Solitude....February 1, 2000

Solitude....February 1, 2000

Midday...

...and after a brief, dissatisfying attempt at solitary sleep, and a subsequent languid trial at work this morning, this zombie finds himself alone. The house is remarkably, yet disconcertingly still. The only sound I hear above the soft classical I am playing is the occassional whimper of a sleeping pup. Even Maude seems to be taking a time out, as her usual scuffling and thumping is absent. I type by candle light even though it is a bright, sunny day; light cannot permeate the tightly drawn shade covering the only window of my office. If I could see it, I know that even the dust in this old house has decided to remain settled for the day, for the usual creaks and groans of century old floor boards have disappeared. This is only the second time in as many months that I have had the house to myself, save critters. I am soaking it in.

Rhiannon (bless her to infinity) has taken The Goddess out for an "afternoon with the girls". It had been planned before things soured between The Goddess and I, and when I returned home late this morning to find her still in bed, I feared that she would adhere to her usual coping methods and cancel her afternoon out. I would have protested, and not just because she really needs the time away.

I so desperately need it, too.

I am grievous for the peaceful solitude this old house provides that I became so accustomed to during my years alone, if only for just a little while. I crave a few hours where the invisible, yet looming acrimonious energy is actually dissipating as opposed to burgeoning. To sleep, to write, to stare blankedly, it matters not.

Thank you, Rhi.

I know more discussion, more analysis, perhaps more fighting, tears, and exiting await me upon The Goddess' return. I have been fluxuating between periods of silent depression and anger these last few days, and she decided to call me up on it before she left earlier. Regardless of whether or not I drop everythng and nap until she returns, I know that I will not have the energy to hash out the same old same old.

She just does not seem to understand the process she has put me through. As I wrote just two days ago, I just start coming out of my shell, acting like myself, and trying to trust that there can be even modest pleasantries if not utter happiness, when another irrational, cutting, sarcastic, or internalized remark parts her lips. Each time it sends me back further into my internal sanctuary, each time it is more difficult to resist remaining, and each time requires more and more energy to open the door and peek out.

She mentioned the other day during an unrelated conversation that she types faster than she thinks. I would like to amend that by saying that she opens her mouth faster than she can work her fingers. If I did not know better, I would almost believe that there is a diabolical nature to the cycle. Perhaps there is on a subconscious level.

If only we could have a day, just one day, where she chose her battles wisely, where she thought before she spoke, like most normal couples. I may feel safe enough to open the door wider. Until then, I remain behind the framework of the only safe place I have ever had: my mind.

Each time I brave the waters enough to discuss the dynamics that are happening, I hear another excuse for her behaviour: past issues, past relationships with men, on and on. Some of them are real. The latest is that she has lived with another woman for so long that she does not remember what it is like to live with a man. I am tired of the excuses. I do not trust that things will improve. I need to see some action. I can only hear "I love you" as a resolution so many times, for it is so soon followed by yet another negative verbalization that I wonder about even that at times. It is funny that it is always me that has to prove my love for her.

The ironies are too numerous to count.

I find myself tiring. Perhaps I will have that nap after all.

....Blessed Be...