February 8, 2000
...it's a sabotage, self sabotage that is.

Why do I continue to push myself to the brink and almost watch myself from the outside falling over the edge? Hrmph. Let me try that one again, I can be a little more articulate than that. Why do I continue to be my own worst enemy? To commit self-sabotage? To punish myself and my husband when I could just open the palm of my hand and let go of whatever it is that is making me rage.

We fight over petty things. Not even we. I. I start fights over petty things. I continue the fights. I keep yelling. I push buttons and slam doors. I'm the one left feeling like I'm rotting from the inside out for the rest of the day. I have twelve hours until I have the chance to make things right with Adam.

I woke up late this morning. I couldn't find my clean jeans that I had planned on wearing. I snatched the pillow off of his still sleeping head and demanded to know what he had done with my jeans while we were cleaning last night. The fucking jackass had put them in the dirty hamper all balled up. I blew it, I lost my temper.

The last thing I said to him, I so ashamed of this. "I hope you have a shitty fucking day," then I slammed the door and left.

When I'm slamming and yelling, all I want is for him to say "I'm sorry, please just stop and kiss me, this is so petty, I love you." I'd stop in my tracks and do just that. He knows this. And so he won't say anything. He just shuts down. He gives no emotion whatsoever. Maybe that's why I push so hard in the first place.

I feel so low. If I only had a way of getting in touch with him I could change the course that my morning has already set out on. I can't work. Everything is broken, copier, computer, CD-ROM, and the tech staff that I called got snagged by three other people on the way to my desk, and then turned around without even coming to help me. Now he's on a phone call and I still haven't been able to accomplish anything.

What if this morning was the last time that we get to see each other? The last words he heard spill over my lips were cursing his day.

Though I know if I could call him, I'd start it all over again by saying, "Why can't you just say you're sorry, why is that so fucking hard?"

I think that I am letting yesterday effect me as well. Time to let that go too. This isn't the direction that I want to take in my journal. I can't stand those people that do nothing but bitch and moan about how horrible everything is. That's not what I'm doing. I'm trying to elevate some of the pressure that I have on my heart right now. This is my outlet until tonight when I can attempt an apology to his face.

It's never been my strong point though. I never want to be the one to apologize, to be the bigger person. To lay myself out like that, when I know all it takes is reaching over and lying my hand against the warm skin of his thigh, smiling up until my eyes crinkle at the corners and I make him laugh. We don't have to verbally apologize, because in doing so, we almost give the subject we were fighting about more weight. If you glide over it, it wasn't important in the first place, and you can move on.

How can you be expected to be the bigger person when you feel so utterly small?

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