Wow, you people really hate your McDonald's.
It is difficult to have a fight in a studio apartment. We have exactly seven doors: one front door, one bathroom door, two hall closet doors, one hallway door, and two french doors leading to the kitchen. Wait...one, two...yeah, that's seven. Anyway, it's a lot of doors for such a little space but none of them are particularly slam-able. The front door would bring the neighbors, the bathroom door only has one doorknob, the hall closet doors don't open all the way, the hallway door is made of glass, and the french doors are both made of glass and do not open all the way either. I'm big with the door slamming, so this is particularly frustrating. Also, note that there are no bedroom doors, as there is no official bedroom.
So when I come home after a long, hard day (of CD label making and picture formatting, but it was all on deadline), after having just totally bombed an English midterm (it kills me when I prepare for tests and still fail miserably -- I would have been better off going in cold) and Aaron has once again misplaced his wallet and therefore cannot pay the pizza guy who's standing out in the hall so I have to pay for it when the only reason I agreed to get pizza is if he bought it, I get more than a little peeved (transference) and cannot properly express my anger. I was the type of kid who would walk into my room and slam my door three times so that everyone in the house knew that I was not having a good day.
So all I can really do at this point is go to bed and pout and be sad while Aaron stomps around pissed off that I won't talk to him. So there we are, him making a mess in the kitchen, me frozen with the sad in bed, when he comes over and asks me what the fuck my problem is. Actually, he brought me some pizza and Red Stripe as a peace offering and I told him to get it the fuck away from me. It was difficult at that point to remember exactly why I was so upset because at that point I was just upset to be upset, so I looked at the Bigger Picture to find a reason: how I hate that we both hate our jobs and it's hard to justify the purpose of living this sort of life. This makes him cry, but I'm still in my, "I feel nothing! Nothing, I tell you!" bitch phase so I just stay frozen. Then he says, through tears of disappointment:
"It's worth it because we're going to Santa Cruz next week and to your mom's house for Thanksgiving and skiing over Christmas and my mom's house in March."
And that's when I started to feel really bad. It's hard to be with another person who genuinely wants you to be nothing but happy when most of the time you just feel like nothing. Also, it's hard to be with such an optimist.
Ok, so this fight doesn't really seem like that big of a deal now, but at the time it was. We hadn't had a good, hard, drawn-out fight about nothing in months so we had a lot of backlogged issues for ammunition (you don't work enough! you work too much! you didn't do the laundry! you lost my w-2! you never cook for me anymore! you never sleep with me anymore! and the clincher, the one that allows me to win every fight ever: you cheated on me!). After we both apologized and tickled each other for a few minute, we watched Farhenheit 9/11 for perspective and stayed up until 1am dealing with it and now I am tired and unable to find a way to properly end this entry. So, um. The end!
one year ago today: nothing.
two years ago today: "i think you should fall in love with yourself."
three years ago today: "When I reread this in a depressed funk, i'm going ot hate myself for using the term 'girlies' in a non-sarcastic manner."