I’m having a bad hair day, and even though it’s Friday afternoon, I just can’t relax-I have a case of the My husband is leaving on a business trip Blues. Why, we’ve only been apart twice-once when he went to Idaho for a ten day hunting trip, and a business trip to Pittsburgh last Spring. Hey, I’m like every other woman on planet Earth-I like to put my hair down, my feet up and order some Chinese takeout. I love watching what I want to watch (not that it makes a difference, I can’t watch television without him beside me.) I can play the music loud, dance barefoot and naked, and even eat in bed with no repercussions. Not a one.
It has been like this for as long as I’ve known him-and the fact is, I don’t care what people think-never have, never will. Yes, I have my own interests. Yes, I am very much my own woman, and fairly independent. After a day of humanity, I want my man at home, in my bed, snuggled close for comfort.
And that’s not the entire reason I could spit nails (better than weeping, which is the current situation.) I have a friend who suffers from horrible NPD abuse, and she is extremely sensitive. We had a huge falling out a few months back, but we talked it out. As is my wont, I don’t really trust that she won’t melt down again, and I am having none of her current temper tantrum. As I was multitasking my ass off today, I received a text from her, asking me to join her in February-for a painting class. I readily agreed and went for our hike. I came home, two hours later, to this message:
But you didn’t sign up for the class, Michele. Did you pay for it?
Stefanie gets confused easily, a combination of her medicine and neurological damage from Lyme disease. I am extremely patient with this, even when I am preparing to, say, pull my own teeth out of my mouth, set my hair on fire, or, preferably? Find some unsuspecting telemarketer to ream. Maybe I should call Verizon and bitch about my lack of wi-fi-. No. I’d probably end up in the slammer.
Speaking of hair, I found my first greys today-and surprisingly-it stings. I hadn’t thought myself that vain, go figure.
Okay, back to that conversation…
Me: What? Okay, I’ll stop by the church and pay.
S.: Michele, I go to ________ why would you stop by St. Paul’s to pay? Why would you do that when I offered to sign you up?
Me: Okay, sign me up. 🙂
Now she isn’t speaking to me. I am telling you, I had a very bad hair day.
Just as things appeared to be calming down, my husband sent me a Meme-on how to be stronger and not so sensitive. He didn’t know about my day, but after that little number? Oh, he’s hearing it baby, every stinking word.