulder of the person beside me. She jerked her shoulder and scowled at me. Apparently, she didn’t appreciate the head of a stranger on her shoulder. I did my best to hide in the corner, until the elevator stopped and we reached our floor.
My friend and I made our way through the crowded elevator and out the door. We looked around the office, in search of David. We did not see him. We asked the receptionist if she had heard from David. A sad expression came across her face, as she handed me a note.
The note read, “My heart is racing, as I write this note to you. Is yours? I miss you. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. But, I’ve flown to Nicaragua.” I stopped reading and felt faint. My friend caught my arm, walked me to a chair and sat me down carefully. I caught my breath and began reading again, “After saying good-bye to you last night, I was overcome with something – I’m not sure what it was. I called my Dad, and I asked him if I could come home. For whatever reason, I need to go home. I will return. I love you. David.”
I dropped the note. My heart was racing, and I was confused. My friend picked up the note, shaking his head as he read it. He didn’t seem surprised. My friend stood up and started walking away. For him, the story ended. I watched as my friend disappeared in the crowded elevator. I sat alone. Lost. Confused. Hurting. And, I started to cry.
I woke up. My heart was still racing, and I felt tears running down my face. Rob walked into the bedroom. “Good morning.” He said with a smile. It was a dream. It was only a dream.
Recently, Rob and I had words. ‘Had words’. That phrase cracks me up. Some people have a problem with the words ‘argue’ or ‘fight’, so they try to lessen the negativity (I suppose) by saying they ‘had words’. Call it whatever you’d like, Rob and I had an argument. We fought.
The fact that we fought was a bit of a buzz kill, as we had a fantastic morning and early afternoon. And, I suppose one might say (accurately) the reason for the fighting was because we were both tired, due to the fun but long day. Regardless of the why, Rob and I butted heads and got upset. Though we came to a truce before we went to bed, it was clear this morning that some negative energy still existed between us.
When we were done with breakfast, the boys went outside to play, and Rob and I stayed at the table and started talking about the argument. Rob said, “I am shocked by how much we fight.” Because I am accustomed to the arguing, I joked, “Well, how long will it take for you to stop being shocked?”
I believe we argue as much and no more than the average married couple, and Rob believes we argue more than the average married couple. My views come, in part, because my parents fought and argued. And Robs views come, in part, because his parents did not fight and argue. Hence, our squabbles seem abnormal to Rob and normal to me.
Unless you are new to my blog, you (the reader) know my marriage has struggled for the past several years. I started the blog in hopes of finding an outlet for myself, so I wouldn’t look to Rob as having sole responsibility for keeping me happy. And, the blog has helped me a great deal. I also believe the blog has helped my marriage, because it gives Rob a greater insight to the mania that exists inside of me.
If you read this blog and you are married (or in a long-term relationship), I hope you’ll take a moment to leave a comment and let me know how often you argue and fight with your partner. And, tell me, do you believe you can deeply love someone with whom you fight? One may not always like his/her partner, but are there times when one doesn’t ‘love’ his/her partner? And, is the love/hate directly related to arguments?