I don't know that I've written any posts on Sunday before. Sunday is family day. Usually some quiet time with Richard, lounging in our warm and cozy bed, sipping tea and chatting. Sometimes the chatting turns into lovely morning sex. That'll jump start your day much better than the most decadent latte from Starbucks. Today our little talk turned very serious and I'm freaked out.
The basis of our heavy conversation this morning began the day before yesterday. My best friend and business partner, Nikki, suddenly lost her dad. She got the call at work. He had a heart attack and they just couldn't save him. She was devastated. I felt helpless and my heart ached for her. We had made plans to meet Richard and a client of his to celebrate a great victory in court for happy hour.
There would be nothing happy happening for many hours after receiving such tragic news. I called Richard to let him know. I needed to hear his calm, reassuring voice. He didn't answer his mobile phone. I left a voicemail.
I waited 15 minutes and tried again. Nothing. I called the back line to his office. Nada. So, I called the front desk. Since the Manic Meltdown 2 years ago, I hate talking to the receptionist. I always feel like she's judging me. "Oh...checking up on your cheating husband, huh?" But, the other two numbers I had were not bringing the desired results, so my options were minimized.
"Hey, Christina. Do you know where my husband is?"
Now why in the hell did I have to ask that?? I could have just said, "Could I please speak to Richard?" Ugh. Stupid shit like that plagues my weary mind!
She said she didn't know his whereabouts but would check. A couple of minutes of boring hold music and, "Hi, Honey! What's up? Can't wait for cocktails!"
Here's where the problem started. "Where were you? Why weren't you answering your cell?"
"I don't know. I was here. It didn't ring."
"I called the back line. That didn't ring either?"
"I stepped out to talk to Linda. (his paralegal) I guess I missed it. What the hell?"
I told him he needed to call his client and let her know happy hour was off and I told him why. Appropriate sympathy ensued and we agreed to meet at home.
I knew I had snapped at him for no reason, but I hoped he would get that I was not thinking clearly because my mind was otherwise occupied with deep concern for Nikki.
We didn't speak much that night and I went to bed before 8:00pm.
The next morning, yesterday, Saturday, Richard woke and was clearly aggravated. I called him on his piss poor attitude and he told me...here it comes..."I hate always feeling like I'm doing something wrong even when I know I'm not."
And that's my problem because....???
We tried to discuss the phone call the day before. I tried to reason with him that I was upset and I transferred some of my anxiety on him. I was sorry. But, I knew it was more than that. Somewhere in my gut, I have known for some time that this was coming.
He's chomping at the bit. You know...THE BIT. The BIT I put in place to keep me safe. The BIT attached to the reins that I hold, apparently tighter than he would like. I am the cause of his persistent feelings of guilt. The boundaries I feel compelled to keep in place are causing him to feel like his life is "lacking". He isn't happy.
Where have I heard that one before? Oh, yeah, I remember...in counseling with the lovely Dr. K, right after DDay! Just fucking great!
His life is so "lacking". He was headed off for a round of golf. I called him a selfish prick as he walked out of our bedroom.
He was gone all day. Dinner with my parents and the kids was tense. We came home watched a movie and I went to bed first again. When he was fucking Jaymie I always went to bed first. He stayed up and had phone sex.
Oh, Lord. I don't like where this is going. Nope. Not one little BIT.