Like a Sudden Storm

So there it is, like a sudden dark storm.  Just two short hours after therapy ends.  Everything was good.  Everything was normal.  Well… as it could be.  I’m still struggling.  I’m not at the “therapeutic dose” of the medicine yet.  I did the grocery shopping.  Nothing weird is going on.  He hasn’t done anything wrong.. nothing particularly wrong.  

He went over to get his August train ticket while I went to the grocery store.  That was good, efficient… even to the liking of the bitchy me that resides within.  And he arrived back at the grocery store within minutes of me walking out.. smooth, perfect.  Of course he pulled into a parking spot instead of swinging up to the curb which would have been faster (and we were in a hurry because our son wanted to go do an open mike) but I thought it just rolled off my back.

I was mildly irritated at the whole, “I don’t want it to bounce out the window thing,”  He says that about stuff we might put on the dashboard and it’s sort of hilarious because we own a Toyota Sienna and you’d have to be Michael Jordan to even make a superball bounce off the dash out of the window, but he mentioned that about my sunglasses.  Still, it really felt like no big deal.

So we get upstairs and I put away the groceries and began to make him dinner and I had left out a few tiny bottles of San Pellagrino I had bought for myself.  He began to move them.  “Oh, are you putting those away for me? Thank you.” I said.  

“Well I’m putting them down here.”  We have a little box on the floor where we put extra cans of pop etc when we don’t have enough room in the fridge

So I said, “Well, can you put them in the refrigerator instead?”

He pulled out one or two.

“Just put in as many of those as you have bottles of  beer in there.”

Now, my husband uses almost the entire  bottom shelf of our refrigerator to store his beer which might not be so bad except he hardly ever drinks it. He just gives it to friends once a week when they’re over.  Still he insists on storing all of it IN the fridge 

This is annoying, isn’t it but that’s the operative word here – annoying.

All of the sudden it was like a wind swept through me and I was furious inside. If I were a man and he was a woman, maybe I would have beaten him. Maybe I would be the kind of man that would belittle my wife then hit her and make her cower because of some poison in me.

I was emptying the dishwasher and saw myself in my imagination waving the knives madly at him, raving about beer bottles, cutting his skin and being toted away by the police to some hospital somewhere.   Then I began to wonder if demon possession is real because this is just so off the wall.

He wanted me to eat dinner with him but I said I wasn’t hungry and just wanted to finish the dishes and sit on the couch.  I couldn’t tell him that I am raging inside for no good reason AT you even though it has nothing whatsoever REALLY to do WITH you.

Oh, this so sucks. 

But I’m not raging now. I just feel guilty that he’s in there eating all alone. Still I’m too proud, angry, irritable, inflexible, hateful, whatever, to go in and be nice to him.  Would I go in if he came out and said, “I put all your San Pelligrino bottles in the fridge, honey.” it makes me absolutely sick to myself to be honest and say I probably would. That’s how ridiculously immature I am right now about getting my own way.

Oh, when will this medicine kick in.