Saturday January 29 2011

8 a.m. I’m still awake waiting to settle the loan over the phone. Watching Sleepers [1996]. Eating Popcorn—drinking water.

I’ve been approved for the loan. Finally getting everything secure and set in stone.

Sleep just before 11 a.m.

Waking up. 5:30 p.m.

Breakfast: Egg and Cheese Burrito from Sonic. Orange Juice.

Work at China Wok.

Sharing Toasted Peanut Butter English Muffins with James and Chris. Honey Green Tea.

First anniversary SHOW N TELL of the year at 1623!

The vibe is reminiscent of the debut Show n Tell last year—intimate, a lot of reading and poetry.

James G. set up paint, brushes, markers, and colored pencils to draw with along with small white sheets of paper. Everyone creates his or her own art and later it is constructed into a collage. We should do this every month.

The fire magicians from Halloween dazzle us again in the front yard—spinning firelight on batons and string.

I like this crowd of people. They’re genuine and non-agro but still looking for adventure—young and free spirits. Being able to keep this kind of scene cultivated is crucial for the arts, and more importantly for the soul.

In the kitchen cooking dinner—everyone still hanging out around me. All of a sudden, Margot barges into the house wearing her serious I’m not happy and I want immediacy face. “So were you going to answer your phone?!” she inquires. A little confused—I realized she may have been calling but my phone was on silent and she told me she would be out with friends tonight, so I didn’t expect to see her. “Let’s go,” she says. Let’s go? “Huh? No. I’m making dinner right now.” After that she plays the usual game of I’m going to storm out the door in frustration, run to my car, then storm back in the house and make Robert feel bad for letting me leave. At this point, I’m totally clueless as to what she is so flustered about. We had exchanged a few nice texts back and forth earlier so what was this all about?

Dinner plate in hand by the computer. She comes back inside for the second time to confront me. “Margot, what is going on? What is wrong with you? I really don’t understand.” She threatens to turn the dinner plate over in my hand and take her car back—pulling out her keys. Her stubbornness and bad attitude is so unbecoming. I lose it. I put the plate down on the table and pull her away with intention on resolving this in a room somewhere. She resists. I pull. We trip and fall to the ground in the living room. “Don’t touch me! You pushed me!” It’s a furious moment—she’s wailing her arms and pretty much hitting but not so much to hurt me. I continue to hold her tight and pull us into Dustin’s room.

She sits down on the bed. I knew she had been drinking tonight but she couldn’t have been that wasted. However, it’s quite consistent that whenever she does drink there is a firm chance we’ll get into something like this. I’ve told her several times I don’t like it when she drinks. She’s announcing all these hurtful things to me, “You’re the worst boyfriend! You don’t care about me!” Finding every excuse she can to put all the blame on me for her pain. None of this makes any sense. There’s absolutely nothing I did tonight to deserve such hostility except miss a few phone calls. But obviously, this is unearthing deeper issues, like her dissatisfaction with the relationship: lack of time spent together, my being busy all the time, lack of affection, lack of attention. She mentions how she’s 21 and wants to have fun unlike me who’s 26 and lives like an old man, rarely going out and being a homebody. This has always been the conflict. At one point, she says, “You’re going to write about this in your blog. You’re blog is dumb. People ask me all the time, ‘Why does he write about all that? Doesn’t that bother you?’” She uses insult as ammo, thinking that breaking me down will make her feel in control. The reason we’re here having this debacle is because of her lack of control. It’s all about control, isn’t it? Really though, I should know by now that when she blames me and holds me responsible for her disappointment and unhappiness, her only way of communicating that is through hate. She wants love. And so do I. How do we get there? Or can we?

Later after she leaves, I overhear a conversation between Erin and Jordan on the porch. He says, “I’ve been in so many relationships where I had to fight so hard to make it work.”

Inside, James reminds me of the comparison the old man told me the other day about the wife and dog in the trunk. “Who’s gonna be happy to see you?”

Sometimes I’m convinced she cannot live without the drama of being insatiable. Something is really wrong here.

Warming up my dinner plate then heading to the newspaper docks.

Dinner: Sun-dried Tomato Chicken. Cheddar Cheese Pasta Shells. Broccoli.

Newspaper route.

Coffee and Donuts from 7-11.

Back home. Eating Garlic Naan Bread.

Finishing Sleepers.

Text from her: “I just want more from you than you can give me and I’m sorry. Maybe I should lower my expectations?”

I’ve come to realize that the first sentence in this text is the root of all out problems.

Sleep just before 10 a.m.