I went to the train station to pick up my bud, who I haven't seen in several years. We went back to my place and ate pizza and some other stuff my wife got, played with my son a little, remembered fun days from our youth, joked around and talked about recent news for about six hours.
Near the end, he shared some stories of traveling and getting into scrapes abroad. He got detained by the police over a mistake, and was attracting crazy people to him like flies to honey, several of whom were women who wanted to sleep with him. Getting drunk, exploring new countries, talking with new friends, and the excitement of living a bit on the edge, he had quite a few stories to tell, and they all happened in a few isolated months of travel in the last few years.
I didn't feel jealous because I keep those feelings under wraps, and I more importantly respect my bud, but I still felt a clenching in my stomach for the time before I married as he talked, especially since my wife has started several fits of drama recently, and was in a slightly sour mood tonight. It wasn't really the booze, crazy women and scrapes with the law I was interested in re-living, but the newness, the excitement and the unabashed freedom that my bud experienced that I dearly miss in my married life.
Over the course of the night, when my wife was out, I told my bud several times not to get married. He seems to want to, and it seems the only reason he desires it is because he feels without aim or purpose. But I know from personal experience that those things come from acting well, not from dashing all of your potential against the rocks by marrying. I hope he listens.
Sunday, July 15, 2012
Tuesday, July 10, 2012
Then and Now 41 - My Apartment
Then and Now 41 - My Apartment
Time: Before I got married.
As I mentioned before, my new boss helped me to find my apartment, but it wasn't the only option. She had another place possibly lined up for me, which was a bit cheaper and a bit smaller than the one I eventually got. I had only one real condition regarding where I would live: that it would be possible for me to be a little loud without disturbing the neighbors. I planned to throw a party or two at my new place, and of course, I ended up having two, which I wrote about in Then and Now 4 and 8. I also wanted to rock out a bit with Guitar Hero after work, and I wanted to do so without getting broom handles thumped into ceilings or cops at my place.
My boss talked with the first landlady about my situation, and she said that she would not only be happy to have a foreigner living in her building, but that she had a rooftop where I could play guitar. Taking that as a tacit admission that the only place I could make real noise was not in my apartment, I waited for my boss to research the other choice in town.
The second place was the place I ended up renting, and it was still a steal at $300 a month. It was that low because when I lived there, the city hadn't been fully developed yet. The building was very humble: six floors tall with two apartments on each of the first five floors, and a single one on top, which was the one I rented. The bottom ten apartments were on either side of the central cement stairs that led me to the top, and to my pad.
Outside the building and one door north of the entrance to my apartment building, there was a little local convenience store which sold everything from candy and chips, to gallon-sized water bottles and soda. Farther north were some more apartment buildings, and the road burst out from between them to head into a bustling downtown area with coffee shops, shoe and bedding stores, restaurants and much more. Directly to the south, there was a mechanic's garage that I never really got to know about. Beyond it, the narrow street ran between more apartment buildings, and there was a supermarket located very conveniently just two minutes' walk from the entrance to my new apartment building. Finally, across the street was a little church sandwiched between some more apartment buildings, but I never went in. Nate and Annie's apartment was on the north side of the fifth floor of the building, and I lived on the sixth floor right above them.
I can't describe just how lucky I was that I got the place up there. First, the apartment had just been built a few months before, so it was the only residence on the roof of the building. That meant that not only was I free to be as loud as I wanted when I threw parties or played Guitar Hero, but I also had the entire rooftop to myself. It included a spectacular, miles-wide view of my new city to the east, with hundreds of buildings rising up there. I also had not one, but two gardens. One was outside of my apartment on the roof, and it held on tenaciously without me caring for it because of ample rain and sunshine. The other was on my balcony in the apartment, but every plant I ever put there and watered daily ended up dying.
My front door faced south, outside, towards the hutch that housed the stairs leading down and out of the building, and directly inside my door and apartment was the balcony. Looking into my place from the front door and to my left, my garden was a patch of dirt on a raised rectangle of brick and mortar, and above it were horizontal iron bars that ran along the balcony and kept my place secure. On the right, to the east, were two entrances into my place. The first on the right was the door that led to my bedroom, and the one beyond it (also on the right) was a pair of sliding glass doors that led into the living room. At the far end of the balcony was my washer, which only saw use once a week.
My bedroom was very comfortable. It was about fifteen feet wide and twenty five feet long, and on the northeast side was a door leading to the rest of the apartment. I spent most of my time at my apartment in this little room, despite the apartment being a three bedroom place. I guess I could have moved my stuff into the living room, which was twenty five by twenty five, but I didn't have curtains for the sliding doors or A/C in there. I didn't want people looking into my apartment and seeing me sitting there in my shorts, sweating like a dog while I watched TV or something. So in my bedroom, I placed my bed in the northeast corner right in front of the door that led to the rest of the apartment, and put it atop a giant wooden box that Nate gave me.
On the western wall of my bedroom, next to the door leading out to the balcony, was a rolling TV cabinet with all of my entertainment on it. On the top shelf was a decent TV that Nate got me, under that was my PS2, and my Guitar Hero controllers were on the shelf beneath that. On the bottom was a collection of random gadgets, like a VCR Tim and Jessie gave me, and a Neo-Geo style joystick that my co-worker Natalie bought for my birthday. Whenever I had a party going on at my apartment, it was a very simple matter to just roll that thing into the living room to get a game or movie set up for everyone.
Behind me in the southeast corner of the room was my mini-fridge. I honestly hardly used it and left it unplugged most of the time. I was on a constant diet, and the best way to fail at a diet is to have food around the house, so I usually kept it empty. Besides, there were at least two stores in walking distance, so I was free to get dinner at any time. I sometimes kept some shredded cheese in there to make burritos, though.
Going through the door at the end of my room on the northeast wall, there was a small hallway that led into three different rooms:
To the west/northwest of the hallway, and north of my bedroom, was the living room, which I never really used. Aside from the two parties I threw, I just placed all the furniture Nate gave me there: a sofa, some cushions and a few footstools. They served as seats for the parties, but later, they never did anything more than hold my wet laundry to dry as the sun blasted through the sliding glass doors.
To the northeast of my bedroom, and east of the living room, was the guest bedroom, which was on a raised wooden floor. In the back were several cabinets with sliding doors, where I stored all of the assorted trinkets, souvenirs, gifts and stuff that I acquired while I was abroad. I also stored my video game folder, a box full of old birthday cards and letters from friends, and my laptop in its case when I wasn't using or reading any of them.
Finally, opposite the guest bedroom and east of my bedroom, was the bathroom. Not much to say about it: it was small, clean, and had a single barred window on the wall to allow another great look at the city. A toilet, a sink, your typical bathroom.
I lived here, alone, for one year, only four months of which had no baby coming. But I wasn't lonely, of course not. I worked a lot at my job with lots of people, and any time I wanted to be with people outside of work, I either went downstairs to hang with Nate, or out to the city to be with my friends. It was a spartan place to be sure, but to have a place so free of needless distractions is a blessing that I can't recommend enough for others to try.
It was a dream to live there. And it wasn't because it was a great price, relatively spacious, free from noise or anything like that, no. It was a dream place because nobody ever stepped foot in that place without me wanting them to be there. In fact, I can give you a list of every person who ever came into my house before I got married:
- My girlfriend (wife)
- Ken
- Vicki
- Nell
- Sammi
- Natalie
- Jenny
- Nate
- Annie
- Leena and two of her friends from her church
- My boss and her sister
- One of my friends from America and his girlfriend
All of them were welcomed and entertained, and not one of them caused me any trouble. When I needed to be alone and wanted to waste hours sitting around and relaxing, I did it. When I wanted friends over, I called them. I never, not ever, not once, came home to that apartment to see messes I didn't make, to hear nagging to do something, or to be greeted with someone's folded arms, scowling face or furious eyes.
In fact, there was a point in time where someone asked to room with me: it was one of my co-workers at a different school branch of my company which asked me to sub for a while. I sized him up really quickly the first time we met: foreigner, very short fauxhawk, popped collar, constantly talking about the girls he dated and broke up with and the clubs he went to, I knew he would be bad news. He had to commute from the main city to our city every day to go to work, but I had no intention whatsoever of letting him into my apartment:
My first roommate in college was a pig who never cleaned up after himself, who argued with his girlfriend from 1:00 to 3:00 every morning on the phone, and who once locked me out of the room for an entire weekend when she came over to visit. I came back in to find used condoms on the floor.
My second roommate was a social butterfly who came home at 3:00 in the morning every Saturday or Sunday night to do his homework on a very loud keyboard, often practiced playing guitar with his amp turned all the way up and pointing at me, and who also locked me out of the room at least once to mess around with his girlfriend.
My third roommate took an oath of silence while pledging for a frat, and ignored every attempt I made to talk with him, even to explain what he was doing.
My fourth roommate was a really good guy, but was also incredibly messy, and piled up dirty clothes and junk knee-high in the entire room.
So when this playboy asked me to let him room with me, I could only think, Yeah, I come home after ten hours of work to catch you in bed with your girl of the week (when you let me in my own house at all), have things stolen out of my room, have you "forget" to pay your share of the rent, have you throw parties or get stinking drunk at all hours of the night... and you want me to go open the door for you? I ended up lying and saying that my "roommate" wouldn't approve, and I never had to deal with that guy living with me at all.
I loved that apartment. A quiet part of a rather big town, within an hour's subway ride to the main city, surrounded by good people, clean and free of drama, and always waiting to welcome me back after a hard day of work, or a long day of travel, with a hot shower and relaxing entertainment. And I can tell you everything that I had in that apartment, from top to bottom: just everything I mentioned, plus the towel, disposable razors, soap, hair gel and shaving cream in the bathroom. Everything I needed was there.
Today, I pay for almost everything this apartment has and needs, but I don't call the shots about most anything. I never know if I'm going to come home to fights and chores, or just chores. The apartment is roughly the same size as my old one, maybe a little smaller, but it's cluttered to all hell with my wife's stuff all over the apartment. To get some idea of how much stuff is in here (and how much of my money was spent getting these things), I went ahead and counted up all my wife's bottles, boxes and tubes of soaps, lotions, potions, powders, creams, medications and other assorted beauty and health nonsense in this apartment:
110.
And that was just a surface look, without digging around or including things in the kitchen. And this also doesn't include the stacks upon stacks of clothes, papers, books and other stuff that isn't mine here.
My wife's behavior as a girlfriend in my apartment was also markedly different to how she acts today. Back then, I once washed my bedsheets for the week before my wife came over, and they didn't quite dry by the time she arrived to see me. I put them on the bed anyway, slightly moist, and after I let her into my room, I motioned for her to join me on the bed.
"Come here!" I said.
"...Huh? They're wet!"
"Sorry, they didn't dry in time. But don't worry, just snuggle up with me and they'll be dry in no time."
"Ok! ...Brrr, it's cold!" she laughed, then held me tight.
My Fights post featured a piece of drama that started in this exact same way, but ended up someplace different:
-----
My wife woke up and was in a bad mood. She asked why I washed my big blanket in our little washing machine, then let it hang up all night with a fan on it to dry it off. I told her it was because she said it was ok (and besides, I did the same at my apartment for a year, and it was fine there).
Eyes wide and head shaking violently, she snapped, "No, no, no! I said you could wash the outside sheet, not the comforter inside!!"
I stared at her, expressionless and uncaring.
"Mommy, where are you going?" my son cried from the bedroom.
"I'm going to the bathroom!!" she shouted. "Can I go to the bathroom?!"
She stormed inside, and I watched the closed door for a few seconds. Then, I just popped my earbud headphone back in, and played some more computer.
-----
What I wouldn't give to go back to my single life, when going home meant healing, relaxation, parties and fun, not chores, fights, routine and tunnel vision.
Time: Before I got married.
As I mentioned before, my new boss helped me to find my apartment, but it wasn't the only option. She had another place possibly lined up for me, which was a bit cheaper and a bit smaller than the one I eventually got. I had only one real condition regarding where I would live: that it would be possible for me to be a little loud without disturbing the neighbors. I planned to throw a party or two at my new place, and of course, I ended up having two, which I wrote about in Then and Now 4 and 8. I also wanted to rock out a bit with Guitar Hero after work, and I wanted to do so without getting broom handles thumped into ceilings or cops at my place.
My boss talked with the first landlady about my situation, and she said that she would not only be happy to have a foreigner living in her building, but that she had a rooftop where I could play guitar. Taking that as a tacit admission that the only place I could make real noise was not in my apartment, I waited for my boss to research the other choice in town.
The second place was the place I ended up renting, and it was still a steal at $300 a month. It was that low because when I lived there, the city hadn't been fully developed yet. The building was very humble: six floors tall with two apartments on each of the first five floors, and a single one on top, which was the one I rented. The bottom ten apartments were on either side of the central cement stairs that led me to the top, and to my pad.
Outside the building and one door north of the entrance to my apartment building, there was a little local convenience store which sold everything from candy and chips, to gallon-sized water bottles and soda. Farther north were some more apartment buildings, and the road burst out from between them to head into a bustling downtown area with coffee shops, shoe and bedding stores, restaurants and much more. Directly to the south, there was a mechanic's garage that I never really got to know about. Beyond it, the narrow street ran between more apartment buildings, and there was a supermarket located very conveniently just two minutes' walk from the entrance to my new apartment building. Finally, across the street was a little church sandwiched between some more apartment buildings, but I never went in. Nate and Annie's apartment was on the north side of the fifth floor of the building, and I lived on the sixth floor right above them.
I can't describe just how lucky I was that I got the place up there. First, the apartment had just been built a few months before, so it was the only residence on the roof of the building. That meant that not only was I free to be as loud as I wanted when I threw parties or played Guitar Hero, but I also had the entire rooftop to myself. It included a spectacular, miles-wide view of my new city to the east, with hundreds of buildings rising up there. I also had not one, but two gardens. One was outside of my apartment on the roof, and it held on tenaciously without me caring for it because of ample rain and sunshine. The other was on my balcony in the apartment, but every plant I ever put there and watered daily ended up dying.
My front door faced south, outside, towards the hutch that housed the stairs leading down and out of the building, and directly inside my door and apartment was the balcony. Looking into my place from the front door and to my left, my garden was a patch of dirt on a raised rectangle of brick and mortar, and above it were horizontal iron bars that ran along the balcony and kept my place secure. On the right, to the east, were two entrances into my place. The first on the right was the door that led to my bedroom, and the one beyond it (also on the right) was a pair of sliding glass doors that led into the living room. At the far end of the balcony was my washer, which only saw use once a week.
My bedroom was very comfortable. It was about fifteen feet wide and twenty five feet long, and on the northeast side was a door leading to the rest of the apartment. I spent most of my time at my apartment in this little room, despite the apartment being a three bedroom place. I guess I could have moved my stuff into the living room, which was twenty five by twenty five, but I didn't have curtains for the sliding doors or A/C in there. I didn't want people looking into my apartment and seeing me sitting there in my shorts, sweating like a dog while I watched TV or something. So in my bedroom, I placed my bed in the northeast corner right in front of the door that led to the rest of the apartment, and put it atop a giant wooden box that Nate gave me.
On the western wall of my bedroom, next to the door leading out to the balcony, was a rolling TV cabinet with all of my entertainment on it. On the top shelf was a decent TV that Nate got me, under that was my PS2, and my Guitar Hero controllers were on the shelf beneath that. On the bottom was a collection of random gadgets, like a VCR Tim and Jessie gave me, and a Neo-Geo style joystick that my co-worker Natalie bought for my birthday. Whenever I had a party going on at my apartment, it was a very simple matter to just roll that thing into the living room to get a game or movie set up for everyone.
Behind me in the southeast corner of the room was my mini-fridge. I honestly hardly used it and left it unplugged most of the time. I was on a constant diet, and the best way to fail at a diet is to have food around the house, so I usually kept it empty. Besides, there were at least two stores in walking distance, so I was free to get dinner at any time. I sometimes kept some shredded cheese in there to make burritos, though.
Going through the door at the end of my room on the northeast wall, there was a small hallway that led into three different rooms:
To the west/northwest of the hallway, and north of my bedroom, was the living room, which I never really used. Aside from the two parties I threw, I just placed all the furniture Nate gave me there: a sofa, some cushions and a few footstools. They served as seats for the parties, but later, they never did anything more than hold my wet laundry to dry as the sun blasted through the sliding glass doors.
To the northeast of my bedroom, and east of the living room, was the guest bedroom, which was on a raised wooden floor. In the back were several cabinets with sliding doors, where I stored all of the assorted trinkets, souvenirs, gifts and stuff that I acquired while I was abroad. I also stored my video game folder, a box full of old birthday cards and letters from friends, and my laptop in its case when I wasn't using or reading any of them.
Finally, opposite the guest bedroom and east of my bedroom, was the bathroom. Not much to say about it: it was small, clean, and had a single barred window on the wall to allow another great look at the city. A toilet, a sink, your typical bathroom.
I lived here, alone, for one year, only four months of which had no baby coming. But I wasn't lonely, of course not. I worked a lot at my job with lots of people, and any time I wanted to be with people outside of work, I either went downstairs to hang with Nate, or out to the city to be with my friends. It was a spartan place to be sure, but to have a place so free of needless distractions is a blessing that I can't recommend enough for others to try.
It was a dream to live there. And it wasn't because it was a great price, relatively spacious, free from noise or anything like that, no. It was a dream place because nobody ever stepped foot in that place without me wanting them to be there. In fact, I can give you a list of every person who ever came into my house before I got married:
- My girlfriend (wife)
- Ken
- Vicki
- Nell
- Sammi
- Natalie
- Jenny
- Nate
- Annie
- Leena and two of her friends from her church
- My boss and her sister
- One of my friends from America and his girlfriend
All of them were welcomed and entertained, and not one of them caused me any trouble. When I needed to be alone and wanted to waste hours sitting around and relaxing, I did it. When I wanted friends over, I called them. I never, not ever, not once, came home to that apartment to see messes I didn't make, to hear nagging to do something, or to be greeted with someone's folded arms, scowling face or furious eyes.
In fact, there was a point in time where someone asked to room with me: it was one of my co-workers at a different school branch of my company which asked me to sub for a while. I sized him up really quickly the first time we met: foreigner, very short fauxhawk, popped collar, constantly talking about the girls he dated and broke up with and the clubs he went to, I knew he would be bad news. He had to commute from the main city to our city every day to go to work, but I had no intention whatsoever of letting him into my apartment:
My first roommate in college was a pig who never cleaned up after himself, who argued with his girlfriend from 1:00 to 3:00 every morning on the phone, and who once locked me out of the room for an entire weekend when she came over to visit. I came back in to find used condoms on the floor.
My second roommate was a social butterfly who came home at 3:00 in the morning every Saturday or Sunday night to do his homework on a very loud keyboard, often practiced playing guitar with his amp turned all the way up and pointing at me, and who also locked me out of the room at least once to mess around with his girlfriend.
My third roommate took an oath of silence while pledging for a frat, and ignored every attempt I made to talk with him, even to explain what he was doing.
My fourth roommate was a really good guy, but was also incredibly messy, and piled up dirty clothes and junk knee-high in the entire room.
So when this playboy asked me to let him room with me, I could only think, Yeah, I come home after ten hours of work to catch you in bed with your girl of the week (when you let me in my own house at all), have things stolen out of my room, have you "forget" to pay your share of the rent, have you throw parties or get stinking drunk at all hours of the night... and you want me to go open the door for you? I ended up lying and saying that my "roommate" wouldn't approve, and I never had to deal with that guy living with me at all.
I loved that apartment. A quiet part of a rather big town, within an hour's subway ride to the main city, surrounded by good people, clean and free of drama, and always waiting to welcome me back after a hard day of work, or a long day of travel, with a hot shower and relaxing entertainment. And I can tell you everything that I had in that apartment, from top to bottom: just everything I mentioned, plus the towel, disposable razors, soap, hair gel and shaving cream in the bathroom. Everything I needed was there.
Today, I pay for almost everything this apartment has and needs, but I don't call the shots about most anything. I never know if I'm going to come home to fights and chores, or just chores. The apartment is roughly the same size as my old one, maybe a little smaller, but it's cluttered to all hell with my wife's stuff all over the apartment. To get some idea of how much stuff is in here (and how much of my money was spent getting these things), I went ahead and counted up all my wife's bottles, boxes and tubes of soaps, lotions, potions, powders, creams, medications and other assorted beauty and health nonsense in this apartment:
110.
And that was just a surface look, without digging around or including things in the kitchen. And this also doesn't include the stacks upon stacks of clothes, papers, books and other stuff that isn't mine here.
My wife's behavior as a girlfriend in my apartment was also markedly different to how she acts today. Back then, I once washed my bedsheets for the week before my wife came over, and they didn't quite dry by the time she arrived to see me. I put them on the bed anyway, slightly moist, and after I let her into my room, I motioned for her to join me on the bed.
"Come here!" I said.
"...Huh? They're wet!"
"Sorry, they didn't dry in time. But don't worry, just snuggle up with me and they'll be dry in no time."
"Ok! ...Brrr, it's cold!" she laughed, then held me tight.
My Fights post featured a piece of drama that started in this exact same way, but ended up someplace different:
-----
My wife woke up and was in a bad mood. She asked why I washed my big blanket in our little washing machine, then let it hang up all night with a fan on it to dry it off. I told her it was because she said it was ok (and besides, I did the same at my apartment for a year, and it was fine there).
Eyes wide and head shaking violently, she snapped, "No, no, no! I said you could wash the outside sheet, not the comforter inside!!"
I stared at her, expressionless and uncaring.
"Mommy, where are you going?" my son cried from the bedroom.
"I'm going to the bathroom!!" she shouted. "Can I go to the bathroom?!"
She stormed inside, and I watched the closed door for a few seconds. Then, I just popped my earbud headphone back in, and played some more computer.
-----
What I wouldn't give to go back to my single life, when going home meant healing, relaxation, parties and fun, not chores, fights, routine and tunnel vision.
Sunday, July 1, 2012
Second child
My wife's pregnant again. The night she got pregnant (it's not hard to figure out the date because of how little we have sex), the last thing she did when we were done was push me and say, "Could you get off me?"
At the same time, in the past six months, I was considering getting a secret vasectomy between droughts of sex, because I knew she wouldn't notice. Now it's too late, and I'm going to be a glorified slave for the next 19 years. After my wife told her mother and sister, they got immediately angry. My sister-in-law said that she was quitting her job soon, and had to move back in with her mother, and my mother-in-law got mad because she was expecting more money because of it. It's not like I can't afford everything; they're just worried about losing their free money.
Now this is entirely conjecture, but on the same day that my wife told her family the news, she alluded to having an abortion while we were in bed that night, like her family either inferred or outright asked her to do it. I asked very clearly, "You want to kill our child?" She got silent, waited a few seconds, then changed the subject. I didn't let that go, though, and eventually got a "No" out of her.
So basically, it seems that her family would choose having new clothes, restaurant trips, and the ability to not work for years or decades on end (my wife's sister and mother, respectively), over the life of my child. I swear on all that's holy, that if my wife does indeed get an abortion for this, I will divorce her the next day. I can't trust her if she murders our child, whether or not our son is still with us. Maybe it's just me rationalizing, but I think he'll be ok if his mother and I divorce. I didn't have any support growing up, emotional, financial or otherwise, but he will.
For right now, I'm still in this marriage for the long haul, just because the chance my son will succeed as a child of married parents is higher than if my wife and I split up, simply for the stability he gets now. But an abortion will change everything. I don't have the ability to force my wife not to do it, but I can control what happens afterwards.
I started thinking about how a discussion about this would go, and took stock over who really has the power in this relationship. Right now, my wife runs everything, because she steams or gets silent if I disobey any of her commands, but really, it's me who has all the leverage:
- I work 7 days a week from four to fourteen hours a day.
- I give all but fifty dollars of my monthly salary to my wife, our son, her mother, and sometimes her sister.
- My wife uses this money to buy herself purses, shoes, clothes, massages and other luxuries (just a few times a month, but still), while I still haven't bought anything for myself in three and a half years.
- I do all the chores every Monday to Friday night while she's working.
- I do all the chores every Saturday and Sunday night while she sits in front of the computer or TV, and she doesn't lift a finger to help me, even if I just worked for twelve straight hours or thirty straight days.
- She starts the majority of drama between us.
- She lets her mother run wild in our lives, despite me having asked her to do something about it dozens of times.
- I spend vastly more time with our son than she does.
- She hardly lets me go anywhere or do anything with him because of the weather, time, her feelings, or what have you.
- She talks to me and orders me around like a dog.
- She spends 90% of her free time, every day without fail, either on her butt in front of the computer or TV, or on her back while she's napping or sleeping; I can't count the number of times I've come home from work to see my son playing cars by himself while she was sitting on the computer.
- She uses the computer every day for hours while my son and I are awake, the same thing she called me out for a year and a half ago.
- She's gained about seventy pounds in the last four years and kept it all, while I've lost over twenty of the fourty I gained.
- I give her perfect advice on how to fix her problems almost every month, and she ignores me every time.
- I do all this without complaint.
She, on the other hand, cooks lunch for me, and dribbles sex my way once or twice a month. For the former, I can go to the convenience store; wouldn't bother me. For the latter, her slothful lifestyle has ballooned her weight from 115 when we were dating, to almost about 180 now. I just don't find her attractive anymore, so the lack of sex is bothering me less and less.
She has absolutely no power over me anymore, except for when she flips out over something minor and puts our son in the middle of it. Hopefully I can use this leverage to keep her from considering killing our second child, but even more, I hope she was just speaking from fear at being pregnant again.
When she first broke the news, I wondered how this pregnancy would change my life, and almost immediately knew that it wouldn't do much. Other than having another good kid to raise, everything else remains the same. I'm still going to do all the chores in the house. There's not much more I can give than the 98% of my money that everyone takes from me. I still won't travel or have many, if any, friends, and my sex life will still be in the gutter.
The first time she told me she was pregnant, I watched the entire world turn grey when I realized how I had just ruined my life. This time, I was so underwhelmed by the potential change to my life, that all I can remember was using Gangas to beat up Reni in Dragon Force 2 while my wife told me the news.
At least I know for sure when my married life will be done, but honestly, almost 7000 days of this is difficult to wrap my mind around. How many more bouts of drama, sexless months because I lack a good and willing partner, hours of chores, and seven day work weeks are in my future?
At the same time, in the past six months, I was considering getting a secret vasectomy between droughts of sex, because I knew she wouldn't notice. Now it's too late, and I'm going to be a glorified slave for the next 19 years. After my wife told her mother and sister, they got immediately angry. My sister-in-law said that she was quitting her job soon, and had to move back in with her mother, and my mother-in-law got mad because she was expecting more money because of it. It's not like I can't afford everything; they're just worried about losing their free money.
Now this is entirely conjecture, but on the same day that my wife told her family the news, she alluded to having an abortion while we were in bed that night, like her family either inferred or outright asked her to do it. I asked very clearly, "You want to kill our child?" She got silent, waited a few seconds, then changed the subject. I didn't let that go, though, and eventually got a "No" out of her.
So basically, it seems that her family would choose having new clothes, restaurant trips, and the ability to not work for years or decades on end (my wife's sister and mother, respectively), over the life of my child. I swear on all that's holy, that if my wife does indeed get an abortion for this, I will divorce her the next day. I can't trust her if she murders our child, whether or not our son is still with us. Maybe it's just me rationalizing, but I think he'll be ok if his mother and I divorce. I didn't have any support growing up, emotional, financial or otherwise, but he will.
For right now, I'm still in this marriage for the long haul, just because the chance my son will succeed as a child of married parents is higher than if my wife and I split up, simply for the stability he gets now. But an abortion will change everything. I don't have the ability to force my wife not to do it, but I can control what happens afterwards.
I started thinking about how a discussion about this would go, and took stock over who really has the power in this relationship. Right now, my wife runs everything, because she steams or gets silent if I disobey any of her commands, but really, it's me who has all the leverage:
- I work 7 days a week from four to fourteen hours a day.
- I give all but fifty dollars of my monthly salary to my wife, our son, her mother, and sometimes her sister.
- My wife uses this money to buy herself purses, shoes, clothes, massages and other luxuries (just a few times a month, but still), while I still haven't bought anything for myself in three and a half years.
- I do all the chores every Monday to Friday night while she's working.
- I do all the chores every Saturday and Sunday night while she sits in front of the computer or TV, and she doesn't lift a finger to help me, even if I just worked for twelve straight hours or thirty straight days.
- She starts the majority of drama between us.
- She lets her mother run wild in our lives, despite me having asked her to do something about it dozens of times.
- I spend vastly more time with our son than she does.
- She hardly lets me go anywhere or do anything with him because of the weather, time, her feelings, or what have you.
- She talks to me and orders me around like a dog.
- She spends 90% of her free time, every day without fail, either on her butt in front of the computer or TV, or on her back while she's napping or sleeping; I can't count the number of times I've come home from work to see my son playing cars by himself while she was sitting on the computer.
- She uses the computer every day for hours while my son and I are awake, the same thing she called me out for a year and a half ago.
- She's gained about seventy pounds in the last four years and kept it all, while I've lost over twenty of the fourty I gained.
- I give her perfect advice on how to fix her problems almost every month, and she ignores me every time.
- I do all this without complaint.
She, on the other hand, cooks lunch for me, and dribbles sex my way once or twice a month. For the former, I can go to the convenience store; wouldn't bother me. For the latter, her slothful lifestyle has ballooned her weight from 115 when we were dating, to almost about 180 now. I just don't find her attractive anymore, so the lack of sex is bothering me less and less.
She has absolutely no power over me anymore, except for when she flips out over something minor and puts our son in the middle of it. Hopefully I can use this leverage to keep her from considering killing our second child, but even more, I hope she was just speaking from fear at being pregnant again.
When she first broke the news, I wondered how this pregnancy would change my life, and almost immediately knew that it wouldn't do much. Other than having another good kid to raise, everything else remains the same. I'm still going to do all the chores in the house. There's not much more I can give than the 98% of my money that everyone takes from me. I still won't travel or have many, if any, friends, and my sex life will still be in the gutter.
The first time she told me she was pregnant, I watched the entire world turn grey when I realized how I had just ruined my life. This time, I was so underwhelmed by the potential change to my life, that all I can remember was using Gangas to beat up Reni in Dragon Force 2 while my wife told me the news.
At least I know for sure when my married life will be done, but honestly, almost 7000 days of this is difficult to wrap my mind around. How many more bouts of drama, sexless months because I lack a good and willing partner, hours of chores, and seven day work weeks are in my future?
Saturday, June 30, 2012
Then and Now 40 - Blood Lost
Then and Now 40 - Blood Lost
Time: Mid-2007, single and at the hostel.
One night, I was walking around the train station, enjoying the sights of a couple of stores and taking a nice walk. Near the end of my exploration, I came to a dead end. The ceiling was moderately high, and there were bright lights shining down on the floor, illuminating a fountain in the middle of the area, and a couple of businesses to my right. One of them had several people waiting in chairs outside, so I went to have a closer look at what was going on there.
It was a blood donation center. It had been around a month since I last donated and talked with the biker at my bud's aunt's place in Then and Now 29, so I knew it was about time to do my part again. I went in and got a few interested looks from the nurses there; apparently, they didn't get too many foreigners looking to help out the locals.
They tried to speak to me in broken English, but I switched our conversation to the local language, and peppered it with simple words when I couldn't find the vocabulary I was looking for. I told them that I wanted to donate, and they brought out a registration form that was written in odd English. I answered most of the questions well enough by checking "No" on all the boxes that asked if you were a leper, until I came to a question with confusing grammar. It was something like, "You haven't had gonorrhea, haven't you?"
I answered "No" because every other question had the same answer. But when the ladies got the paper back, one looked at me strangely. The other one smirked, circled the words "haven't you?" and asked in the local language if I had the disease. After I assured her that I didn't, she corrected the paper to say "Yes." We had a laugh, then I went to the next step of having my blood tested. Not only did they go for the blood in my finger, one of the most horrible places to get stuck with a needle, but they chose the ring finger on my left hand, one of the most sensitive spots on my body. I can still feel the pain as I type this. Shortly after, I climbed on one of the recliners, watched local TV while they took a bag or two, then got my cookies and juice. I thanked the ladies, then was on my way.
I walked a little back from the dead end and found some stairs leading out of the shopping area I was in, and followed them up and out of the station, into the dark night. I came out on a busy street with the station at my back, and a row of local stores in front of me. One of them was a convenience store with a beautiful girl working the counter, and another was a toy store run by a middle-aged man, still open at that hour. I waved hello to both of them, then headed down the street to see what else I could see.
As I walked down the road and past an interminable number of stores, the hour grew later and later. Soon enough, when I had left the vicinity of the station, the cars on the road had long disappeared, there were no lights in any stores, and I was navigating by the lonesome glimmer of streetlights. I came to a sleepy part of town where several darkened stores sat on either side of the road, with trees placed at even intervals on the sidewalks in front of them. I saw a local or two pass by on the other side of the street, but otherwise, I was all alone on that peaceful night.
As time drew on, I realized I was lost, and I didn't know the city well enough to gauge where the hostel was. I was also on a tight budget, so I really didn't want to hop a taxi or a bus to get back to where I was going. Using standard guesswork by deducing where the train station was, and where I knew the hostel was in relation to it, I picked a good direction to walk in until I could see something familiar. I turned right on one of the roads and walked up it until I came to the edge of an unfamiliar river. There weren't any bridges in sight to the east or west, so I started to feel even more confused about where I was.
The road in front of the river was a T. Behind me was the main street, and the T turned left and ran next to the river to pass by a gas station and some dark houses. On the right, I came across a good sight: it was a park, dimly lit by a single light. There was a slide, a swingset, and a jungle gym, all standing in shadow. I thought it was some kind of hidden underground army base, maybe because of the way the light glinted off the metal, or maybe because I was flashing back to that great night on the mountain in Then and Now 6.
Eventually, after taking a left on the road then walking northeast for as long as I could, I eventually came across a familiar street and found my way back to the hostel. It was completely quiet when I got back, nobody in sight. Ken was out, and May had already moved out, so I tiptoed down the hall to the guys' dorm and carefully opened my squeaky locker to get my toiletries, hoping I wouldn't wake up the one or two guys in there who were sleeping. A quick shower later, I hit the hay.
As for today...
I woke up at 8:30.
I went to work.
I taught students.
I drove to another school.
I taught students.
I went out to tutor students.
I came home to an empty house.
I played video games.
I prepared teaching lessons.
I cleaned up the floor and table.
I did the dishes.
I showered my son.
I slept.
Time: Mid-2007, single and at the hostel.
One night, I was walking around the train station, enjoying the sights of a couple of stores and taking a nice walk. Near the end of my exploration, I came to a dead end. The ceiling was moderately high, and there were bright lights shining down on the floor, illuminating a fountain in the middle of the area, and a couple of businesses to my right. One of them had several people waiting in chairs outside, so I went to have a closer look at what was going on there.
It was a blood donation center. It had been around a month since I last donated and talked with the biker at my bud's aunt's place in Then and Now 29, so I knew it was about time to do my part again. I went in and got a few interested looks from the nurses there; apparently, they didn't get too many foreigners looking to help out the locals.
They tried to speak to me in broken English, but I switched our conversation to the local language, and peppered it with simple words when I couldn't find the vocabulary I was looking for. I told them that I wanted to donate, and they brought out a registration form that was written in odd English. I answered most of the questions well enough by checking "No" on all the boxes that asked if you were a leper, until I came to a question with confusing grammar. It was something like, "You haven't had gonorrhea, haven't you?"
I answered "No" because every other question had the same answer. But when the ladies got the paper back, one looked at me strangely. The other one smirked, circled the words "haven't you?" and asked in the local language if I had the disease. After I assured her that I didn't, she corrected the paper to say "Yes." We had a laugh, then I went to the next step of having my blood tested. Not only did they go for the blood in my finger, one of the most horrible places to get stuck with a needle, but they chose the ring finger on my left hand, one of the most sensitive spots on my body. I can still feel the pain as I type this. Shortly after, I climbed on one of the recliners, watched local TV while they took a bag or two, then got my cookies and juice. I thanked the ladies, then was on my way.
I walked a little back from the dead end and found some stairs leading out of the shopping area I was in, and followed them up and out of the station, into the dark night. I came out on a busy street with the station at my back, and a row of local stores in front of me. One of them was a convenience store with a beautiful girl working the counter, and another was a toy store run by a middle-aged man, still open at that hour. I waved hello to both of them, then headed down the street to see what else I could see.
As I walked down the road and past an interminable number of stores, the hour grew later and later. Soon enough, when I had left the vicinity of the station, the cars on the road had long disappeared, there were no lights in any stores, and I was navigating by the lonesome glimmer of streetlights. I came to a sleepy part of town where several darkened stores sat on either side of the road, with trees placed at even intervals on the sidewalks in front of them. I saw a local or two pass by on the other side of the street, but otherwise, I was all alone on that peaceful night.
As time drew on, I realized I was lost, and I didn't know the city well enough to gauge where the hostel was. I was also on a tight budget, so I really didn't want to hop a taxi or a bus to get back to where I was going. Using standard guesswork by deducing where the train station was, and where I knew the hostel was in relation to it, I picked a good direction to walk in until I could see something familiar. I turned right on one of the roads and walked up it until I came to the edge of an unfamiliar river. There weren't any bridges in sight to the east or west, so I started to feel even more confused about where I was.
The road in front of the river was a T. Behind me was the main street, and the T turned left and ran next to the river to pass by a gas station and some dark houses. On the right, I came across a good sight: it was a park, dimly lit by a single light. There was a slide, a swingset, and a jungle gym, all standing in shadow. I thought it was some kind of hidden underground army base, maybe because of the way the light glinted off the metal, or maybe because I was flashing back to that great night on the mountain in Then and Now 6.
Eventually, after taking a left on the road then walking northeast for as long as I could, I eventually came across a familiar street and found my way back to the hostel. It was completely quiet when I got back, nobody in sight. Ken was out, and May had already moved out, so I tiptoed down the hall to the guys' dorm and carefully opened my squeaky locker to get my toiletries, hoping I wouldn't wake up the one or two guys in there who were sleeping. A quick shower later, I hit the hay.
As for today...
I woke up at 8:30.
I went to work.
I taught students.
I drove to another school.
I taught students.
I went out to tutor students.
I came home to an empty house.
I played video games.
I prepared teaching lessons.
I cleaned up the floor and table.
I did the dishes.
I showered my son.
I slept.
Wednesday, June 20, 2012
Then and Now 39 - Art Expo
Then and Now 39 - Art Expo
Time: Late 2007, single and at my apartment.
One day while wandering through the main city, I called up Tina to see if she wanted to hang out, and she did. In no time, I met up with her at a very busy intersection, a series of wide and tightly twisting roads with cars in every direction.
I had picked up a flier a little before, saying there was going to be an art expo for a few days, and it was somewhere in the area. I asked Tina if she wanted to go and see it, and she smiled and nodded without a word. Thanks to her, we found the place just a few minutes later: it was at a community center just a few blocks away. It was a very hot day that day, and by the time the two of us reached the center, we were both sweating like mad. I asked if she was doing all right, and she assured me she was ok.
We entered the center, and came into a massive hall that was several dozen feet high, with lights all over the ceiling. In front of us was a man directing people into a hallway in the back, where the expo was being held. I asked if I needed to buy two tickets, but he said it was free. Tina and I went in, and it was quite a bit darker inside. Some of the displays needed some soft light, but most of them were in little rooms to the sides and illuminated by a single light; the spaces between the art pieces were completely dark.
Just a few seconds after we entered, I saw a foreign girl talking with some locals in English. I saw the locals nodding at the woman as I began to walk past. When I drew closer, I heard the foreign girl proudly state, without a hint of self-awareness, "Yes. Art can look like anything." I stifled a snort.
Tina and I soon came to our first display on the left: it was a room with clear walls and a single entrance, filled to the waist with soft pillows. She went a little closer to read the instructions, and told me that we were encouraged to jump in and relax on the pillows for a while. I really wanted to, but I was so drenched with sweat that I didn't want to make the experience uncomfortable for whoever went after me, so I refrained. I asked Tina if she wanted to, but she didn't for the same reason.
The next exhibit was a wall completely covered in darkness, and some locals were scribbling on the side with some special pens, some kind of highlighter that could only be seen with a blacklight. Some of the people on the wall drew random circles and lines, some wrote "I love you" or other such things in the local language, and others doodled pictures of people or animals. The local man in charge of the exhibit saw me looking at the wall, said, "Do you want to write something?" in localspeak, and offered me a pen. I said sure, and Tina and I went up.
I drew a cartoon duck giving a thumbs up, and wrote "(This country) is number one!" I stepped back, then offered the pen to Tina, asking her if my writing was ok. She made a couple of adjustments, and a few seconds later, our message was complete. The man laughed and thanked us, then I gave the pen back, and Tina and I moved on.
There wasn't much else of interest that I remember, so I talked with Tina about how her college life was going as we went out of the art show. She was still pretty shy and evasive so I didn't get much out of her, but she seemed to be doing all right. When we got outside, the hot air blasted into us again like a sack of hammers, so I took Tina to a shop to get us some smoothies. We talked for a while about what we had seen, missing out on the pillow jump, and some fun things going on with her and her friends. A short while later, we got up and parted outside so she could go home and study, and I could go home to prepare for work the next day.
That night, I got an email from her. She apologized to me for not talking so much, and said she would try her best to speak up more the next time we hung out. I quickly replied, telling her that it was ok and I had fun hanging out with her, and I would see her soon enough. The next time we met up, she was quite a bit more talkative. But I'll save that story for another Then & Now.
As for today...
I woke up at 6:00.
I played video games.
I went to work by train, and played video games on the way.
I taught students.
I came home by train, and played video games on the way.
I ate lunch.
I hung up wet laundry.
I surfed the net.
I went to work.
I taught students.
I came home.
I ate dinner.
I started a load of laundry.
I cleaned up the floor and table.
I watched internet movies with my son.
I hung up wet laundry.
I slept.
Time: Late 2007, single and at my apartment.
One day while wandering through the main city, I called up Tina to see if she wanted to hang out, and she did. In no time, I met up with her at a very busy intersection, a series of wide and tightly twisting roads with cars in every direction.
I had picked up a flier a little before, saying there was going to be an art expo for a few days, and it was somewhere in the area. I asked Tina if she wanted to go and see it, and she smiled and nodded without a word. Thanks to her, we found the place just a few minutes later: it was at a community center just a few blocks away. It was a very hot day that day, and by the time the two of us reached the center, we were both sweating like mad. I asked if she was doing all right, and she assured me she was ok.
We entered the center, and came into a massive hall that was several dozen feet high, with lights all over the ceiling. In front of us was a man directing people into a hallway in the back, where the expo was being held. I asked if I needed to buy two tickets, but he said it was free. Tina and I went in, and it was quite a bit darker inside. Some of the displays needed some soft light, but most of them were in little rooms to the sides and illuminated by a single light; the spaces between the art pieces were completely dark.
Just a few seconds after we entered, I saw a foreign girl talking with some locals in English. I saw the locals nodding at the woman as I began to walk past. When I drew closer, I heard the foreign girl proudly state, without a hint of self-awareness, "Yes. Art can look like anything." I stifled a snort.
Tina and I soon came to our first display on the left: it was a room with clear walls and a single entrance, filled to the waist with soft pillows. She went a little closer to read the instructions, and told me that we were encouraged to jump in and relax on the pillows for a while. I really wanted to, but I was so drenched with sweat that I didn't want to make the experience uncomfortable for whoever went after me, so I refrained. I asked Tina if she wanted to, but she didn't for the same reason.
The next exhibit was a wall completely covered in darkness, and some locals were scribbling on the side with some special pens, some kind of highlighter that could only be seen with a blacklight. Some of the people on the wall drew random circles and lines, some wrote "I love you" or other such things in the local language, and others doodled pictures of people or animals. The local man in charge of the exhibit saw me looking at the wall, said, "Do you want to write something?" in localspeak, and offered me a pen. I said sure, and Tina and I went up.
I drew a cartoon duck giving a thumbs up, and wrote "(This country) is number one!" I stepped back, then offered the pen to Tina, asking her if my writing was ok. She made a couple of adjustments, and a few seconds later, our message was complete. The man laughed and thanked us, then I gave the pen back, and Tina and I moved on.
There wasn't much else of interest that I remember, so I talked with Tina about how her college life was going as we went out of the art show. She was still pretty shy and evasive so I didn't get much out of her, but she seemed to be doing all right. When we got outside, the hot air blasted into us again like a sack of hammers, so I took Tina to a shop to get us some smoothies. We talked for a while about what we had seen, missing out on the pillow jump, and some fun things going on with her and her friends. A short while later, we got up and parted outside so she could go home and study, and I could go home to prepare for work the next day.
That night, I got an email from her. She apologized to me for not talking so much, and said she would try her best to speak up more the next time we hung out. I quickly replied, telling her that it was ok and I had fun hanging out with her, and I would see her soon enough. The next time we met up, she was quite a bit more talkative. But I'll save that story for another Then & Now.
As for today...
I woke up at 6:00.
I played video games.
I went to work by train, and played video games on the way.
I taught students.
I came home by train, and played video games on the way.
I ate lunch.
I hung up wet laundry.
I surfed the net.
I went to work.
I taught students.
I came home.
I ate dinner.
I started a load of laundry.
I cleaned up the floor and table.
I watched internet movies with my son.
I hung up wet laundry.
I slept.
Sunday, June 10, 2012
Evolution
About a month ago, I went to the park with my son and met a foreigner there. We started talking about several topics, starting off with the local language. I wasn't surprised in the slightest that he has lived here for longer than I have, but his local language skills are around the level of a pre-schooler. Not coincidentally enough, his desire to learn the local language evaporated shortly after he met his girlfriend, who also doesn't know the language. His child is going to school in a year or two, so he seemed to be a bit worried about how the kid would do there without being able to communicate. So, I told him exactly what I did to learn the local language in three months. He seemed to take everything I said to heart, so I hoped he could take a few months to become semi-fluent, then teach his kid what he learned.
(UPDATE: He first planned on moving back to America next year at great financial cost, and taking a job that doesn't pay much, in an effort to avoid learning the local language for his child's sake. This didn't happen, and it turns out that his kid was sent away from the local school to be homeschooled because he can't speak with the teacher or other kids. I expected nothing less than this kind of laziness from a married person).
Later, after he saw how well-behaved my son was, we talked a little bit about child rearing and how we could both improve our styles, trying to find the middle ground between corporal punishment and "letting them do their thing."
Then, he turned the conversation to politics.
I stood there, politely maintaining eye contact and nodding as he went off on a half hour tirade filled with swearing, exaggerated hand waving and yelling about Walker this, unions that, Obama this, Republicans that. At one point, he referred to a long-time friend of his, who happened to be on the opposite side of the political spectrum, as a "f***in' idiot," before he walked the statement back and called him "ignorant."
Two days later, I was watching TV with my wife at our house, and my mother-in-law made a surprise visit. She started yelling at the two of us for not picking up her phone calls thirty minutes earlier, and barked that it was absolutely unacceptable behavior for two parents. "What if your son was sick or hurt?!" she bellowed. "He's going to school in a few months! How can you two be so selfish?!"
So what do these two incidents have to do with marriage? For that answer, I need to rewind to nearly the beginning of my life, and the things I overcame to become the man I was before I got married:
Racism
Until I was 6, and still living with my father, he taught me to hate. I still remember being 3 or 4 and telling my younger brother that I wished Martin Luther King Jr. were never born, so "the blacks would still be our slaves."
When my mother got custody of the two of us when I was 6, she taught us the filth of those beliefs, and neither one of us followed them again.
Selfishness and Egotism
From around age 6 to 14, I was a snot. I refused to let my friends play my video games, I yelled at them when they made mistakes, and I relentlessly teased and insulted them because I thought it was funny.
When I turned 14 and my depression hit, I knew that I wasn't a good person. To fix that, I (erroneously) thought that there were only two ways I could deal with my depression: turn it outwards and become a bully, or turn it inwards and beat myself up for everything. I did the latter, and stopped hurting others as much as I could.
Depression
From around 14 to 21, I was a depressed and suicidal ball of self-loathing. I never did anything to improve my life, and blamed everyone except myself for not getting better.
When I turned 21, answering "Yes" to Leena's question, "Do you want to get better?" set me on the path to healing, and I never gave up forgiving those who hurt me, severing poisonous relationships and following my dreams until my depression was eradicated around the time I was 23 or so.
Religious Tribalism
When I was around 14 or 15, I rebelled against my non-practicing Baptist mother by becoming a hardcore Atheist. I blamed God for not helping me when I was in pain, internally screamed at the heavens for not doing something to support me, and got into arguments about how people were stupid to have faith.
From 17 to 23, I studied several faiths to find some peace with religion, and using the ideas they shared, was able to take bits and pieces here and there to form the tools I needed to crush my depression later. They also helped me to form my spiritual beliefs of today, and I now have nothing but respect for people who practice other faiths, or none at all.
Political Tribalism
Around 17, I became a hardcore Progressive, so I could blame the powerful for being corrupt and leaving scraps behind for the "downtrodden" like me. Around 21 or 22, after I started the path to emotional recovery, I became a hardcore Libertarian so I could blame the poor, weak and unhappy for not improving like I was. Six or seven years passed in total, where I felt seething rage or snapped when I heard words like "Bush" or "socialist," hated faceless millions of people for their ideals, and lacked the emotional control to treat people I respected like friends, instead of mortal enemies, when I learned that what they believed differed from my ideas.
Around 24, I knew I was sick. So, I spent time on both sides of the political aisle simultaneously, and realized how much either side suppresses inconvenient stories, cherry picks data, spins or outright lies to push their agenda. I realized then that I could never trust anyone to give me the whole story when something went on in the world, so I stopping listening to all of it. After that, I not only became more focused on my goals in life, but found a new kind of peace where I stopped viewing half of the world as evil or stupid.
Obesity
From around 18 to 20, I was huge: 250 pounds of pure fat, no muscle to speak of. It was painful to be so unappealing to everyone around me, and it only made my depression worse.
A little before I turned 21, I cut my caloric intake from 4000 to 1000 calories a day, spaced those calories out over several meals, and hit up the gym every day until I dropped 70 pounds, and was able to bench 100.
Anger
Around 22, my depression became anger. I snapped at demanding customers at work, became heavily invested in politics so I had a faceless enemy to hate, and even started pointless, stupid fights with my first girlfriend.
After two years of this, I knew it had to stop, so I started exercising complete and total control over my thoughts. It was exhausting for the first few months, but after a while, I calmed down to the point where my optimism and happiness were automatic instead of forced.
Faithlessness and Complacency
When I first got abroad, I felt like slipping back into my old ways because things didn't get immediately better. I got lazy and moody, went outside only under protest, and spent my days playing PSP or watching TV all day.
Then I got my butt in gear, went out to live life, and became awesome in about a month.
So again, what does all of this have to do with marriage? Well, take the first two stories that happened in the past few days, and compare them to what I went through before I married. Then, a problem was me holding a scalpel blade to an artery in my arm. A problem was a borderline mother, whose destructive and ever-changing emotions were a constant mystery until the moment she was screaming in my face for something. A problem was going through three parental divorces before I was even in my teens, and having to move and lose my friends (and not to mention my emotional stability) no less than seven times before I was even in high school. A problem was knowing that around 16,000 children die every day of hunger, and trying to figure out, with the money I made, how I could make that 15,970.
But a problem for married people, and those intimately connected to them?
- You didn't answer your phone.
- You forgot your jacket.
- It's too hot.
- My sister is angry.
- I flip out every time politics comes up.
- I'm too lazy to learn something beneficial for my children.
All cause for colossal laziness, brooding depression or explosive anger, it seems.
I struggled for years to become an awesome person. When I was abroad and still not married, my mind was free of the concerns of most people, because I had the tenacity and persistence necessary to change my life for the better in every possible way. I didn't work around my problems and focus on my strengths; I stood tall over my problems until they cowered in the corner, pleading for mercy, and then I made them into my strengths.
And now, today... someone called me fat, throw a fit? The house isn't spotless, blow up and bark? Even married people that aren't in my family lack the strength to abandon poisonous political views, or crippling sloth, in order to improve. Marriage means extra, unending work to be sure, but for the things that could be put off until later, like the previously mentioned foreigner's politically charged emotional instability or his child's chances in school, they were things to continually put off until later. That is a married person's life: a thousand paper cuts, or endless procrastination. Sacrifice or complacency. Days without rest or laziness.
Do you want to know what this feels like? To overcome and destroy many, not just one or two, problems that would crush or paralyze other people, then to be imprisoned in the life of petty issues that I'm living now? It's like I spent a decade going through a punishing school system, then I graduated from a difficult college and graduate school, and once I had a few months to enjoy my new diploma, I was chained up in a kindergarten to learn my ABCs for the following 20 years.
My wife got upset about how I washed blankets. I used to be anxious about learning an entire language in months. My mother-in-law gets upset about what people think of me when I'm not dressed for cold weather. I used to worry about how I was going to live another day.
Marriage has hobbled me in every possible way. Every last scrap of strength I accrued for myself, and wanted to use enjoying life and helping people, has been transferred to my family. And yet, after all I've given up, and knowing full well that I need to make over a half million dollars in the next fifteen years to pay for all of the expenses of my married life, it's not me who blows my top at my family; it's the exact opposite.
Living a life of complacency and sloth in marriage sounds like a dream, but it's not. Even though it was a pretty tough road to get there, I can say without hesitation that I was happier abroad, before I got married, than any other moment of my life, and it was worth the struggle. And I didn't become a great person then because I was born genetically better (I had health problems growing up), or because my parents were rich (three of the five were poor, two were middle class), or because I was lucky (you make your own luck). It was because I decided to do it, then didn't give up until I did. If the schmuck I was could do it, anybody can.
Then I got married, and my evolution stopped. Everything I was, and could have been, has been given to my family.
How awesome was I? It's easy to answer that question by talking about what kind of son I have, because he's the one who got nearly everything I worked for. He's a mini-celebrity around here, and it's not just because he's cute. He's still a toddler, but he's more polite than most middle schoolers. He's multilingual, polite, intelligent, inquisitive, adventurous, well-behaved, and diplomatic, just like his dad was five years ago. And honestly? He was worth the sacrifice. He went from tantrums as a baby, to the good boy he is today.
But my wife and mother-in-law? More of the same. They have no incentive to improve their bad behavior and tendency to drama, because I have no leverage over either of them:
When my son's bad, he loses out on trips, toys and a happy dad.
When my wife's out of order, she directly controls our sex, indirectly controls our money through the threat of divorce, and knows it's best for our son that we stay married, so she can just keep on acting up when she pleases. Even when I punish her for her nonsense with less monthly payments or ice cold apathy, she just comes back harder, or she promises to do better, then acts like an a-hole again a few months later.
When my mother-in-law goes ape, I know she has a large influence over my wife's emotional state, which in turn affects mine, so I can't get her to behave, either.
If I hadn't married my wife, she would still be the same woman that she really is: the one I dated five years ago, and I would hardly ever talk to her mother. My wife would also be on her best behavior, because she knew how many other women I knew who were waiting for a guy as great as I was to sweep them off their feet. And of course, I would be on my best behavior, because any and all girlfriends I would have dated would have deserved nothing less.
Marriage was completely unnecessary for me, as a strong man, to have an excellent child and life. I only went through with it because my son needed a stable environment to grow up in, and I didn't want him going through divorce like I did as a boy, much less several. But marriage has only complicated and ruined everything it's touched in my life, when it wasn't even needed in the first place.
I've read statistics that show that children of married couples grow up to be more happy and successful than those from single parent houses. But unless the child is already coming or born, I don't think that's a good reason to get married. To be perfectly frank, I think single parents fail their children so often because single parents are, by and large, unfit to parent.
How many of them are horrible people who push away the other parent of their child, and then turn that bad behavior on their kids? How many are the kind of person who is inherently attracted to irresponsible, abusive losers because of non-existent thought control and poor mental health, then get abandoned by the loser, and then turn their mental issues on their children? How many work hard for their kids, but when they get home, they refuse to spend time with them because they have no desire to get themselves up for their kids' sake, and instead leave the childrearing to the TV, their own parents, or their children's friends?
People who are married, just by nature of staying in that vampiric institution, have already proven that they have the ability to sacrifice. This bodes well for their children, which in turn is why their kids do better. It has nothing to do with the marriage contract, and everything to do with the parents' personalities.
My point is that marriage is unnecessary baggage, sacrifice and strife that doesn't need to be put in place for a kid's sake, provided that their adoptive parent, or parent through surrogate mother/donor father, has the financial strength and emotional well-being to take care of all of their child's needs. Getting married to prove that you will be a good parent is like testing a bulletproof vest's capability to stop a bullet... by wearing it while the gun is fired. It's a punishing shortcut to non-existent happiness and security, but the most insidious thing is that the price is unfathomable until you get into it, and realize what you gave up for no good reason.
Picture life as a cold mountain, with snow, biting winds, and sharp, rocky handholds all up the side of it. At the very top is an unexplainable, lush garden of beauty and relaxation, but you must climb to the top to experience it. Shangri-La, if you will. Being unmarried, responsible and honorable means climbing that mountain every day, taking the chilling winds and exhausted muscles until reaching the very top. And it also means learning to love the climb, because not only does pain show you that there are things you can improve on to become even better, but when you reach the top, you'll know that you earned your great life.
Marrying means finding a damp cave a quarter of the way up, going inside to light a dying fire, wrapping yourself up in itchy animal hides, and feeling content that at least it's better than the cold outside.
My problem four years ago? I climbed ten miles yesterday, and I'm exhausted.
The problem of married people? These hides smell funny.
I should have realized that I wanted kids, not marriage, before it was too late. I should have realized that kids fulfill, and marriage drains, winners like the man I was.
(UPDATE: He first planned on moving back to America next year at great financial cost, and taking a job that doesn't pay much, in an effort to avoid learning the local language for his child's sake. This didn't happen, and it turns out that his kid was sent away from the local school to be homeschooled because he can't speak with the teacher or other kids. I expected nothing less than this kind of laziness from a married person).
Later, after he saw how well-behaved my son was, we talked a little bit about child rearing and how we could both improve our styles, trying to find the middle ground between corporal punishment and "letting them do their thing."
Then, he turned the conversation to politics.
I stood there, politely maintaining eye contact and nodding as he went off on a half hour tirade filled with swearing, exaggerated hand waving and yelling about Walker this, unions that, Obama this, Republicans that. At one point, he referred to a long-time friend of his, who happened to be on the opposite side of the political spectrum, as a "f***in' idiot," before he walked the statement back and called him "ignorant."
Two days later, I was watching TV with my wife at our house, and my mother-in-law made a surprise visit. She started yelling at the two of us for not picking up her phone calls thirty minutes earlier, and barked that it was absolutely unacceptable behavior for two parents. "What if your son was sick or hurt?!" she bellowed. "He's going to school in a few months! How can you two be so selfish?!"
So what do these two incidents have to do with marriage? For that answer, I need to rewind to nearly the beginning of my life, and the things I overcame to become the man I was before I got married:
Racism
Until I was 6, and still living with my father, he taught me to hate. I still remember being 3 or 4 and telling my younger brother that I wished Martin Luther King Jr. were never born, so "the blacks would still be our slaves."
When my mother got custody of the two of us when I was 6, she taught us the filth of those beliefs, and neither one of us followed them again.
Selfishness and Egotism
From around age 6 to 14, I was a snot. I refused to let my friends play my video games, I yelled at them when they made mistakes, and I relentlessly teased and insulted them because I thought it was funny.
When I turned 14 and my depression hit, I knew that I wasn't a good person. To fix that, I (erroneously) thought that there were only two ways I could deal with my depression: turn it outwards and become a bully, or turn it inwards and beat myself up for everything. I did the latter, and stopped hurting others as much as I could.
Depression
From around 14 to 21, I was a depressed and suicidal ball of self-loathing. I never did anything to improve my life, and blamed everyone except myself for not getting better.
When I turned 21, answering "Yes" to Leena's question, "Do you want to get better?" set me on the path to healing, and I never gave up forgiving those who hurt me, severing poisonous relationships and following my dreams until my depression was eradicated around the time I was 23 or so.
Religious Tribalism
When I was around 14 or 15, I rebelled against my non-practicing Baptist mother by becoming a hardcore Atheist. I blamed God for not helping me when I was in pain, internally screamed at the heavens for not doing something to support me, and got into arguments about how people were stupid to have faith.
From 17 to 23, I studied several faiths to find some peace with religion, and using the ideas they shared, was able to take bits and pieces here and there to form the tools I needed to crush my depression later. They also helped me to form my spiritual beliefs of today, and I now have nothing but respect for people who practice other faiths, or none at all.
Political Tribalism
Around 17, I became a hardcore Progressive, so I could blame the powerful for being corrupt and leaving scraps behind for the "downtrodden" like me. Around 21 or 22, after I started the path to emotional recovery, I became a hardcore Libertarian so I could blame the poor, weak and unhappy for not improving like I was. Six or seven years passed in total, where I felt seething rage or snapped when I heard words like "Bush" or "socialist," hated faceless millions of people for their ideals, and lacked the emotional control to treat people I respected like friends, instead of mortal enemies, when I learned that what they believed differed from my ideas.
Around 24, I knew I was sick. So, I spent time on both sides of the political aisle simultaneously, and realized how much either side suppresses inconvenient stories, cherry picks data, spins or outright lies to push their agenda. I realized then that I could never trust anyone to give me the whole story when something went on in the world, so I stopping listening to all of it. After that, I not only became more focused on my goals in life, but found a new kind of peace where I stopped viewing half of the world as evil or stupid.
Obesity
From around 18 to 20, I was huge: 250 pounds of pure fat, no muscle to speak of. It was painful to be so unappealing to everyone around me, and it only made my depression worse.
A little before I turned 21, I cut my caloric intake from 4000 to 1000 calories a day, spaced those calories out over several meals, and hit up the gym every day until I dropped 70 pounds, and was able to bench 100.
Anger
Around 22, my depression became anger. I snapped at demanding customers at work, became heavily invested in politics so I had a faceless enemy to hate, and even started pointless, stupid fights with my first girlfriend.
After two years of this, I knew it had to stop, so I started exercising complete and total control over my thoughts. It was exhausting for the first few months, but after a while, I calmed down to the point where my optimism and happiness were automatic instead of forced.
Faithlessness and Complacency
When I first got abroad, I felt like slipping back into my old ways because things didn't get immediately better. I got lazy and moody, went outside only under protest, and spent my days playing PSP or watching TV all day.
Then I got my butt in gear, went out to live life, and became awesome in about a month.
So again, what does all of this have to do with marriage? Well, take the first two stories that happened in the past few days, and compare them to what I went through before I married. Then, a problem was me holding a scalpel blade to an artery in my arm. A problem was a borderline mother, whose destructive and ever-changing emotions were a constant mystery until the moment she was screaming in my face for something. A problem was going through three parental divorces before I was even in my teens, and having to move and lose my friends (and not to mention my emotional stability) no less than seven times before I was even in high school. A problem was knowing that around 16,000 children die every day of hunger, and trying to figure out, with the money I made, how I could make that 15,970.
But a problem for married people, and those intimately connected to them?
- You didn't answer your phone.
- You forgot your jacket.
- It's too hot.
- My sister is angry.
- I flip out every time politics comes up.
- I'm too lazy to learn something beneficial for my children.
All cause for colossal laziness, brooding depression or explosive anger, it seems.
I struggled for years to become an awesome person. When I was abroad and still not married, my mind was free of the concerns of most people, because I had the tenacity and persistence necessary to change my life for the better in every possible way. I didn't work around my problems and focus on my strengths; I stood tall over my problems until they cowered in the corner, pleading for mercy, and then I made them into my strengths.
And now, today... someone called me fat, throw a fit? The house isn't spotless, blow up and bark? Even married people that aren't in my family lack the strength to abandon poisonous political views, or crippling sloth, in order to improve. Marriage means extra, unending work to be sure, but for the things that could be put off until later, like the previously mentioned foreigner's politically charged emotional instability or his child's chances in school, they were things to continually put off until later. That is a married person's life: a thousand paper cuts, or endless procrastination. Sacrifice or complacency. Days without rest or laziness.
Do you want to know what this feels like? To overcome and destroy many, not just one or two, problems that would crush or paralyze other people, then to be imprisoned in the life of petty issues that I'm living now? It's like I spent a decade going through a punishing school system, then I graduated from a difficult college and graduate school, and once I had a few months to enjoy my new diploma, I was chained up in a kindergarten to learn my ABCs for the following 20 years.
My wife got upset about how I washed blankets. I used to be anxious about learning an entire language in months. My mother-in-law gets upset about what people think of me when I'm not dressed for cold weather. I used to worry about how I was going to live another day.
Marriage has hobbled me in every possible way. Every last scrap of strength I accrued for myself, and wanted to use enjoying life and helping people, has been transferred to my family. And yet, after all I've given up, and knowing full well that I need to make over a half million dollars in the next fifteen years to pay for all of the expenses of my married life, it's not me who blows my top at my family; it's the exact opposite.
Living a life of complacency and sloth in marriage sounds like a dream, but it's not. Even though it was a pretty tough road to get there, I can say without hesitation that I was happier abroad, before I got married, than any other moment of my life, and it was worth the struggle. And I didn't become a great person then because I was born genetically better (I had health problems growing up), or because my parents were rich (three of the five were poor, two were middle class), or because I was lucky (you make your own luck). It was because I decided to do it, then didn't give up until I did. If the schmuck I was could do it, anybody can.
Then I got married, and my evolution stopped. Everything I was, and could have been, has been given to my family.
How awesome was I? It's easy to answer that question by talking about what kind of son I have, because he's the one who got nearly everything I worked for. He's a mini-celebrity around here, and it's not just because he's cute. He's still a toddler, but he's more polite than most middle schoolers. He's multilingual, polite, intelligent, inquisitive, adventurous, well-behaved, and diplomatic, just like his dad was five years ago. And honestly? He was worth the sacrifice. He went from tantrums as a baby, to the good boy he is today.
But my wife and mother-in-law? More of the same. They have no incentive to improve their bad behavior and tendency to drama, because I have no leverage over either of them:
When my son's bad, he loses out on trips, toys and a happy dad.
When my wife's out of order, she directly controls our sex, indirectly controls our money through the threat of divorce, and knows it's best for our son that we stay married, so she can just keep on acting up when she pleases. Even when I punish her for her nonsense with less monthly payments or ice cold apathy, she just comes back harder, or she promises to do better, then acts like an a-hole again a few months later.
When my mother-in-law goes ape, I know she has a large influence over my wife's emotional state, which in turn affects mine, so I can't get her to behave, either.
If I hadn't married my wife, she would still be the same woman that she really is: the one I dated five years ago, and I would hardly ever talk to her mother. My wife would also be on her best behavior, because she knew how many other women I knew who were waiting for a guy as great as I was to sweep them off their feet. And of course, I would be on my best behavior, because any and all girlfriends I would have dated would have deserved nothing less.
Marriage was completely unnecessary for me, as a strong man, to have an excellent child and life. I only went through with it because my son needed a stable environment to grow up in, and I didn't want him going through divorce like I did as a boy, much less several. But marriage has only complicated and ruined everything it's touched in my life, when it wasn't even needed in the first place.
I've read statistics that show that children of married couples grow up to be more happy and successful than those from single parent houses. But unless the child is already coming or born, I don't think that's a good reason to get married. To be perfectly frank, I think single parents fail their children so often because single parents are, by and large, unfit to parent.
How many of them are horrible people who push away the other parent of their child, and then turn that bad behavior on their kids? How many are the kind of person who is inherently attracted to irresponsible, abusive losers because of non-existent thought control and poor mental health, then get abandoned by the loser, and then turn their mental issues on their children? How many work hard for their kids, but when they get home, they refuse to spend time with them because they have no desire to get themselves up for their kids' sake, and instead leave the childrearing to the TV, their own parents, or their children's friends?
People who are married, just by nature of staying in that vampiric institution, have already proven that they have the ability to sacrifice. This bodes well for their children, which in turn is why their kids do better. It has nothing to do with the marriage contract, and everything to do with the parents' personalities.
My point is that marriage is unnecessary baggage, sacrifice and strife that doesn't need to be put in place for a kid's sake, provided that their adoptive parent, or parent through surrogate mother/donor father, has the financial strength and emotional well-being to take care of all of their child's needs. Getting married to prove that you will be a good parent is like testing a bulletproof vest's capability to stop a bullet... by wearing it while the gun is fired. It's a punishing shortcut to non-existent happiness and security, but the most insidious thing is that the price is unfathomable until you get into it, and realize what you gave up for no good reason.
Picture life as a cold mountain, with snow, biting winds, and sharp, rocky handholds all up the side of it. At the very top is an unexplainable, lush garden of beauty and relaxation, but you must climb to the top to experience it. Shangri-La, if you will. Being unmarried, responsible and honorable means climbing that mountain every day, taking the chilling winds and exhausted muscles until reaching the very top. And it also means learning to love the climb, because not only does pain show you that there are things you can improve on to become even better, but when you reach the top, you'll know that you earned your great life.
Marrying means finding a damp cave a quarter of the way up, going inside to light a dying fire, wrapping yourself up in itchy animal hides, and feeling content that at least it's better than the cold outside.
My problem four years ago? I climbed ten miles yesterday, and I'm exhausted.
The problem of married people? These hides smell funny.
I should have realized that I wanted kids, not marriage, before it was too late. I should have realized that kids fulfill, and marriage drains, winners like the man I was.
Sunday, June 3, 2012
Zoo trip
My wife, son and I took a trip with her company to a petting zoo. We were out for thirteen hours:
6:00 - 7:00 - Waited for my wife to get ready.
7:00 - 8:00 - Drove to the bus station.
8:00 - 8:30 - Waited for the bus.
8:30 - 10:00 - Rode the bus.
10:00 - 11:00 - Stood around during orientation.
11:00 - 1:00 - Sat around and ate.
1:00 - 1:30 - Stood around while my wife shopped.
1:30 - 3:00 - Actually pet some animals with my wife and son.
3:00 - 4:00 - Sat around and ate.
4:00 - 4:30 - Got on the bus and waited for it to leave.
4:30 - 6:00 - Rode the bus.
6:00 - 7:00 - Drove home.
Thankfully, my wife kept the drama and nonsense down to a just a few instances during the trip. The worst thing that happened was when she came off the bus with three bags in tow, and because I didn't immediately grab two of them to carry around for the rest of the day, she narrowed her eyes in anger at me, sharply nodded her head towards the bags in her hand, then scowled. It's the same look my mother used to give me when I was a kid. As for me, I should have talked with her co-workers today (even though the topics are always boring and about marriage and work), but by the time I started meeting up with them, five hours of waiting and driving had passed, and I just wasn't in the mood. Still, I expect better of myself, so I'll endeavor to speak up more in the future.
At home, I watched DVDs with my wife, then out of nowhere she started ragging on me. The conversation went like this:
Me: "Boy, what a great movie, huh?"
Wife: "Mmm. Say, have you noticed that you never listen to me?"
Me: "What?"
Wife: "You always say no when I ask you to do something."
Me: "For example?"
Wife: "Like fixing your glasses. You never listen to me on that."
Me: "I told you three or four times before, it's because we don't have money now. I'll fix them when we have cash."
Wife: "It should only cost $50 or $100."
I weighed my options for a reply:
Me, Choice 1: "In the past four years of our marriage, you've spent fourty to fifty dollars every single day of the monthly $1200 I give you, without fail. These expenses don't include payments to your mother or the rent, because your paycheck handles that. They don't include pending college payments, bills or taxes, because I pay all of those. How could our food and clothing budget run us over $1000 every month? If you would stop spending fourty dollars every single day for just a single, solitary day, I could have fixed my glasses three months ago."
Me, Choice 2: "We were just watching DVDs and having fun. Can we talk about this another time?"
I chose the latter, she got quiet, then we soon went to bed, another long, pointless day of marriage waiting for tomorrow to be experienced.
UPDATE: Provider loser me picked Choice 2 because I thought it would lead to her bothering me less, but as previously explained, this did nothing to stop her. Choice 1 ended up coming later, to great effect.
6:00 - 7:00 - Waited for my wife to get ready.
7:00 - 8:00 - Drove to the bus station.
8:00 - 8:30 - Waited for the bus.
8:30 - 10:00 - Rode the bus.
10:00 - 11:00 - Stood around during orientation.
11:00 - 1:00 - Sat around and ate.
1:00 - 1:30 - Stood around while my wife shopped.
1:30 - 3:00 - Actually pet some animals with my wife and son.
3:00 - 4:00 - Sat around and ate.
4:00 - 4:30 - Got on the bus and waited for it to leave.
4:30 - 6:00 - Rode the bus.
6:00 - 7:00 - Drove home.
Thankfully, my wife kept the drama and nonsense down to a just a few instances during the trip. The worst thing that happened was when she came off the bus with three bags in tow, and because I didn't immediately grab two of them to carry around for the rest of the day, she narrowed her eyes in anger at me, sharply nodded her head towards the bags in her hand, then scowled. It's the same look my mother used to give me when I was a kid. As for me, I should have talked with her co-workers today (even though the topics are always boring and about marriage and work), but by the time I started meeting up with them, five hours of waiting and driving had passed, and I just wasn't in the mood. Still, I expect better of myself, so I'll endeavor to speak up more in the future.
At home, I watched DVDs with my wife, then out of nowhere she started ragging on me. The conversation went like this:
Me: "Boy, what a great movie, huh?"
Wife: "Mmm. Say, have you noticed that you never listen to me?"
Me: "What?"
Wife: "You always say no when I ask you to do something."
Me: "For example?"
Wife: "Like fixing your glasses. You never listen to me on that."
Me: "I told you three or four times before, it's because we don't have money now. I'll fix them when we have cash."
Wife: "It should only cost $50 or $100."
I weighed my options for a reply:
Me, Choice 1: "In the past four years of our marriage, you've spent fourty to fifty dollars every single day of the monthly $1200 I give you, without fail. These expenses don't include payments to your mother or the rent, because your paycheck handles that. They don't include pending college payments, bills or taxes, because I pay all of those. How could our food and clothing budget run us over $1000 every month? If you would stop spending fourty dollars every single day for just a single, solitary day, I could have fixed my glasses three months ago."
Me, Choice 2: "We were just watching DVDs and having fun. Can we talk about this another time?"
I chose the latter, she got quiet, then we soon went to bed, another long, pointless day of marriage waiting for tomorrow to be experienced.
UPDATE: Provider loser me picked Choice 2 because I thought it would lead to her bothering me less, but as previously explained, this did nothing to stop her. Choice 1 ended up coming later, to great effect.
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