The thing I grapple with most often now: Do we have a future?
When the relocation job was offered, I was unquestionably on board. Then I got here, had a prolonged mope, and spent approx. 6 (sidebar: 4 months were femur) of the last 15 months living in Maryland. I’ve had moments of realizing that I am happier in a room at my Parents than in my (so called) home in Decatur. I’ve felt surprisingly normal living out of a suitcase.
What does that say about my marriage?
I’ve had a lot of time to think about things. It occurred to me that one of the reasons Mr. W and I were so happy for so long is that we both had very busy independent lives. Our commonalities are a shared value system and our history. We laugh at the same things, even though I haven’t laughed much recently.
When we first arrived in Georgia, there was a lot to do. Relocating involved a lot of physical activity and chores. Between buying and selling houses, moving, getting a house set up TWICE (the great water disaster) and then having non stop company, we had a busy time last summer.
Then there was the femur separation period. He found a band to play with. He found friends in the ‘hood. By the time I returned, he had a social life. I had doctor appts and PT.
This weekend, the schism surfaced again. He wants us to do fun things so he bought tickets to the Decatur Blues and BBQ Festival. In theory, fun. In actuality, a fenced in asphalt parking lot, no place to sit, broiling sun, limited shade and mediocre bands. He was happy with a side of “My band could do this” and I was BROILING and thinking “KRIST, what if I have to go watch his band do this?”
We were standing in the shade of a BBQ truck, with an indifferent band blasting my eardrums. I finished my 2nd watermelon lime popsicle. I noticed my skin was ranty heatstroke red. I was pretty sure the noise in my head LOUDER than the music, was my brains boiling.
And then, miracle of miracles, my sense of humor, noticeably absent for the last year, kicked in.
I looked at Mr. W, smiled sweetly, and said loudly: “I don’t care if the fucking Beatles are playing next. I’d rather die walking home than die listening to krappy blues while bathing in BBQ smoke.”
Needless to say, eyes swivled our direction. I started to giggle. Heatstroke? Maybe. BUT mostly it was just relief at not tiptoeing around trying to Get Along. I was sitting on the couch enjoying the blessings of air conditioning 6 minutes later. He went back to the festival. We were both happy.
This past weekend we went out with a few other couples from his band. It was ok, but rhythm guitars wife had multiple margaritas. I don’t like stupid drunks and told Mr. W on the way home. I’ll be polite the next time I see the band, but no way that couple could replace Miss Peg and Gary.
So – we have a way to go, but at least there is honesty and acceptance between us. PLUS a basic comfort level again, which makes it easier to say YEESH when we need to.
I think we’re good till the final bathroom retile happens. Home renovation is such a marriage enhancing experience.