I Got Over It

Tom apologized and I told him I didn’t need an apology; that I was just frustrated, didn’t know how to stop being frustrated, and was unable to take out my frustration on anyone else. I explained my feelings and he explained his feelings and we reached a better understanding of each other. We’re actually really good at resolving disputes—usually. We communicate openly and calmly and maturely; listen without judgment or criticism; try to see the other person’s point of view. Usually. Once in a while, though, I’ll just go batshit crazy and then we deal with the fallout. I don’t know how to explain it other than it was a perfect storm of random events coinciding with emotional vulnerability. In retrospect I don’t know why I got so mad. The pieces of firewood that combusted into flame are so thoroughly burned that they’re nothing more than insubstantial ash now; they don’t seem to matter anymore. Maybe that’s what needed to happen. I needed to get all my petty gripes and insecurities and paranoia off my chest and set them on fire, so to speak. As much as I complain, I’m not insensible of my tremendous good fortune. I still have several months of relative freedom, freedom to do what I choose, if I can get over myself and my insecurities and doubts surrounding those choices. I have a good life. Since my mom’s been out of town on vacation I’ve been taking care of the kids by myself, and we’ve gotten into a nice routine where I’ll find scraps of time to read or blog while they play or nap. I really do love being with them. I never tire of kissing their round babyish faces. I have a good life.