it’s a complicated rythm of checks and balances

One for me, one for you. Two for me, two for you. All day, every day. As much as I dislike this trait I am a Scorekeeper. Effortlessly tallying up tip for tap, blow for blow. I personally find myself obnoxious in painstaking acknowledgment of these events. I can feel the hash marks burning onto the chalkboard housed in my memory. Whether it is in relation to good deeds or bad, money, favors, objects, I find myself in a constant state of mathematics, adding and subtracting.

I am aware how irrational and destructive this type of behavior is but still I calculate. I’m not assuming it’s all based on control issues and maybe I’m just more competitive than I thought. The passive part of me knows that it’s simple an act of respect, if something belongs to someone or is owed to them I waste no time it balancing the scales…hey I am of course a Libra.

Growing up with a single mom it was imperative to keep score. A very busy, working mom and three outrageous children left especially little additional time to meet physical and emotional needs. Calling dibs and shouting redundant reminders was the only way to ensure that people would “remember” whose turn it was to enjoy whatever the desire in question was. See, who needs a therapist to announce my psychosomatic inclinations.

This dirty laundry is embarrassing and until it’s under control it could sabotage any relationship I posses or hope to, whether it be personal, professional or a random encounter. I’m praying that this oppression is healed because as much as I try to fix me I know that my flesh can only do so much. For any of you that find yourself in a similar situation I’ve found loads of instructive and encouraging scriptures.

I Thess 5:13 James 1:20 I Corn 13:5 I Peter 4:8

Col 3:15 Phil 2:3-4 Psalms 37:7-8

Reason is also choice.

Drifting around in the perpetual state of not knowing exactly what I want but reminded that I am in want of something. For regarding myself as such a professional, organized individual its weird how certain things in life manage to allude me. Would life be easier if I just knew? Would it be better? Let’s start small; simple if you will, topic of choice shall be food because my life revolves around what I eat and what I don’t eat for that matter. I can be very exact at times, I will know exactly what I want, where I want it from and when; along with a smattering of painfully precise demands while other times have a vague inclination of hunger without any direction other than absolute disgust of certain considerations. I’m finding life to be that sporadic. It’s unnerving that it can be so extreme. Sure the spicy ethnic it new and adventurous but beyond that moment or experience everything else might fail in comparison and be bland and frankly unappetizing.

I have never considered myself a fickle person but there are times when I just don’t know…back to food. I have set out two meat options, the age old question beef or chicken? I for the life of me cannot decipher a better meal between the two because neither seems all that appealing at the moment. The only way to solve such a mystery is turn the judgment to my husband, who in truth really has never had a preference about anything. He chooses chicken and in that exact moment I know deep in my heart that is exactly what I don’t want! This will probably remain and unsolved mystery. Based on the immediate look of distain on my face my husband knows I’ve vetoed his choice. This happens a lot. According to my father in law, my mother in law does the same thing quite often. Maybe it’s the result of marrying the men we did or maybe it’s designed deep within my second X chromosome that’s got me wonky.

Either way how is it I know nothing and then the slightest push or pull one way or the other is enough to define what I’d been mulling over for far too long? Should I start approaching people with Door 1 or Door 2; option A or B? I’m not planning on making decisions based on what they want but maybe it’s that spark that will disclose what I want. It’s all in the details…from each of my indistinguishable preferences come all the other curious thoughts, and I just don’t know, at least not yet.

Marriage is an adventure, like going to war.

The other day I was talking to my friends about blogging of course, and expressing my longing to post about the basic events of my daily life. For whatever reason this seems to be beyond my capability and I am only designed to create emotional, cerebral accounts or at least have a moral and purpose behind my story. It almost seems silly because I don’t necessary expect people to appreciate my comings and goings but for whatever reason I want to attempt this challenge. There are regular moments of anecdotal humor that needs some record or acknowledgment.

For instance, as I type , I’m sidelining a text fight with my husband. Being the smarty pants I consider myself I put my foot down on gift purchases. I was sick and tired of purchasing registry gifts for our friends. I was doing all the work and spending but only getting partial credit. The real issue is that I have a hard time buying things and not grabbing a fair few desirous items for myself. Here we are a mere two days away and nothing was been done…and it’s killing me! Then hark, an incoming text, my husband got a gift. What in the what what? After pride and shock pass, I dare ask the question that will only end badly, what did you get them? Dish towels. Eek! Yes, they are on the registry. Yes, they are functional. But how can I explain the Emily Post-esque etiquette to him that they are an additive gift, not the singular, stand alone type? I know this is my fault but seriously? This never crossed his typically ostentatious spending habit self? Oh and being the big spender he is be had them gift wrapped. Hmph.

This very same man, whom I knew was eccentric upon marrying him though admired it more in an endearing way, made me dinner the other night. I’m still trying to grasp the concept. If you haven’t heard me say this, this is my husband that doesn’t even heat up his own leftovers. I can’t entirely blame him because I witnessed a déjà vu with his mom and dad about the microwave and I’m convinced it must be hereditary. Turns out I had an unexplained high fever and was miserably poached on the couch and after whining I managed to convince him I needed pecan pancakes. Leave it to me to be difficult even when fighting a staggering 102 fever. I watched him and corrected ever possible misstep I witnessed until my talking privileges were revoked and my dinner held ransom. He was paying particular attention to them cook, which was a relief since I would soon be ingesting them. As he walked my plate over he slipped out a mischievous giggle. Being the astute wife I am, I knew. How could I not have suspected? There so delicately designed were two pecan pancakes one in the shape of a bunny which he anxiously pointed out the nose, ears and tail and the other not to be overshadowed was the R-rated illustration of anatomy that present company doesn’t possess. Sometimes I forget I’m married to a 13yr boy.

I cannot make this stuff up but hey this is me and I gotta say these are regular occurrences and I personally get a kick out of them, that is after I move beyond my agitation.

because. because. because.

I’m back and have not been away for lack of things to share. I was more in a place of not sure how to share my thoughts, the real ones at least. I wish I could recycle this mood and tap into it on days when a little extra motivation is needed. I’m overcome with a desire “to do, “to complete” and it feels good but something’s unnatural about this high because my emotions of late have robbed any sense of priority of getting thru my day to day. Along with my kung fu fast hands my brain seems to be processing things rapidly as well. Mixed in with all of it is a defining question, why is it so hard to share the good?

This is something I’m not alone in and of that I am certain. Sure, it’s hard for me to share the bad but then again sharing has never been my strong point. Why do I have a tiny sense of guilt with my successes? I’ve actually managed to lose 5lbs and gotta tell you I’m pretty stoked but why do I hesitate in telling people? I’m doing well at my job and absolutely love it but I hardly mention it to others. Why is this? I have my very own cheerleading section that would be ecstatic to know these things and would highly doubt any attack on my joy, so why not?

I’ve had my word vomit under control a long time ago, though for the few moments I’m with the dearest of friends and need to detox so the deepest darkest confessions I’m about to mention rarely see the light of day. The truth is maybe it’s because I struggle in being in others people’s joy. I certainly know how to cry in their sorrows but the other isn’t something I’m good at and I’m ashamed. There is real, sincere happiness when someone experiences a blessing but later when I’m alone there’s a quiet hurt. I never want to take away the wonderful from others so why it is these wounds continue to bleed?

The other day when I was feeling especially unpleasant I found out someone I think is exceptional, whom I naively imagine hardly ever deals with disappointments, had experienced something unthinkable. I was heartbroken. Like I said I know how to empathize all too well. I had one of the obvious realizations that have to actually occur before it clicks. But we’re all the same, triumphs and struggles, spoken or unspoken, noticed or not they are there. It’s not exactly comforting but they’ll always be a yin and a yang that balances each of us and that might be worth remembering next time I avoid disclosure or dwell on shortcomings.