My last post I mentioned my world spiraling into a blue-black swirl of pain, my thoughts co-opted by someone who only sees the negative everywhere he looks. I’m going to call this mindframe Uncle Fester (mindset + frame of mind = mindframe).
|Not this lovable.|
The first visit I got from Uncle Fester was over something so embarrassingly trivial I can’t even name it here, so I’ll make up something equally trivial to give you an idea of how ridiculous the cause was. I asked Becky to do the dishes after I cooked dinner, and she didn’t.
Maybe she was going to do dishes in the morning. Maybe she was going to wash them after work, before she made dinner. Maybe she expected me to do them. Whatever the reason, each dirty dish was a weight on a scale, measuring our relationship.
Look at those dishes, Aaron, Uncle Fester said. If it’s like this after two years, what do you think it will be like after twenty? If she cares this little for you now, it’s just going to get worse down the line. Problem is, you’re in love. You can’t leave. You’ll just have to wait it out until she gets sick of your old, tired, saggy ass, you’ll just have to let her drag you through shit until she’s bored to tears just looking at you, until she wises up and leaves.
Uncle Fester stayed a sold week, maybe longer. Knowing the cause was trivial didn’t help in the slightest. In fact, it made it worse. The more I told Uncle Fester to let it go, to get over it, to stop being so silly, the harder he clawed his way through my thoughts, tearing everything to bleary ruin.
I tried keeping it to myself. Or maybe it was too overwhelming to talk about, this feeling that the dream I’d been living for months had become a nightmare. Trying to keep it inside proved less than effective.
“Do you want a ride now, or should I pick Dylan up first and come back for you so you have more time to work?” Becky’s questions were all innocence. She thought she was talking to the man she loved, not Uncle Fester.
If I catch a ride now, will the dishes be done? Fester hissed.
“Whatever,” I’d snap, “Who cares? Do want you want, what difference does it make.”
|Yeah, more like that.|
Fester pissed on everything.
That’s a great story, does it wash dishes? Because I’m going to Book Club tonight, it means the dishes don’t get cleaned? I’m trying to listen but I can’t hear you over the SOUND OF THE DIRTY DISHES.
Again I find myself saying that wanting to be over something doesn’t mean I am.