After one okay night and one really solid night of sleeping, husband and I are not getting along again and I am apt to stay up all night just to be self-destructive. But I won't. I was just reading one of the blogs down there, Here I Am, and the lovely JJ whom I unwillingly neglected on Fourth weekend is proving as always the genius inherent in her unassuming little person. She's so funny and creative and smart and Right Now. She's living the dream, after all those years, out in San Diego. Has a cool girlfriend who doesn't beat her up or put her down. Almost done with grad school on her way to being an architect. Traveling, eating well, seeing everything. Delightful.
That's more fun than sleeping, or anything else I can think of at the moment except perhaps more drinking. But the husband far outdid me in that too this evening, consuming all but one glass of a bottle of Bogle Petit Sirah. Because he's mad. Sat on the couch and hectored me all evening as I worked with the kid on the "fun hat," a la Curious George, that H has been after me all week to help with. Telling me I was being too "artistic" and making it "all about me" instead of it being a hat the kid would want to wear. Seems like we had fun, seems the kid likes the hat, and he can wear it too, so what's the big deal? No, he didn't even compliment the kid on the hat. In a mock show of regret, he complimented me instead. "It's a nice hat sweetie, you did a good job." Fortunately the kid was mostly paying attention to Toy Story 2 the whole time.
Why's he mad? The husband is mad because I caught him in a bad mood at work today, and when my initial inquiries about making plans over the next two days made him aggressively cranky, I suspended the dialogue and refused to tell him the plans I was hoping to make. Because I knew he would bitch and moan, and if I back down he feels guilty and then he really gets unpleasant -- so rather than play that stupid game, I just said forget it, and wouldn't tell him the rest of the reason I'd called, and still won't. I don't need to make plans that badly, and I certainly don't need to endure days of bellyaching just for the privilege of heading over to St Paul for the Wet Paint Sale. So now he's just being nasty because I won't tell him, and obviously I can't win. Should never ask for a fucking thing. He told me why his day was so aggaravating, when I got home from work, and I was sympathetic to a point. Not sympathetic enough though, as he pointed out. He did me an unrelated favor earlier this evening too, for which I was thankful; but then immediately started badgering me about the reason I'd called this afternoon -- like, as a reward for me being nice, you must give me information. And I won't.
Al, if you're reading this, I apologize for not being cheerful.