Purge

[PenguinsWalkAmongUs] wrote:

“Life is too short to just grind yourself away. If you have a passion or an interest, pursue it. Lynn may not understand how badly you need something else in your life. You need hope, and, good as she is, she can’t give that to you.”

And, actually, that’s a pretty fair assessment of how I feel about our marriage and situation at the present time. Don’t worry. It’s not divorce-worthy. We’ve been through a lot worse in our sixteen years. But it is disappointing and frustrating to a certain extent. At a time when most people are complaining about how their paychecks are stagnating while the price of food and gas goes up, I’m watching my pay disintegrate before my eyes. First it was two or three hours gone. Then five. Now it’s eight or nine. I know I need to change the situation, but without education or experience, the only other options I have left are non-traditional. And non-traditional either works or it doesn’t, depending on the support of those around you. This is where she’s supposed to come in and help a little. Push me further down the path so to speak. But lately it feels like we’re just on opposite sides of the page on this and without a proper sounding board, I’m lost. If nobody else is on board with me, then why do it? I’ve already got one job where I’m a non-entity after sixteen years. Why would I want to do it all over?

For the record, everybody I talked to about the volunteering gig agreed it was a move in the right direction. Even my father in-law thought it was brilliant and would help with my non-existent resume. Everyone was on board, except her. In her eyes, this was an infringement on her personal time. And mind you, I’m only talking a few hours each Saturday. It’s not like I have to be there two or three days a week. But it cuts into her usual routine, which is to usually sit around in the local Starbuck’s creating art that only a handful of people are going to see. I, of course, have never denied her this personal time. On most Saturdays I wake up and am content to have her come home when she is good and relaxed. But in this case, I feel she’s off a bit. The siuation at work grows more grim by the week and I’m convinced they’ll be closing our location when the lease on the building runs out. I need to make a move now and get some experience under my belt before that happens, or else we’ll be really fucked. Under those circumstances, I would expect my wife would be more than happy to shuttle my ass down to the warehouse every Saturday, but there’s no give on that end at all. She doesn’t want to teach me how to drive, either. And I refuse to take classes like some 16 year-old high school boy. So if things get desperate enough, I suppose I’ll wind up taking the bus. Which means walking 25 minutes to the nearest bus stop. What else am I going to do?

The funny thing is, this whole computer tech thing wasn’t my idea at all. It was hers. Yes, I’ve always had a knack for getting gadgets to work. Even as a kid, my father would always have me wire the cable boxes and program the remote controls. It’s just something I’ve always done. For me, it’s relaxing. Right now there’s a laptop from 1996 in the bedroom running Puppy Linux. In the garage, I have a friend’s aging Compaq that will recieve some much needed TLC in the next few days. And then there’s this rig, which I’ve dual booted with Windows XP and at least ten different Linux distributions in the last month or so. I kept adding and deleting Linux partitions, just trying them out. Then I’d resize the Windows partition back up and start all over again. It’s fun. I never entertained the thought of being a tech. But money woes forced me to install all of my own hardware over the years and now I have a whole list of friends I help out in exchange for various different favors. But that doesn’t help me with the resume. It doesn’t get me any further down the line. There was a time when Lynn was willing to put me through Microsoft training for a few thousand dollars. Now I can’t even get a lift. Go figure. But this is in line with some other things that have been going on with her mode of thinking. At the time I was at my lowest with all of the fallout from the robbery, I was basically told to “cut the shit” and handed a paper journal and a self-help book. When I responded I might need a little more help than that, she asked, “Well, how are you going to get to the therapist?” I decided right then and there it was easier just to get sane on my own than fight my way to therapy. I shelved the self-help book and never wrote in the journal. I went back to work and kept my mouth shut. Needless to say, I never brought up how, years ago, she shelved a good paying job in respiratory therapy to go work in a bookstore for five dollars an hour, all because she was “burnt out”. Hey, we’re all burnt out. That’s why they call it work. At least I had the excuse of a gun being pointed at me. But if there’s one lesson I’ve learned through being one-half of a couple, it’s that it never helps to slam perspective into your partner’s face.

In her defense, though, I feel very little of this has to do with me. This is a “daddy issue” thing. Ever since her mother died a few years ago, Lynn and her father have had a hard time communicating. Year after year, it’s just gotten worse and now it’s to the point where I can see the tension build in her the minute she gets into the same room with him. Granted, he’s never been the easiest guy to live with, but he’s also old and set in his ways like many of his generation are. So what can you do besides just sit and listen to the guy ramble on about nothing? To me, that’s just what you’re supposed to do when your parents get to a certain age. You’re supposed to put up with it. But she considers his lack of focus and communication skills an impediment to her own well being. It’s a chore, one she’d rather not be bothered with. Even now, on Friday, I’m having a hard time convincing her she needs to spend time with him on Father’s Day. They talked for fifteen minutes on the phone tonight and Sunday wasn’t even brought up. At this point, there still aren’t any plans for us on the table. And I’m sitting here thinking that you at least have to do something on Father’s Day, even if it’s putting in a token appearance. But to her, it’s a bother. It’s a hassle. “When is it going to be my day?” is a question I get asked a lot lately. And I think I’m pretty smart for not answering it because it’s a loaded question. If I tell her to make time for her dad, I’m not honoring her personal space. If I tell her to take some time off for herself, she starts thinking she’s a bad daughter. Either way, I’m collateral damage in all of this.

Another thing we may be dealing with here is a slight generational gap. She just turned 50. I just turned 41. She’s at a point in her life where she wants to travel to Paris before she dies, go to Vegas and gamble to dawn, blah blah blah. Me, all I want to do is go home to Massachusetts and mend emotional fences. I have to illusions as to why my life is or my capabilities are. I’m honest with myself. Even if I could go to Vegas, I’d never be able to relax. Having no money your entire life kind of makes it hard for you to just piss it away on a whim. I’d rather take that time and money and see friends and family. I’m not at that point where I think time is running out. Yes, I think time is shorter than it was and it’s now or never when comes to saying the things that need to be said. But Paris and Vegas are a long ways off. I’m not there yet. She is. And maybe that has more to do with the fact that her mother passed away in her late 60s than anything else. I don’t know. All I know for certain is that I’ve been looking for a little support these last few months and just can’t seem to get her on the same page. Which is fine. Eventually I’ll just have to forge on ahead and do it myself if I want to survive. Until then, there’s nothing I can do but keep on keepin’ on. It’s the RumbleSnake way, after all…