Had the talk.

I finally worked up the inclination to communicate with my other half. I took the hard route. I always avoided the things that required talking to other people because it is too hard. I always chose the path of least resistance when it came to people. Others see it as a weakness or inability to confront. It's neither, I just don't like dealing with people. People are too complex-in the wrong way, they read too much into everything and they personalize everything and they think it's all about them. Not everything is about you people! But nevertheless, I talked to my husband about what was on my mind, and true to form, he went into his 'fix it' mode again and trying to 'explain' to me why I felt the way I felt. And I politely stopped him and told him it's not about that and I would like him to be a impartial listener, pretend that I am a friend and your friend is spilling his guts to you. He understood and actually heeded the advice. It was strangely liberating. I suppose the old adage about giving someone a chance, they might surprise you is true. 

I told him that I want to be able to communicate 'housekeeping' matters to him because I really don't have anyone else to tell. I am not one to burden other people with the unsavory minutiae details of my household. It's not fair to the people in the house to have their private lives exposed, and my husband, always a private person appreciated the fact that I went to him mainly because I don't want to talk to others. We ended the conversation by him saying he was glad that I chose to communicate with him. It was a pleasant surprise and very in keeping with the theme of Lent, by inviting those you feel alienated from back into your heart and I felt I have done that with my husband. I don't want this invisible wall to come up between us and 10 years later, I won't be able to stand the sight of him because I have so much resentment. I can now understand how people get divorced after 30 years of marriage-resentment, simmering unresolved unsaid resentment, so much resentment that it blocks the whole room. And this is how it starts, with small what you believe are insignificant housekeeping matters. So, I want to avoid all that.

What's the moral of this story? Never write anyone off.

The work week begins

It's my first week back to work at a 9 to 5, in an office. It was surprisingly familiar, which I am a little worried by. The only thing different is that I am now married and not single anymore and when I get home, I don't just get to veg in front of the TV, I still have responsibilities to take care of, like cooking, cleaning up and washing up and by the end of the evening, I am totally shattered and ready to hit the hay.

It's quite nice, I have a lot time to myself and I do most of the work alone, which is very much preferred right now. I don't know if I accepted this job that is beneath my abilities and definitely beneath my pay level just to get away from what's at home?

Really?

I signed up with a temp agency not long ago, it's a good back up just in case any job comes up. Well, today I got a job doing some clerical work, and the pay is not great but it's something. Money we could really use. The pay is much lower than I am used to but at this juncture, I really have no choice. I didn't expect any whoops of joyous elation from my family but I did expect some expression of neutral feelings. But the feeling I get is me going to work will take me away from them. And that I am going to work for so little money. People have traveled greater distances to work for much much less money.

There were several appointments lined up for the weekday, which had to be re-scheduled, I was met with groans and not with understanding. When I found out I got the job, I immediately began to thaw some drumsticks so my husband would have lunch tomorrow, his lunch, not mine. So, you get the idea.

How did I get here? How did I begin to exist for convenience of others? I suppose I am partly to blame, since I blended my family, I was so preoccupied with the role of peacekeeper and I basically stopped really communicating with people unless I really had to because I am so exhausted being the peacekeeper. I have no energy left for anything else, and I am not even a very good peacekeeper. Good peacekeepers don't hate their role, they love it. And I hate my role.

Thus begs the million dollar question, how did I get here?

Recession and redundancy.

It's no wonder that since the dawn of time men and women spent their days separately and evenings together. It's God's way keeping men and women from literally killing each other. Job loss of a spouse and a sudden reduction of income is a huge source of strain on any family but imagine if you have to see your spouse at home all day, that's the worst part, more than the job loss itself I am surprised that World War III hasn't started yet. Men are not meant to stay home. I know there is a new trend of stay-at-home dads due to this being a man's recession, but it's a bad idea. Men do not have the patience nor fortitude to do domestic chores and child care 24/7. It's a bore, it will whittle down whatever masculinity they have left from losing their jobs and turn them into angry tyrants, which we will bear the brunt of. Women have no choice, we have done it since the dawn of man, and most women don't prefer it much but we deal with it, just like we deal with everything else not groan about it. It has to be done, chores don't get done on their own, so just grit your teeth and get on with it: try telling a man that. 


The old adage "familiarity breeds contempt" has never been more true in this situation. Familiarity means that you have to watch your husband do things his way in the home, may it be laundry, chores, dishwashing, cooking or even something as mundane as fixing the DVR player. You suddenly realize that that's not the way you do it and you think the way he does it so awkward or wrong. 


For instance, take mopping the floors, we have tiled floors so mopping is a cinch, just a bucket of hot water with some natural floor cleaner and a sponge mop, run it through a couple of times and it should be all set. But no, when my husband mops the floor, it looks like my home just experienced a torrential downpour. The floor is sopping wet for hours, where no one can step on because foot prints will be left behind. Not only that, he gets angry when anyone walks on his newly cleaned floors. I can't walk to my garage, I can't stroll in my yard, all because it requires me stepping on 'his' clean floors. It's totally maddening. When I challenge him on it, he says that it's how professionals do it. Well, the last time I checked, he has never been a janitor nor has he ever cleaned anyone's home for a living. It's total rubbish, but how do you tell your spouse that they way they mop the floors is ridiculous? It sounds ridiculous just saying it out loud to myself. 


So, what did I do? I told him that his floor mopping duties are over and that I will mop from now. I have just added one extra chore on my list-I have taken away the one chore that he has agreed to do, one that he does not find repulsive or beneath him to do-like cleaning the toilets. I think when times are better, I shall hire a cleaner. This will end my frustration and anger when it comes to household chores. No wonder experts say that chores are a huge source or argument in marriages, after money and in-laws. I now know why, the implications run deep, if not divided equitably or fairly, it leaves one person feeling like the maid. Though it was me who chose to mop floors, I would rather tire myself out with one more chore than hear his moaning about the stupid floors. I don't want to be made to feel that someone is doing me a huge favor by mopping the floors and I must not leave behind one spec of dust for at least a week. 


You will wonder why I just don't talk about this with him, you see, I come from the school of 'talking is pointless unless a settlement can be reached'. My husband is a good man and a good husband, but stubborn and set in his ways. Talking about it will only create more conflict, but what I am most afraid of is revealing to him how I really feel about everything. Because right now, I keep my contempt and anger very well hidden, by avoiding him during the day, pretending that he is at 'work' somewhere and not in my space. 

Having to be the adult

I revise my former statement about marriage being an exercise in self-restraint. Marriage is an exercise in self-restraint and a designated party who has to act like the adult in all situations. And guess who that person usually is? No, it's not the older spouse or the more experienced spouse (whatever that means). It's the wife that has to act the part of referee, peacemaker, negotiator, basically the adult in the marriage, and it gets mighty old in a hurry. 


You see, I hate people, I hate dealing with people and their grievances, problems, complaints, gripes etc. I can barely deal with my own problems. I don't like being the go-between, smoothing over arguments and disagreements between other people, most of whom are older than me. I don't know why I fixate on age so much, I know that age doesn't mean squat anymore but the conventional side of me expects older people to be mature and wiser. Sadly, that is not so in my life. I am constantly flabbergasted at how much more mature I am, or maybe I am just deluding myself, I don't know anymore. After all, I don't speak about this with anyone except this blog that no one reads. Sometimes I get so lost and mired in my own domestic situation that I don't know if what I am experiencing is real or 'normal' anymore. Does everyone feel like this? Can domestic life be this hard over things so small and insignificant? I know things are relative and what the other person experiences no matter how small to me is very significant to them, and I am not one to put down or slight another person's experience, but damn, this is tiring. 


When I blended my family, I knew there would be hairy spots but I didn't think it involved this much talking and negotiating and over things so small and insignificant. Every morning I tread lightly, waiting for the next argument and disagreement to ignite. 


It's funny how things you loved about someone so early on can be such a emotional liability when the ennui of daily life set in. I never minded my husband's fastidiousness, tidiness and and wanting things just so, in fact, I relished it, finally a guy who is not a slob and can tidy his things away. But now the very thing I relished is becoming a physical and psychological burden on me. Since I am ranting and no one will read this, let me just make a list for my own satisfaction.

• Laundry from the clothesline cannot be put on the bed because it was exposed to dust on the outside. Well, gee whiz, there's dust everywhere, why don't I wrap myself in plastic before I return to my bedroom. 
• "I know how to clean, but I just don't like to", well, then, I must LOVE LOVE LOVE chores because not only does he not like to do chores, he won't leave me to it, constantly critiquing and telling me where I've missed. And I realized lately that nothing has ignited my ire more than my husband telling me to do certain chores, though I know he doesn't mean to order me around, him saying it from his mouth, sounding like a direct order just ignites my inner rage, a rage that I have to try hard to calm. 

There are more, but if I go on, I would just be petty, going against the very point I am trying to make here. But do you see how small this stuff is? Maybe I have been shut away from reality too long. People say that couples today give up on relationships and marriages too easily, and they don't work through it and I agree, this is nothing to lose your mind over, but on a bad day, this can feel like the thing that will finally put me over the edge. 

Where did the day go?

Yesterday I rose early and started my day on track. I checked my vegetable garden, hung my clothes out to dry and tried to set about my day of business until I was interrupted again and again. It's one of those frustrating days that just needs to be over. 

As I am trying to clap out a coherent article, I kept hearing my name called to point of madness. Why is it when I am craving for solitude I get distracted the most? And by the time I wanted to sit down and do my writing, it was time to make dinner. It's no wonder all good writers are men. They have the luxury of sitting for hours without distraction from a hungry spouse or children or a pestering elderly relative. Women don't have the luxury of the self-indulgent life of a writer unless she is a spinster. Most of the good women writers we know were spinsters, Jane Austen, the Bronte sisters, George Eliot aka Mary Anne Evans was married but child free. One exception is Elizabeth Barrett Browning but she was ill and sickly and so she had the rare privilege of being tended to hand and foot by a doting husband thus without any domestic burdens. 

Every morning I wake up, it is as if I count down the time where I can be at my desk and writing. I wake up, brush my teeth, sometimes I have a quick shower then I go to the kitchen to make breakfast. But sometimes before I can start on breakfast, I might need to clear the dishwasher from the previous day and put the dishes left in the sink into dishwasher before I can even begin breakfast--and that could be a good 20 minutes. Oh, how I long for someone to just empty my dishwasher and put the dishes back where they belong. So, I make breakfast, eat breakfast--trying to eat fast, but not appear to be eating too fast, clear the dishes, put them in the dishwasher. And on a good day, that would be it, but usually there is something else waiting for me, laundry to fold, laundry to do or some other domestic chore that was assigned to me....by whom? Me? 

Sometimes I wonder if I have spoilt all the people in my life, if I have made their lives easy by making mine frustrating and difficult? Did I create the monster that is my life and now there's no way back.? Because if I change now, I would become the proverbial "bait and switch" wife and that's not who I am either.

Oh and the grand finale of yesterday, right after dinner and after I spent a few moments with my cat in the backyard and before I was to get started on my writing. There was a scheduled power outage due to equipment maintenance and the lights didn't come back on until 9 pm. It makes me wonder how human beings survived before the advent of electricity.  

But I did write my article, I finished it at 2 am. It wasn't any good and I probably won't ever publish it, but I wrote it. A writer needs discipline, they need to devote time to writing everyday, even if what is written is rubbish and can never be seen. Hemingway was the most disciplined writer, he always wrote standing up and he devoted a block of time everyday to write and even if he could only get out a few sentences--so be it. But that was Hemingway, who did what he pleased, when he pleased with no social repercussions--no, in fact he was celebrated for being just that, a bon vivant. As much as I wish that for myself, alas, it will never be, for the path I chose in life will not accommodate that. 

As it is in Heaven

The Lent season is upon us and for any Catholic, it's a time of reflection, reconciliation with God, reconciliation with lost loved ones and penance. And for some reason, during the past 2 weeks, the movies I watched were religious themed. And after attending Mass this morning, it seemed even more poignant.

"As it is in Heaven" is a Swedish film and directed by Kay Pollock. The scenery of Sweden is absolutely stunning. The story is about Daniel, a world famous conductor who has fallen ill with heart disease and can no longer conduct full orchestras and was forced into retirement. On a whim, he decides to return to the remote village in northern Sweden where he was born. He has no family nor any connections left there, but he decides to go back there anyways and bought the old elementary school house as his residence. People have long forgotten him and his family, due to heavy bullying for his musical talents, his mother moved them out of there when he was 7 years old and he has never returned since. His childhood dream was to use music to open people's hearts and after conducting for some of the most famous orchestras in the world, he failed to achieve this dream. It was all too commercial and not enough about music for him. The townspeople know that he's a big shot in the classical musical world and is flattered that he chose to come to this small village to retire--not knowing that he's really from there. The local pastor asks him to be the cantor (choir director) of their local church, he declined at first but reluctantly agrees in the end. The choir only has a measly 6 members but it soon grows.

Though this village is small, it's a microcosm of the larger world. You have the insecure town bully Arne, making fun of everyone (including his mentally challenged cousin and taunting him when he wets himself), the alcoholic and abusive husband Conny with his battered wife, Gabriella--which everyone watches her get beat up and does nothing, you have the humorless, self-righteous old spinster Siv, lecturing everyone on morality at every turn, the pastor who secretly stashes porn in his home and the repressed wife wife and you have Lena, the pretty young girl whom everyone envies or despises because she is kind hearted, lively, free spirited and beautiful. Her own townspeople watch her fall madly in love with a married doctor with two children in Stockholm, while they knew the whole time he was married with a family. No one even had the decency to tell her, the just watched her behave like a fool for two years until the charade was up and the doctor had to return home, and she is now branded a 'slut' by Siv. She thought these people were her friends. We all know someone like everyone described above in our lives. Just like the town tramp, there is one in every town. It was while conducting this small choir group Daniel achieved his boyhood dream of opening people's heart with music and he realized that all he had to do was go 'home' to achieve this elusive dream that evaded him his whole international career. It was the simple village life and the simple townspeople that inspired him to be his best. The people in the choir had none of the sophistication nor musical training of all the great musicians he worked with on the world stage but it was what he needed to achieve his dream.

The other two movies I revisited lately are "The End of the Affair" written by Graham Greene and "Brideshead Revisited" written by Evelyn Waugh, it takes a reluctant Catholic and an Anglican (who later converted to Catholicism) to express the core and essence of the Catholic faith. Since the the English Reformation, Catholics in England have dwindled to just a small minority. As a result, Catholics are viewed with curiosity and suspicion--this is especially poignant in Brideshead Revisited. The aristocratic Marchamain family's Catholic faith sticks out like a sore thumb in their social circle, they are viewed with suspicion especially because Lady Marchmain is so devout. The message of these two novels are once a Catholic, always a Catholic, no matter how much you resist it. When God's Grace visits you, you cannot and will not reject it because you know it's good and right. The Catholic religion unlike Protestantism, has a profound hold on the person, being baptized a Catholic, God will always find a way to bring you home, even if you are not ready to come home, you will follow because you know God is good.

"If I ever marry, I will marry an orphan"

One of my very favorite people said to me once, "if I ever marry, I will marry and orphan." She is still happily single, of her own choosing. She told me this in my teen years, when I was full of confusion and anger at the world around me. I had a great laugh then but it is now I realize the wisdom of her words.

Orphans have no parents, no extended family ergo no baggage that comes with family. The shrill mother-in-law, the gruff and grunting father-in-law, and the sleazy uncle, all of which you have to be nice and cordial to, even on your worst day--none of that exists. One has to be in a marriage of blended families to appreciate the difficulties that present themselves when two families are trying to merge. I feel that marriage is an exercise in self-restraint. Restraint to not say what you really want to say but you feel wronged and infringed upon if it never gets said. It's always a battle of who is going to be the adult? Me or the husband? Somehow it always falls on me to be the adult, at least that's my perception. And it's very difficult to have to be the adult all the time, in fact it's infuriating.

It's no wonder that men get extra benefits from the institution of marriage, they get family structure and security that a single man would not have, and to achieve this I have to be the adult in the relationship. I have to be the one to maintain peace. That's the small price I pay for the security of marriage and family.

Asperger's Syndrome, ADD, ADHD, Bi-polar, depression, are they just all code for "I am a jerk"?

It seems that every decade there is a new mental 'condition' that ails a generation of people. In the 80's and 90's there was Attention Deficit Disorder (ADD) and Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder (ADHD) and medications such as Adderall and Ritalin were handed out like candy at the nurses station across American schools. It was prescribed to any kid (mostly boys) who couldn't sit through a class without jumping out of their chairs or felt the urge to poke the person next to him. And when the home room teacher had enough, she would send him to the nurses station and boom a diagnosis was given. He will most likely be ADD or ADHD, take your pick, which the school will most likely march the parents in and duly and solemnly inform them that their child has this attention deficit disorder and they need to be medicated. If the parents refuse to medicate them and the child's behavior is not corrected, they could be asked to leave the school and this is enough to scare parents into medicating their child.

The reasons for little kids not being able to sit still in their chairs are many, but the first one would obviously be that it's not natural for kids to sit so still for such long periods of time. This kind of routine takes disciplining from a young age, like students in Asia, they were raised to think that they must sit for long hours in school each day and play after school. But unfortunately in America, the state of our educational system is so broken that exercising any form of discipline could be construed as abuse by an over-protective or over-zealous parent.

Now there are adults (mostly men) who self-diagnose themselves as ADD or ADHD when they cut you off when you are talking, butt-in while you are talking or tell off color or rude jokes to an unwilling audience, all because they have ADD, they can't help themselves. Translation: I am a jerk and I have no manners, I just can't help it. Call the cops on me if you want.

Fast froward to the new millennium, the new 'diagnosis' for people who behave badly is Asperger's Syndrome. When the symptoms of this diagnosis became well known to people, which are: unable to read facial cues to determine someone's feelings emotion, obsessive fixation on a certain object, hyper-activity, unable to sit still, unable to make friends or form bonds with one's peers....etc. This sounds like half the population.

This is also the new excuse to be a jerk, because I have Asperger's Syndrome, so I don't realize that when I said you look like Dumbo, I would hurt your feelings.

or

I have an online porn addiction because I have Asperger's Syndrome, I have unhealthy fixations and obsessions with random objects not of my choosing.

or

I can't help banging on my key board when I type because I have Asperger's Syndrome and it makes my very hyper sometimes.

or

I am a rude pig because I have Asperger's Syndrome, I don't know how to look you in the eye or acknowledge that you are speaking to me and I don't care that you find my jokes crude or rude.

And depression? Come on, everyone is depressed sometimes, you wouldn't be human experiencing the human conditions if you weren't depressed. And Bi-polar? Isn't it just an excuse for erratic and irresponsible behavior that you don't want to own up to so you put a label on it and then the rest of the people have to excuse you?

*Note: I understand that mental illness can be very serious and harmful, what I am objecting to is the over-diagnosis of certain mental conditions and then drugging people, turning them into zombies, and at the same time provide a 'valid' excuse for bad behavior. Just because someone has a mental condition, it does not give them carte blanche to act as they please without regards or considerations to other people!

Right to end of life...a little macabre, not sure what to think about this

A story in the Daily Mail detailed a real 'last supper' for a man who was diagnosed with Motor Neurone Disease (MND), upon finding out about his illness he decided that he wanted to end his own life at the notorious Dignitas clinic in Switzerland. http://www.dailymail.co.uk/femail/article-1257547/The-supper-The-unbearably-haunting-picture-father-surrounded-loving-family-night-killed-Dignitas-clinic.html


I have a lot of conflict with regards to this matter and on paper it sounds totally logical that someone with a terminal illness should want to end their life with dignity and on their terms but the Catholic in me strongly objects to it, something just doesn't seem right about it. I don't think God meant for us to end our lives when we wish and how we wish no matter how undignified it may seem, God has a plan for everything we do. I can't explain it, but something deep inside of me knows that it is not how it's meant to be. I am sure it took a lot of courage for the daughters of this poor man to make all the arrangements with Dignitas clinic, and even risk criminal prosecution in Great Britain, but that doesn't make it right.


This is a slippery slope if laws regarding right to end life become lax and de-criminalized, how would it stop some vile person who just want their elderly loved ones dead so they could inherit the assets and do away giving long term care to someone. 


The whole idea of having your daughters arrange for your suicide at a suicide clinic in one the most picturesque countries in the world just seems a little macabre to me, too clinical and too businesslike for something that is final and can't be reversed. 

Maiden entry...

This is my maiden journey into the world of anonymous blogging.

I am blogging because I have a lot of feelings and thoughts in which I cannot share with those that I know and love. It's not that I fear judgment, I don't care about being judged about what I feel, I just don't want to deal with the fallout of discussing my feelings.

Talking 'about' things is overrated, it just creates hurt feelings, resentments and more confusion now that someone has spilled their guts, you begin to wonder if they felt that way all along and then you begin to re-evaluate every conversation you have ever had...it's too complicated and unnecessary. Whoever said to tell the whole honest 'truth' has done a disservice to mankind and should suffer for it. Truth is overrated, after all, perception is reality.

So a blog is a perfect forum for someone with too many thoughts but no one to tell. This is the place where I give all my confessions about everyone, anything and everything. This will include news clippings I read, every dumb new 'research' that comes out pretending to give empirical data on things you can't quantify, such as 'keys to a happy marriage'.

Finally, my alias, Marie Stuart, or Mary, Queen of Scots. Of all the historical figures, I somehow identify with her very much. I am not Scottish nor French, but she was caught up in the historical times she was born in and she tried her best to do what was best for France, Scotland and her faith while sometimes sacrificing herself in the process. No, I am not making myself to be a 'martyr' but I feel the same sort of conflict, doing the right thing by my family, my job and my obligations but not sacrificing myself in the process.

Oh and when the pedantic, erudite and pretentious side of myself comes out, be prepared for me to write long critical analysis of my favorite historical events, plays and books. I am a huge history buff, as my alias may point out.