Tuesday, 16 March 2004
We have tickets. We are going to Hawaii next month. I am going to go to my favorite beach, relax in the sun (and the shade), and show Mr D some of my history. Hooray!
However, I realized shortly after I posted about the trip that I will need a swimsuit. Not necessarily a new one, but I will have to wear one. I'm not all that big, really, and I'm feeling pretty good in my body these days. But a swim suit! Most likely candidate is my Speedo (R) two-piece, which I bought for the Danskin back in 1999. I haven't worn it all that much, and it still fits, and I still like it. But it's been a really long time since I thought about appearing in public in a bikini. It's a workout bikini, but still. I will most likely be so happy to be with my sweetie on my favorite beaches. That has never happened before; not only have we never been to the beach together, but I've never been to the beach with a romantic interest type person.
I actually turned to Mr D that night and squealed, "Ooh! We can make out on the beach!"
Not that I plan to jump him on the beach (especially the military one, you never know who's out on maneuvers), but the chance to lie together on the sand, with the warm breeze and the sound of the waves, and kiss occasionally, is such a sweet thought.
Here's hoping it doesn't rain the whole time.
Work is good, and getting really busy. I'm not totally unhappy with that, but I'm keeping a close eye on how much work I'm taking on. And I'm trying so hard to get a handle on what we do, and to help people, and figure things out for myself instead of relying on other people to fill me in. I want to succeed, and I want the group to succeed. I really think we can pull this off, if we can just get it together.
But let me tell you about my day, because it's been... interesting. I'm hormonal, which isn't helping.
(Side note: I try really hard to be positive about the monthly aspects of my femininity, but Holy Posole on a Stick it would be nice if Mother Nature met me halfway on that one. I get crabby and grumpy and irritable, I have horrible gas for days beforehand, I have horrible cramps, I sleep poorly and am always tired, and I bleed a lot. Oh, add bloating and nausea and near-constant hunger as well. I want to be all modern and In Tune With My Body, but it's hard to put a smiley-face on the grind that is Period Week.)
So, Mr D has a co-worker up from a different site this whole week, which means he has to get in early every day. Due to my not really recovering from last week's brush with illness, I decided not to go in with him this morning. He set his alarm for 6:30, and I set mine for 7:30. Unfortunately, his alarm does not wake him up. It only wakes me up. And he was tired too, so he slept through it and just sort of grunted at me when I tried to get him up. My nice warm morning lie-in turned into a frustrating semi-doze punctuated by bad songs on the radio.
He got up after my alarm went off, and since he was in a hurry then, I waited until he was done rather than getting ready with him. Not only did this mess up my sleeping plan, it also made me run late, because I didn't get into the shower until fifteen minutes after I'd intended. Color me grumpy. I went and made my breakfast while he showered, and I got out to the bus on time, but if he does it again tomorrow I'm kicking him out of the bed.
So, I get to work, I remember it's breakfast meeting day so I didn't actually need to bring my breakfast. (I ate it for lunch instead.) Moving, grooving, listening to Paulina Rubio's latest (which is awesome). Doing the work stuff. I was tired, but feeling pretty good in my new sweater and pulling things together in a way I haven't done in a long time.
Mr D left work early to go pick up the corned beef for tomorrow, so I rode the bus by myself and read some more of my book. (Almost done, I wish I could just finish it!) When I got home, I went immediately to put on my workout clothes. I decided on the walk from the bus that I didn't want to run, because it was cold and blustery plus my throat is a little sore and that is a lot worse when I run. But I got to the point where I had the clothes laid out, and then I realized what I really wanted to do was just lie down. I came downstairs and checked my email, went and got some water, took the laundry out of the dryer, and thought about it.
I really wanted to work out, but I couldn't decide if it was a good idea or not. I was up late last night doing laundry and tidying up so our cleaner could do the floors, and doing the dishes so she wouldn't have to (I don't consider that to be part of what we pay her for). And my throat hurt. But I know that a lot of the time, if I just do something, I'll feel better. Did I want to do yoga instead of tae bo? Or maybe the tai chi video, which isn't really an aerobic workout?
I dithered, and right about when I decided to go for it, Mr D came home. He got a new CD he'd ordered of this French girl's music, so he went straight to the computer to check it out. And then I asked him if he wanted spaghetti for dinner (which I'd been planning on), or if leftovers were good. And he said he didn't care.
I have been working on my attitude all day, because I know it sucks. I'm more emotional that usual, I'm hormonal, I'm tired and cranky. And then he "doesn't care." This immediately set me off in my head with then why should I bother if it doesn't matter? But I wanted spaghetti, not leftover Chinese food. But I wanted to work out too. And it was already 7, which meant dinner wouldn't be until after 8. And he doesn't care, and he was distracted, and I got into this little spiral of me doing all the laundry and tidying and dishes while he played computer games last night, and then him screwing up my morning, and now he's indifferent to my efforts and he never says thank you or even seems to notice and why am I doing this and on and on.
I went and sulked for a bit, and decided not to cry about it. And I decided that I did want spaghetti. So I went and started making the sauce, and he seemed pretty happy about that. And he knew I was unhappy with him, and he made it up to me a bit.
But then I went and worked out while the sauce was simmering, except that I forgot to turn the burner down so I made spaghetti paste instead of sauce. While I worked out Mr D went into the computer room, to which I shut the door when I workout so he doesn't have to listen to it. I thought about pausing in the middle to go stir, but I've never had a problem with it before so I just did the whole forty minutes. And then as soon as I started up the stairs, I could smell the burn.
I took my paste off the burner and added water, trying to stir it back to normal without scraping up the burnt bits on the bottom. And I got all weepy over the mess I'd made in our brand new special cleaned kitchen, spattering tomato all over the stove and onto the floor. I knew I shouldn't have left it. I just knew. And then I went and laid down and pouted some more, and tried not to cry about ruining my sauce and trying to do everything without help (which really isn't fair of me) and being hot and sweaty and then cold.
I'm just such a whiner. The sauce was fine, as long as we left the burnt bits on the bottom. He cooked the pasta, and it turned out pretty good. And he came and hugged me, and brought me a cat to cheer me up. And now he's folding the clean laundry and putting it away, and I'm heading off in a minute to go finish my book and go to sleep.
This is a stupid, boring little tale of a normal day converted into a series of coulda-been miseries. I kept trying to keep myself from over-reacting, or reading everything in the worst possible light. I do a lot more of the housework than Mr D does, mostly, but it's not like he doesn't do any. And he's trying, and I'm trying, and we're in the process of working it out so we can both be happy. Marriage is like that sometimes. It's work. I love him, and sometimes I want to strangle him. He loves me, and sometimes he has to go into the other room to keep from snapping at me. It's all worth it, but it's not always a happy, loving warm cocoon. I know he's with me if I ever really need him, as I am for him. And I hold some of it back, the negative thoughts and the snarking and the whining, because in the grand scheme it's petty. Do I love him less because he doesn't do the laundry much? Nope. Do I regret it? Not a bit.
I just sometimes need a little extra care, and sometimes I need to take a little extra care. And I am getting better at remembering that in the moment, instead of apologizing later for not having remembered.
P.S. Just as I finished writing this, Mr D came down to see if I was ready to come upstairs. And the cramps and nausea kicked in. Say it with me, in bright cheerful forced tones: I love being a girl!
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