Sound; The answering machine picking up each and every phone call I received today. None of them were for me anyhow.
Sight; A clean apartment.
Taste; Leftover fried chicken.
Touch; Weekly grooming attended to... plucked, waxed, and shaven.
Smell; Juniper moisturizing lotion.
Husbands and Wives.
I'm gliding through the hours of the day without a single care. Everything is finished that I started out needing to do in the past week. The only thing I haven't accomplished is putting pencil to paper and creating anything that made me feel like someone with at least a small amount of artistic vision. My inboxes at work, all four, are clean and clear. I could eat off of any surface in my bathroom. The kitchen is spotless and Adam even pulled out the vent hood and fixed the fan motor, something we've been waiting for our landlord to do since we moved in 7 months ago.
- no cosmetics makes sarah look ill -
"Adam, you like the Ellie Mae look?"
"Who's Ellie Mae?"
"Who have I married?!?"
Here's who I married. Here's where I'd like to spend my whole weekend. The flowers above the bed are from our wedding. I never throw flowers away, and I can't have fresh because the cats eat them. The bed was a Christmas present from ourselves last year. Before that, we slept on the floor because our bedspring wouldn't fit up the 3.5 ft stairwell, but we could fold the mattress in half and slide it up walls. We had to bring the couch in through the window... into the second floor window. It was too funny. At one point we had a group of people watching and passing out cans of Bud. See, in this situation I was entirely too glad to be female. I'm happy to slough once a month to avoid heavy lifting, nasty trash, rancid milk in the fridge, and jumping off batteries.
I tried to sneak up on him while he was napping, but he's got ears like a owl.
Last week I was driving home from work around dusk, thinking about Adam and I's finances, feeling kind of pinched in the pocket. I was chewing on the idea of talking to him about getting back into design. Thinking of taking the chance of offending him, and making his job about money. When he decided to go into remodeling older homes in our area, working with a tremendous man, I said to myself that I wouldn't try to force my idea of what he should do or not do. I so wanted to go and tell him it wasn't enough money and I'm weirded out by being the main provider from such a long period of time. It's not that I feel like the male should always support the female. Rather, it's that I do not trust my ability to carry the load. I always find a way to sabotage myself in corporate jobs in an attempt to break out of my mold. Then today I heard him on the phone, talking about the effect that this has had on him, how incedibly happy he is. Obviously I decided to keep my mouth shut, I have my priorities.
I'm losing my shit right now, they just shot Christopher on the Sopranos. Those rat shit cocksucking bastards, may they rot in hell if they wrote Christopher out just as soon as he got engaged.
Listen to me, I sound like my father watching General Hospital. I suppose I am exactly the same as any other housewife watching her "stories" on a weekday afternoon.
I was writing an entry here. Sorry, I'm easily distracted by mob movies and shiny objects.
Adam and I didn't mesh very well yesterday, mostly on my part. We have a different shopping philosophy, mine being mostly guilty returns, his being need equals instant purchase. So this week he bought 128 mgs of ram and a new dremel tool, over $200.00. I freaked out, being the keeper of the budget again. In the end, he barged into the bathroom where I was attempted to just calm down. There he successfully placated me by offering to return the dremel. While writing this, I told him to keep it and apologized. It better to let these things go early, I did my best at a day and a half.
Friday night was rough as well, we ending up going to sleep angry. The argument this time was his being upset with the fact that he is constantly giving affection but receiving little. It's something we've discussed at length for some time, both of us agreeing to work at it and make it right. I thought it was working, he didn't. Many things change in a woman after unsuccessful reproduction, especially after multiple occurances. I never fell completely back into the way I used to be, I'm not sure if this is normal because there isn't a book I can find on this subject. I've found paragraphs in women's health books, but there's zilch everytime I go looking. It's always mentioned in passing... "it's normal for you to go through an adjustment period..." it's been two years since the last one. That's one long fucking adjustment period.
Amazing, I only said fuck once in this entire entry. That's gotta be a record.
I'm off to make an effort, cover me.