So I was in the middle of writing a post on road rage, which I will finish and post later, when I took a break to meet my husband for twenty minutes of togetherness before we each go our separate ways: him to class, me to wait.
We stand in line for ten minutes to get a pretty good peperoni pizza, and then I ask a very visably shy girl if we can share her table with her, seeing that it is close to a bazillion degrees outside. She says sure.
The little pizza is done in two minutes, so we have seven minutes to connect with each other. Joey asks me about the study we are supposed to be leading on "Peace Makers"starting tonight; I confirm we will read the preface of the book as a group. Then I remember I asked Joey to do a favor for me this morning. My cousin Jamie is putting together an album for our Grammie and she needs our pictures like, now. Joey's mom has recent pictures of Ethan that I wanted to include, so I asked Joey to pick them up for me.
"Did you get the pictures?" I wasn't aware of an condemnation in my voice when I asked this question, but Joey later tells me it was clearly there.
"No, we'll just pick them up when we go to get Ethan." He wipes the pepperoni grease off the corner of his mouth with his thumb and looks up at me like, whats your problem?
From here we go into a pretty heated debate about who said what exactly; who needs to apologize (Joey), who needs to communicate better (Danae), and why Joey always turns things around to be my fault ( I can't get over this. This is my main point, my thesis. I ram it in the conversation whenever I get an opening). I am trying to cover up the argument the whole time so it looks like we are talking about something light and funny, but its impossible. The poor girl sitting across form us keeps reading, but she's shifting in her chair. Joey seems to be less aware of this than I am, and his voice stays at a somewhat raised volume, so I ask him if he wants to walk.
We go outside, that poor girl I'm sure sighing in relief, but it's not much better. There are young people everywhere, so I am still trying to fake the conversation, until it finally gets to the point where I am so frustrated that I don't care either. I tell Joey, very stupidly and irrationally, "I'm going home. You can pick up Ethan." He says fine and walks off. I turn around and want to cry.
I don't know what else to do so I walk, even though I really don't want to walk the long, lonely walk back to my car and then drive the long, lonely ride home and then sit in an empty house until Joey and Ethan return.
I keep walking. I see trees to my left, big, wonderful trees, and want to sit in the shade beneath them. I aimlessly walk over to them and touch the grass. My finger comes away with a little mud on it, a drop of water. If I had a blanket I could sit down, but I don't. And I can't deal with a big wet spot on my rear right now.
Right about now is when I want Joey to come after me. I have learned though, that he never does. He lets me go. If I want to come back, its my choice.
So I turn around. I start walking back. I go between bursts of anger and weepy emotions like a ping pong match. In the bursts of anger I am so pissed. I think, This isn't working! this schedule! this job! No human being on earth should have to feel this distant from her husband! And then I look at all these cute college kids around me and think viciously, they have no idea. In the weepy moments I want Joey to put his arms around me so I can cry and we can understand each other again, but then three seconds later I want to turn around and drive to California, or somewhere very far away so that he will suffer.
I used to do this early in our marriage, just get in the car and drive off. It usually took about twenty minutes before I'd realize how absolutely hormonal I was acting and besides, where would I go? It's not like we had extra money for me to spend on some motel room somewhere, and if we did, I'd want Joey to be there...so I'd make a u-turn and head back, feeling ashamed but mostly relieved. Its always relieving to come to your senses.
On the walk back toward campus I decide I really didn't want to go home when I said I did, I just wanted privacy, so I could talk (yell) it out with Joey, and cry.
Which is what I want to do right now: my eyes are wet but my throat feels constricted, like I just ate a peanut and I am allergic to nuts. I walk into one of the bathrooms, hoping no one will be in there so I can bawl my eyes out, but there are two girls in there and at least one of them just had a great poo.
The stench instantly dries out my eyes and I no longer have a desire to cry, so I just pee instead. My throat clenches tighter.
And here I am. I still haven't cried. I am hoping it will come out sooner than later, but the rage already feels solid inside of me. I am not sure what it will take to break it, to melt it down again in to a heart that loves her husband.
Just writing the word, "husband" softens me. They are such wonderful people, aren't they--I mean, despite the fact that they're sinners and say mean things sometimes? Joey is my refuge here on earth. He is (though not great at it all the time) God's hands and arms to me. He provides for me. He is strong and brave. I am never afraid when I am with him. He is my very best friend, and I am sorry I don't like him more of the time. Because he really is fun to be with. And sweet. Also, he gives great advice. He has never left me. He made a promise to be with me until I die. Now who else besides God would ever make that kind of promise to me???? He is grace beyond words. He is the third party of this mystery between God, myself and Joey that I live in everyday: he is the tangible part, the good looking part.
I feel the sting, the wetness in my eyes. I still can't full on cry (I am in a computer lab people) but I know that there is hope for when I am alone; or better: when I see Joey walking towards me after his class.
It took all day to sort that one out. You know, one of those fights where you think its over and than WHAM, you just want to punch them. I did cry a bit when I saw Joey walking toward me after his class, and he gave me a kiss and we laughed. I asked him if he was suprised I was there and he said no, not really. This suprised me because I was suprised I was there, but then he knows me better than I know myself. That is for certain. I just wish he would have been suprised. You can't slip nothing over him.