Sunday, September 30, 2007

MAD as a WET HEN...

No, wait!

Do I mean:
Mad as the March Hare?
No, I think I do mean Mad as a Wet Hen:

I am fairly pissed off at the Goat for arriving late on Saturday and making up for it by leaving four hours [and one meal with my mother] early on Sunday. His reasons were all well and good as far as they went, but they showed such a complete regard for himself and his needs, and such a complete disregard of me and my needs that I really had to slow down, breathe deep, and consciously try, just to avoid flying off the handle.

As it was, I went into Saran-Wrap Mode, which is clearly not my most appealing state, but it
is what happens when you pull the rug out from under my romantic expectations. [Just in case any of you were planning to try it...]

After he left, and I got back from my solo visit to my mother's, I stopped by to visit a ninety-four-year-old friend I will call
Ruth, who turns out to have a son whose lover was once married with three kids... Ruth inquired as to the state of things, especially in regard to real estate, and came back again and again to the comment that it might be much wiser to rent at this point.

Don't I know that... it's just that rents are crazy in the Big Woods, and I don't know if I could afford anything -- it's the trouble with Summer People, as Vermont has found out to its cost: sooner or later, they or their grandchildren decide to stick around, and the next thing you know, there is an urban price war going on in the sleepy hamlets of the woods...

My mother had said more or less the same thing, except she was questioning the entire idea of the move rather than the wisdom of buying a house. The issues are about the same: do I have the wherewithal to make the investment, and how can I know that I won't get stung in a sinking market? The answer is: I won't know until I try, and I can't. It's the proverbial leap of faith. I am only too well aware that I could be making the biggest mistake of my life, and mortgaging my life to a fare-thee-well to do it. But:

Nothing ventured, nothing gained.
Time will tell.

Fools rush in where angels fear to tread.

So, here we are: too heartsick to be really angry, but wondering what his behavior really says about his feelings for me. It's really a puzzle, because some of the time, most of the time, he seems almost miraculously attuned to my needs. And then he just walks out.
I am going to hold on to the fact that he hadn't had a day off in two weeks, the likelihood was just too tired to spend any more social time, the probability that he will feel bad about it tomorrow, and the possibility that I owe him a couple of credits for all the good moves so far.

But sometimes the mixed messages do get awfully confusing.

My favorite statement to d
ate: when I was completely wild after no sleep and cut loose from the miracle of Better Living Through Chemistry, he got quite angry when I questioned the degree of his commitment to me. He said quite forcefully, as though this ended all discussion, that he wasn't sleeping with anybody else. Now, there is a "clear and present" division of worldviews.

I would have started from that assumption; to him, it was a declaration of commitment tantamount to a marriage proposal. Can this marriage be saved?

Stay tuned.

Tired of worrying,




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