Thursday, 01/29/2009 - 7:45 p.m.
Where to start? The poison gas cloud a week ago didn't kill us but I was wheezing pretty good later that night.
Roller Derby on Saturday was fun as usual. Dre went with us and we all went out to eat after the bout. The more I'm around Dre, the more I like her. When we got home, I
I finally got the stove top and oven fixed, since they've been dead for oh, months now. The big burner blew months ago so we used the little ones until they too blew up. When Craig, the most awesomest maintenance guy in the world, turned on the back burners they popped and smoked and little sparkly sparks flew off of them and I said "Um, dude, that cannot be right", but he assured me that they were indeed all working. He showed me all the blown places on the oven heating element and said "It's a damn good thing this didn't catch on fire, being in the shape it's in." Alrighty then. Whoops. Which reminded me that the battery in the smoke detector is dead.
And now the Memorex moment - everyone's seen that commercial with dude in the chair in front of the speakers and the sheer volume is blowing his hair all around and his tie is flapping in the breeze and his wineglass is about to go shooting off the tabletop. Well, Tuesday night I was that guy.
DC and I made a run for the border because we both needed some grease and on the way home from the Taco Bell, we got into the worst (and god willing, the last of its kind) argument *ever*. It was over health insurance and the titty issue and me having to push my doctor's appt back and how sick I was of hearing how hard this has been on DC when I'm the one hurting and apparently DC was having serious anxiety issues over it all. He screamed so loud and long at me that the passenger window rattled and the steering wheel vibrated from the volume. I have never, in the 8 years we've been together, seen or heard him lose his shit like that. I was convinced he was either going to a) punch me in the face or b) run us into a tree just for spite so I didn't comprehend much of his rant because I was planning an exit strategy. I had decided that if he actually hauled off and hit me I would pack enough clothes for a week, go to the Boy's and call my lawyer first thing Wednesday morning from Podunk. If he ran us into a tree or a parked car, I'd call a cab, go to my mother's and call my lawyer first thing Wednesday morning. I saw all of that as clear as crystal and I wasn't truly scared until my lawyer's name popped into my head, in bright blue neon.
He wasn't actually angry *at* me; just at the situation. One of the things that did filter into my brain during his fit was that he feels like he is a failure as a husband because a husband is supposed to provide for his wife and one of the things he's supposed to provide is health insurance. He's also supposed to provide a steady secure job with a steady secure paycheck as well or he's a failure. I've reassured DC over and over in all the time we've been married that all I wanted was for him to like his job and not dread going to work every day, even if it was for peanuts. I told him, after we'd both calmed down, that if my assurances about him not being a failure were not enough any more, then it was time for him to get back into therapy. I also told him that I've never seen him as or thought of him as a failure and if he wanted to continue wearing *that* crown of thorns, then he needed to keep it to himself. Not the most supportive thing to say, but after years of reassurances and you *still* don't believe it then you're probably not ever going to believe it, therapy or not.
We've been communicating mostly thru IMs, emails, and hand gestures because he can't speak above a hoarse whisper, even 2 days after the fact. I asked him Tuesday night if he felt better after getting allllllll that off his chest and he said he didn't know. I asked yesterday and he said he still wasn't sure if the screaming helped or not.
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