One ot the things I promised R was to be a little more flexible, but it’s proving a difficult task, which is probably evidence of how much I need to work on it. I’m so full of irritation, feel crowded and feel like I can’t have the space to do the things I need to do, does my head in. And it’s only because I find it so hard to change routines and how I plan my day. I find it hard to have a conversation because you HAVE TO just then, just like I find it hard to work around other people. I suppose that’s something I need to learn – and learn FAST – if I’m ever going to be able to keep those close to me…. …close. At this rate, I’ll push them away.
I still can’t put my finger on what it is, I just know I try to plan my day, get excited once in a while, then something disturbs my flow and I turn into the Tasmanian Devil. It’s not an attractive trait at all.
How can I train my own brain to be more accepting, even when I feel like I’m bashing my head against the wall. How can I teach my concussed brain to allow for these disturbances without wanting to grab a sawn off shotgun and with a sketchy plan head down to the local supermarket to go down in a blaze of glory? Answers on a postcard, please.
It’s quite funny, because I’ve always been of the opinion that I’m both kind and easy-going. Maybe I’m not? Is it that I welcome writing time without feeling guilty for “neglecting” B and Monkey that I’m not a nagging wife complaining when B tells me he is out that evening? Is it in fact me being selfish, rather than being a wonderful girlfriend, that has me so relaxed about nights out for him even if those include a strip bar or two? The idea has never entered my mind, it’s only now that I’m confronted with the fact that I’m in fact a rigid and dictatorial nightmare to live with, that I’m starting to take a long, hard look at myself.
Those things that irritate me are things that you don’t even think about when you’re on your own and the sovereign ruler of your world. Feeling guilty or stressed if I actually at that precise moment just want to scroll through the news or browse Facebook, and instead of doing just that, hurriedly do so when B’s gone to the toilet or doing something else, feeling so long as he’s around I’m a monster if anything other than him gets my attention. That’s not B’s fault, of course. He’s the easiest person in the world to live with. This is all me. But it does sometimes rile me that one of my favourite things in the world (in a third place following B and Monkey in the number one spot, writing in second), reading, is something I never do anymore and if I do it’s the last thing at night and for what seems to be a maximum of 15 minutes.
Maybe that’s why I welcome some me-time on occasion. 95% of the time, great, I’d MUCH rather just be with B and Monkey, and couldn’t care less about reading or sitting on the balcony with my laptop during those evening moments of abundant inspiration. But sometimes it’s nice to get an evening like that, or a morning, when you don’t have to give a shit – read for two hours straight or sit and write until your fingertips are hurting from tapping the keys with a huge glass of spritzer next to me.
Is that not normal? Let me tell you, for me, who has never been a flock animal, it’s a small miracle that I can function at all – never mind be happy and prefer it that way – with only such a small fraction of me-time. I think it’s healthy though, to have things that are perhaps a little separated despite being a tight, solid unit. Like B going to the gym, us both running on our own, like me writing or reading. As long as that stays around the 5% mark, which is what seems to work best for me (and hopefully us), and doesn’t start to take a direction towards ships passing in the night, then what’s the harm?
B sometimes pops in on here, so if you have again this morning, can I make one thing very clear? You are the love of my life and my best friend in the whole world. There’s no one that I am closer to or want to be around as much as you. I love the life we have together and I don’t want to change a thing, that’s not what I’m saying here. I’m just musing away at what it is that makes it so hard for me to budge sometimes. And I am so, so sorry for being a Hitleresque witch at times. I’m working on it. I love you more than anything. I’ll try harder to find the flexibility I seem to have been born without. Happy 15 – you make me happier than I’ve ever been.