It was about money, of course, again. The shop won't open until next Monday, so he's got one more week of not working, not contributing.
I left for a few hours and sat in various parking lots, crying and talking on the phone. When I got back home, he wanted to make up.
I am feeling this mixture of guilt, sorrow, desire, desolation, shame. I want so much from my life and from this man. We are so much together, and the good times are so good.
I knew I needed to write, though, even though I'm sleepy from the anxiety pill I took to get my emotions in line. I punched a wall and my hand is swollen and it hurts. I am an ass.
I had three goals for this weekend:
- Get a haircut.
- Get my eyebrows waxed.
- Get laid.
I accomplished none of these goals. I hate it when the weekend is over and I didn't do anything I wanted. It's my fault. I get swept up in my husband, especially when we're doing well together. I feel like I've spent the entire weekend waiting for him to finish various projects so that he would sit next to me and we could get around to Goal #3. Instead, we fought. I sobbed.
It's the worst when it's the same fight, again and again. The same words, the same tactics, the same deflections and reflections. I don't know which of us I like less.