what the good wife doesn’t say
i am irritating magnificent. i know i am. i am irritating myself.
ever since his (admittedly brief) hospital excursion, i have been waiting for him to take the doctors orders and remove some stress from his life. i am waiting surreptitiously, and through little questions. and direct ones. so no matter what sets him off, i am doing it.
and remembering how cats know they are going to die and try to escape outside right before they do, i am also googling
"sixth sense people knowing bad health approaching"
because the fact is, HE checked himself into the emergency room.
so instead of being grateful that things ended as well as they did, i am probably adding to the stress level by asking idiotic questions. pressing him.
charles made a good point when i asked him why he wasn’t staying home from work.
"it would be worse if i was lying around knowing the work was piling up even higher."
yes, but…doctor said remove stress.
how are we meant to do that?
it is no fair to men that so much of their self definition is tied into their role of provider. even if i went back to work full time, charles would not be working less because just about everywhere, people are working very long hours! in toronto we know one dad who comes home at night by 6pm to have dinner wtih his kids. that sounds good…you think….but then he goes back to the office.
there are small towns with semi normal working hours, but any small town job charles has applied for he has been politely refused for. (okay, the last one was a few years ago, but we got the message.)
when charles was talking to a colleague at work about another position opening up in the company they told him that it was 24/7. i laughed when charles reported this to me, and said, what do they think you work now?
we’ve been down this muchos stress at work road before, young mcharles and i, and it is tough. incredible stress at work equals longer hours at work and restless and focusing on work those few hours he is at home. it is tough for him, and yes, tough for me also.
i remember this road. we survived, as we always will, but it wasn’t fun. this is nothing about the seven year itch, and everything about the itchy blister that can’t rest because it is always being walked on. the blister hurts the foot, the shoe, and eventually explodes all over the sock.
which item of that charming illustration would i like to be?
none of them. but here we are.
