itesser ink: progress, uncensored

I swear I'm going gray

Writing is not among today's victories.

Drawing is not among today's victories.

Getting my oil changed is not among today's victories.

Resisting running away is not among today's victories.

Receiving a free mug of tea at the bookstore is not among today's victories. It happened, and it was good, but I don't think I can claim credit for it. Even if the free tea (well, hot water; I brought my own tea bag*) was precipitated by me looking awful from a bout of crying, I can't say the freebie was intentional.

(* I did try to pay for the hot water so I wouldn't be that jerk who tried to scam free food, but the barista asked if I was going to be hanging around, and when I said yes, gave me hot water in a mug instead of a cup and refused my money.)

I'm counting the small things that went right today because it was a day of such intense heartbreak that I did wonder how I might be able to run away from home, or run to my husband without looking ridiculously irresponsible.

Heartbreak is supposed to be over when you find your soul mate, fall in love, tie the knot, and live happily ever after. But then why, oh why, despite all the love, devotion, and affection I have for my husband, does my heart ache so badly these days? Absence, instead of making the heart grow fonder, makes the heart a harbor for irrational resentment, accusations, and feelings of neglect and abandonment. All of those are irrational. (See above: love, devotion, affection.)

And all of those good things are returned to me. I hear from him at least once a day, pushing himself to be more verbose in his notes, and putting into paper (or at least email) the things I usually see in his eyes. But woman can not live on bread alone. I'm pacing at the end of my rope, unsatisfied with how little we share.

I've become so out of touch with my husband that I bristle at almost any mention of him. When people ask about him, friends and family alike, I can only stand to answer one or two questions, sometimes less, before shutting down and saying, "I don't want to talk about it." These brusque dismissals are often followed by me going somewhere to privately fight off tears. It's humiliating, but the breadth and depth of my situation are difficult to convey in the casual settings the topic comes up in.

The victories, you see, are in the times I act normal.

The times when I cook and clean.
The times when I create.
The times when I exercise.
The times when I leave the house.
The times when I socialize.

Even when those actions are facets of escapism... three days in the high desert, two days by the beach, five days driving around the state... they're still victories.

Writing is not among today's victories.