I apologize for my lack of posting. Sybil is working in my office, and it makes it hard to get privacy on a computer. Since I mainly blog about her, I don't think it wise for her to be around when doing it. When the kids get into school, that should ease up a bit. Unfortunately, we had to do it, because of staffing issues.
Survived the weekend. We drove to another time zone to see Lil' Bro get married, again. Since he left his wife last year, it has been a major bone of contention for Sybil. She has a poor view of him, since he not only left his wife but also risked screwing up their 3 year old in the process. As for me, I don't blame him. Although I would have rather they stayed married and try to work things out for the sake of their child, his Ex is a controlling shrew.
Anyway, for the whole weekend I got to hear Sybil's rant about how he'll screw up again. It's a little old. Naturally, we got into a major fight. I admit to starting it. We argued about stirring straws. Yep, STIRRING STRAWS. I said sticks; Sybil said straws. Since they were hollow, they were straws. I just couldn't help myself. Sybil makes the comment about wanting to go home. I apologize for being a jerk and starting an argument. I mean it was over a little thing. Right? Nope.
On the way to my parent's house after the wedding, I asked if she still wanted to go home. Sybil said, "I can't go home." That doesn't seem like an answer to me. My question could have been answered by a simple yes or no. Another fight ensued. Even bigger than the friggin' straws. After things calmed down, we talked a bit, and I thought the storm had passed.
The next morning I wake up. Sybil wakes up. I start goofing around, and she is distant with her back to me. Sensing that something is amiss, I ask her what is wrong. "Nothing," she says. I know it's B.S., but I ask again. Again, nothing. O.k. it's nothing. I go about my day getting ready to go.
On the way home, we're stuck in the car for nearly 7 hours. Together. Alone. By ourselves. This morning comes up. Sybil is still mad about me getting mad about her "I can't go home" statement. If really cared, I would have known what was wrong. I should have known what was wrong. In my defense, I explained that I asked what was wrong; she spooned me last night (she says to keep from falling off of the bed); and didn't act distant or anything at the end of the day. Not enough. Ugly words were thrown around. Since I had nothing else to say, Sybil indicated that maybe it was time to call the lawyers. I indicated that maybe she was right. Silence ensued. Golden silence. A weight was lifting off of my shoulders. Aww, sweet independence.
Then I pictured having to tell Daughter. I caved. There was no way I could bring myself to do it. I would rather go through Hell itself than disappoint Daughter. So for the next four hours we talked and talked. Things are back to normal, which is to say screwed up. Nothing was accomplished. I still love Sybil, damnit. Despite it all. It ain't easy to do, though.
The demand of the loveless and the self-imprisoned that they should be allowed to blackmail the universe: that till they consent to be happy (on their own terms) no one else shall taste joy: that theirs should be the final power; that Hell should be able to veto Heaven. The Great Divorce. C.S. Lewis
4 comments:
mr. husbland-
Yep, they're straws. She was right, and I was being a jerk.
I hope to figure it out.
You can't get divorced over an argument about stirring straws. It's a rule somewhere, I'm pretty sure.
The arguments about tiny, little things that blow up into arguments about big, huge things are awful. And the problem is that over time, it sounds like you both have become stubborn about those little things and don't want to seem like you are "backing down." (I know what that's like.)
I think the solution is to not let the little things escalate like that. Just drop the subject before it gets to that fine line where an argument really begins. Toss out a joke, mention something else, whatever. That's what I try to do. Because I've discovered the little stuff is just NOT worth it.
Each woman should come with an instruction manual.
ftn-
I've discussed this with Sybil. How can an arguement about STIRRING STRAWS have that much weight? To her the little things matter. They do matter, a little bit. It isn't about STIRRING STRAWS but about me being an a@#hole. For me it is emotionally draining. I guess that's why I blog.
Oh geez, I have lived this a thousand times. A simple difference of a opinion (they may very well be straw "like" but a straw is designed for drinking through, this is designed for stirring a drink, and by technicality called a swizzle STICK... but this is neither here nor there). Now where was I... oh yes, the "if you have an opinion that is different than mine, you don't respect me, and hence are an asshole." It doesn't matter the "Why" it came up... it all boils down to the same "issue."
Now if they could only vocalize these feeling in a reasonable way at the time, so many arguements and fights could be avoided.
Post a Comment