2001-08-01
So we talked. Well, not really, not face to face.
Last night I got to missing him. When I get to missing him I always want to do something special. I had a lot of time to think about each of us as individuals and each of us in this partnership. I let go of my responsibilities around the house for four days and I had a lot of time for consideration. I was able to focus more on the things that I love about him and not the things that I wish would change. And by looking from a perspective of love makes the things that bother me get much smalller. They seem so easy to change. When I'm looking through a perspective of bitterness the only answer is to end things.
So I painted our bedroom door. We're in the middle of painting a mural in the little hallway in our house. It's a project we started when The Teen was here and still haven't finished. I'm pretty sure that we may not ever finish it.
But on our bedroom door I painted "I know there is strength in the differences between us. I know there is comfort where we overlap." And then underneath that there are two faceless, featureless forms embracing.
After I was done that I sat at my desk, my beloved desk, and wrote him a long letter. All the things that I am always angry about came out in that letter. But becasue I was writing it from love it all sounded good. There was no accusing comments or hurtful statements. But I managed to tell him a lot of the things that are bothering me about our relationship.
Then we talked on the phone because his sister emailed and asked if the The Teen could come and stay with us this weekend. And his mom might come too. So we discussed that and not too much else.
I put the letter on the bathroom counter and closed the bedroom door. That was the best sleep I have had in a long time. I didn't wake up until I heard him leaving for work. I got up and looked around the house in hopes for a letter back, a little note, anything. I saw nothing. I was disappointed. Now, I have no idea if he is angry or happy or whatever.
So Chloe wakes up and we are going to the bathroom to hop in the shower when I see it. Last night he painted three tears on the face of the more male-ish form on the bedroom door. I couldn't help but start crying myself. I'm sure that's a sign that he was feeling that sad last night and he never cries. I bug him all the time telling him to have a good cry, it'd probably do him some good. Well, now I guess he did.
