I’m here! I’m still blogging. Or rather, I’m thinking about blogging a lot, scribbling notes of things I’d like to write about, but never finding the time to actually do it.
Life seems busier than usual, and I suppose it should be. We are two-in-one now, meaning John’s worries, needs, habits, and rituals are mine, too, generally speaking. I am working to discover a balance between I and he and we. There is room for growth, to be sure.
One thing I've long known: We tend to show the worst version of ourselves to people we are the closest to. There comes a point in time when it’s impossible to hide our ugly side, and when you live, carpool, and work with someone, that point seems to come much more quickly. (On any given day we’re never more than 30 feet apart. For serious.)
Last week, after an impressively stressful day at work, we began our commute home, John driving, me in the passenger seat. We didn’t speak, leaving me to stew over the day in my pounding head. When we got home I got straight into bed and began to cry. John (and Carl) came in to see what was wrong, but I didn’t have an answer. John stayed on the bed and rubbed my back until it became clear that it was, at that point, a futile exercise. He left the room.
Eventually I stopped stress-crying and managed to make it through an episode of Chopped on Hulu before the bedroom door opened again, and John walked in. With pizza. Arranged in a bowl (because that’s how I usually eat meals- I have no idea why- and John makes fun of me for it). And then he left the room, leaving me alone to eat pizza out of a bowl in bed, because he knew that’s what the day called for.
So marriage… It’s nothing like I thought it would be, but everything I hoped it would be, if that makes any sense at all.