Thursday, January 21, 2010

On fighting...

We don't fight as often as we did in the new blush of love, when we thought we knew each other, but didn't really.  Or even in the middle of our lives together, when we were burdened with children, debt, and stress.  But occasionally still they come.

Normally I am the sulky and petulant one, the one that holds onto grudges.  I am loathe to let go of the hate and anger, clinging on to every last shred of it, eagerly trading my dignity and compassion for self-righteousness and indignation. Clenching it in my fist until the ache of it spreads through my entire body.

It's me that storms off in the car leaving a blackness of mood, squealing tyres and the acrid smell of burnt rubber assailing the air.

Tonight he was me.

I want to scream and shout and rant, to kick walls until the pressure is released from my brain.  I want to hurt and gouge and rally at the unfairness of it all.  I want to feel my fingers push into flesh and squeeze with all my might, my arms straining, my teeth clenching until I hurt him back.  My eyes feel like they will burst from my head, my neck will soon snap with the pressure, my tendons are strained, I am sweating and overheated, too angry to breathe I am breathless... LISTEN TO ME. JUST. LISTEN.

But he's gone.

He'll come back.  He'll skulk into the bedroom hoping I am asleep.  I will try to ignore his presence, the sound of his breathing will hang in the bed beside me, both tense and unsleeping.  Eventually the sweat will cool, my eyes will droop, the anger will be replaced with guilt while I fight my way into an exhausted sleep. I'll hang on to one last thread of anger, vowing not to touch him all night even with the most miniscule piece of skin, every nerve in my body knowing just where he will be found.

Tomorrow everything will be soothed over.  I will be him. The peacemaker.  Sorry that I yelled.  I was attacking the black dog, not you.  Sorry that I didn't have the patience to stop and understand why you didn't understand ... why you acted that way.  I didn't think before I reacted.  It's not you, it's the dog, it's the nervousness about things new.  I will be patient and compassionate. It will be okay. It will pass. And I'm sorry.

I will make it right. Tomorrow.

Thursday, January 14, 2010

On becoming famous...

Well...who would have thunk it.  Today I got an email from the "Who's Who in the World" series editor asking if I was interested in sending my bibliography to be considered for inclusion in their venerable anthology for 2011.

Naturally this cracked me up.

According to the email inclusion in Who's Who in the World offers...
  • "More than just a personal achievement; being honored in a Marquis Who's Who publication offers prospective business contacts an authoritative, full representation of your credentials and accomplishments.   
  • A historical archive of your achievements, recorded for generations to refer to time and again.
    Exclusive offers that are available only to members of the Marquis Who's Who family.
I congratulate you on the achievements that have brought your name to the attention of our editorial committee."

Well, first of all buddy, I don't have any achievements, unless you count surviving the raising of three teenagers (thus far) and one half-hearted journal article that may or may not have been read by anyone, and of course this prestigious blog of which there is only one follower!

It made me wonder how I had come to the attention of the crack 'editorial team' and what it takes to be asked, and I subsequently came up with my own, and I feel much more appropriate letter of solicitation.

Here it is for your reading pleasure:

Dear Generic House-wife of Brisbane,

Our highly trained, eagle-eyed editorial staff have spotted your name written in almost indecipherable cursive on the bottom of a shopping list, wedged under a baby-seat, perilously perched on a wonky shopping trolley at a Woolworths Grocery Store.  As such we have decided you are a "person-of-note" and would like to include your tell-all bibliography in our series "Whos-who in Woolies".

This year we have added a special category - the Black-Hole of Aisle 6.  Please, therefore, feel free to include all stories, parables, and other ethically sensible anecdotes and moral fables of your experiences in the aisle that contains glad wrap, personal lubricants, gardening shears and floss.

Your worthwhile stories will be judged on creative merit (truth is optional).  Your stories will give hope to thousands around the world (who may or may not purchase this anthology, and who may, or may not be able to read) that struggle to complete the maze of Aisle 6.

Naturally, your participation comes at no cost to you - except of course, your standing among your peers who may laugh and sneer at your conceit and vanity in applying to have your details included in this anthology, alongside various other note-worthy wankery types, such as Trev from Rangaville whose name we found on a note in a bottle of XXXX in a drain near Cronulla, Australia Day, 2005.

If you choose to enter your name please attach the following code to your entry:  IAMANEGOMANIAC

We look forward to culling your application from the pile of known and unknown wankers.

Stay tuned for some exclusive offers, including one year of unlimited spam from Nigerian Ponzi Scheme operators and possible cyber-attacks from someone in China trying to solve the mystery of Aisle 6.


Iman Editorand Yourenot