I called my wife, and after a little small talk, she said we could have sex sometime next week, which would be the first time in almost four months.
I hummed in agreement, then changed the subject. This is probably the fifth or sixth time she's promised me since the last time we had sex in May, and I gave her the same response every time. She has made and broken this promise throughout the course of our marriage more times than we've actually had sex, and I've played the part of Charlie Brown to her Lucy more times than I can remember to believe her now.
On a related note, I can at least thank marriage for one thing: I've learned the true secret of emotional control because of it. Emotions are basically automatic thoughts, so as long as I control my thoughts, I can keep all negative emotions from taking root, much less taking over. In this case, I have a choice of thinking of my wife as a selfish person who only portions out sex when she's interested with no thought whatsoever to my desires, or I can believe what she told me, that she hasn't asked because I'm working so much and I seem too tired. The latter leaves me more emotionally stable, so I believe it, regardless of the truth.
This even happens with thoughts of my old life. Sometimes when I'm at home, I see a TV show about people traveling the world and enjoying themselves. From that, I sometimes have a flash of the life that I myself had before I married: where I was standing, what I was doing, the clothes I was wearing, the openness of the world, everything. In those moments, I often get a sudden burst of intense anger at what I gave up to become the drudge I am today, but it takes a literal split second to stamp out the thought, and subsequently, the feeling. It's hard to describe, but this is what it feels like:
BeautifulsightflashbackhappinessrealityRAGEQUIETnothing
I'm basically playing Whack-A-Mole with my own emotions. I've gotten so good at it that it's automatic and instantaneous to go from fury, sexual frustration, depression, regret or the like, to zoning out into nothingness. Naturally, I wouldn't need to do this every day if I were still a free man, but at least I have a way to bear marriage until it's finally over.
Thursday, August 30, 2012
Thursday, August 23, 2012
Then and Now 44 - Bean Walk
Then and Now 44 - Bean Walk
Time: Late 2007, dating my wife.
For the sake of this Then and Now, I'm going to refer to my wife as my girlfriend.
A few weeks after I first moved into my apartment, my mom sent me a care package from America. Usually she sent things like candy, cookies and other assorted goodies, but this time, she only sent me five things: a dozen cans of Rosarita beans, a bag full of packets of my favorite salsa, a small bag of flour, a can of salt and a tortilla maker. I smiled when I got it. My mom knows very well what my favorite food in the whole world is, so I bought cheese from the supermarket, learned how to make the tortillas and feasted on burritos that night. I made sure to send her a very happy thank you email later, too.
I started dating my girlfriend a little after I got that package, and by the time she started regularly coming over to my apartment to stay the night, I still had plenty of bean cans left. She had never eaten bean and cheese burritos before, much less with my favorite salsa on top, and when she first tried one, she looked like she was in heaven. I felt a bit bad that all I could make were homemade ones and that my favorite ones were back home, but she didn't mind at all. I promised to take her back to America and try the real thing someday.
We ate them almost every weekend she came over, until I was finally just about out of beans. Luckily, this was also shortly after the time I had already found out where I could buy more in Then and Now 20, so after we ate the last can of beans and slept together that Saturday night, I took her to the main city to refuel. We took the usual bus/subway trip on over to the main city, and when we got to the stop, she found a shuttle that went up the street to a bus that led straight to the shop.
I had a great time inside showing her some of my favorite foods, and she encouraged me to buy a bunch of things so I could enjoy myself (and so she could try a bit, too). I paid, then lugged the pair of heavy bags outside and towards the subway stop. My girlfriend insisted that she hold one of them, but I said I was fine, and wanted her to enjoy a nice walk outside.
We crossed the street towards a large, grassy field, and as we headed back to the subway, we came across a bus stop. She insisted that we wait for a bus and take it easy on the way back, but I said that there were some great sights we could see if we walked. She seemed concerned that I wouldn't be able to handle the walk back with the heavy bags, and that she might not be able to make it on foot, either. But after very little convincing, she agreed with me, put a bright smile on her face, and followed me on our path back to my apartment. I can only imagine the shouts, insults, silence, death glares, sex withholding and condescension that would have resulted if she were my wife then.
We walked past a lot of other stores on the way back, and a couple of foreigners, too. They were just as fat, bald and middle-aged as when I saw them last, and just as cold, too. I told my girl about the usual responses I got from foreigners that I walked by, and she wondered why they were acting so rude. I told her it was because I was handsome, young and friendly, but that they only saw me as competition for their jobs and girls. She laughed, until I put the idea to the test.
Me: Hi!
Foreigner 1: (Turned his head 90 degrees to the left, pretended to look at something, looked straight ahead once more when he was safely past us)
Me: Hi!
Foreigner 2: (Stared straight ahead with eyebrows knit in irritation, said nothing)
Me: Hi!
Foreigner 3: (Stared straight ahead, mumbled something incoherently, scurried away)
Me: Hi!
Foreigner 4: (Aped Foreigner 1)
It was a parade of pitiful men, and not a one greeted me in any way resembling a man. My girlfriend was stunned, and I smiled warmly at her. "I'll never treat ya like that!" I proclaimed, and she jokingly thanked me.
After almost an hour of walking, my girl looked pretty ragged out. I was doing fine because I had spent the weekends at my bud's aunt's place, the hostel and my apartment walking around the city for five to ten hours a day, but I was starting to feel bad for her. I asked if she wanted to wait for a bus, but she pumped her fist up and said that she could do it. I felt inspired and happy about the choice I had made in such a great girlfriend.
We eventually reached an underpass with cars zooming on it, and I took her from the pedestrian walkway over to the side of the road, where it sloped down to a fence overlooking a river. I took pity on her, and rested with her above the waters so we could watch some fish darting about beneath the waters, and the grass swaying in the wind. After a bit, I congratulated her on her coming this far with me. She replied by thanking me for believing in her, then in no time, we were back at the subway station and on our way back to my apartment, goodies in tow.
As for today...
I woke up at 6:30.
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 watched TV.
I went to work.
I taught students.
I came home.
I started a load of laundry.
I cleaned up the floor and table.
I roughhoused with my son and played in his fort.
I watched internet movies with him.
I hung up wet laundry.
I slept.
Time: Late 2007, dating my wife.
For the sake of this Then and Now, I'm going to refer to my wife as my girlfriend.
A few weeks after I first moved into my apartment, my mom sent me a care package from America. Usually she sent things like candy, cookies and other assorted goodies, but this time, she only sent me five things: a dozen cans of Rosarita beans, a bag full of packets of my favorite salsa, a small bag of flour, a can of salt and a tortilla maker. I smiled when I got it. My mom knows very well what my favorite food in the whole world is, so I bought cheese from the supermarket, learned how to make the tortillas and feasted on burritos that night. I made sure to send her a very happy thank you email later, too.
I started dating my girlfriend a little after I got that package, and by the time she started regularly coming over to my apartment to stay the night, I still had plenty of bean cans left. She had never eaten bean and cheese burritos before, much less with my favorite salsa on top, and when she first tried one, she looked like she was in heaven. I felt a bit bad that all I could make were homemade ones and that my favorite ones were back home, but she didn't mind at all. I promised to take her back to America and try the real thing someday.
We ate them almost every weekend she came over, until I was finally just about out of beans. Luckily, this was also shortly after the time I had already found out where I could buy more in Then and Now 20, so after we ate the last can of beans and slept together that Saturday night, I took her to the main city to refuel. We took the usual bus/subway trip on over to the main city, and when we got to the stop, she found a shuttle that went up the street to a bus that led straight to the shop.
I had a great time inside showing her some of my favorite foods, and she encouraged me to buy a bunch of things so I could enjoy myself (and so she could try a bit, too). I paid, then lugged the pair of heavy bags outside and towards the subway stop. My girlfriend insisted that she hold one of them, but I said I was fine, and wanted her to enjoy a nice walk outside.
We crossed the street towards a large, grassy field, and as we headed back to the subway, we came across a bus stop. She insisted that we wait for a bus and take it easy on the way back, but I said that there were some great sights we could see if we walked. She seemed concerned that I wouldn't be able to handle the walk back with the heavy bags, and that she might not be able to make it on foot, either. But after very little convincing, she agreed with me, put a bright smile on her face, and followed me on our path back to my apartment. I can only imagine the shouts, insults, silence, death glares, sex withholding and condescension that would have resulted if she were my wife then.
We walked past a lot of other stores on the way back, and a couple of foreigners, too. They were just as fat, bald and middle-aged as when I saw them last, and just as cold, too. I told my girl about the usual responses I got from foreigners that I walked by, and she wondered why they were acting so rude. I told her it was because I was handsome, young and friendly, but that they only saw me as competition for their jobs and girls. She laughed, until I put the idea to the test.
Me: Hi!
Foreigner 1: (Turned his head 90 degrees to the left, pretended to look at something, looked straight ahead once more when he was safely past us)
Me: Hi!
Foreigner 2: (Stared straight ahead with eyebrows knit in irritation, said nothing)
Me: Hi!
Foreigner 3: (Stared straight ahead, mumbled something incoherently, scurried away)
Me: Hi!
Foreigner 4: (Aped Foreigner 1)
It was a parade of pitiful men, and not a one greeted me in any way resembling a man. My girlfriend was stunned, and I smiled warmly at her. "I'll never treat ya like that!" I proclaimed, and she jokingly thanked me.
After almost an hour of walking, my girl looked pretty ragged out. I was doing fine because I had spent the weekends at my bud's aunt's place, the hostel and my apartment walking around the city for five to ten hours a day, but I was starting to feel bad for her. I asked if she wanted to wait for a bus, but she pumped her fist up and said that she could do it. I felt inspired and happy about the choice I had made in such a great girlfriend.
We eventually reached an underpass with cars zooming on it, and I took her from the pedestrian walkway over to the side of the road, where it sloped down to a fence overlooking a river. I took pity on her, and rested with her above the waters so we could watch some fish darting about beneath the waters, and the grass swaying in the wind. After a bit, I congratulated her on her coming this far with me. She replied by thanking me for believing in her, then in no time, we were back at the subway station and on our way back to my apartment, goodies in tow.
As for today...
I woke up at 6:30.
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 watched TV.
I went to work.
I taught students.
I came home.
I started a load of laundry.
I cleaned up the floor and table.
I roughhoused with my son and played in his fort.
I watched internet movies with him.
I hung up wet laundry.
I slept.
Monday, August 13, 2012
Then and Now 43 - Bored
Then and Now 43 - Bored
Time: Mid-2007, single and at my apartment.
I went out one day from my apartment to go see some sights around a single subway stop in the city. There were several places I had the opportunity to choose from, but I was most interested in seeing two of them: some kind of civic center or arena, and a community center.
I got to the stop and had only walked for a few minutes before I came across a nostalgic place: I was on the sidewalk walking up a four lane street, two each way, with a long line of trees running down a median in the center. To my left were several large houses, not apartment buildings like the ones I was used to seeing in my poorer neighborhood. It looked exactly like the street that I lived next to while living at my grandma's house back in America. Even funnier, when I walked up the street into the center of a busy commercial district, one of the first businesses I saw was a steakhouse with her name on it. I smiled broadly and chuckled, then took a picture to show her for the next time I was back in America.
I walked down the busy street through several rows of stores. I still remember seeing several coffee houses, a couple of little independent convenience stores, and a bar with some college kids standing outside. I zigzagged up and right several times, basically trying to wander to the civic center, and within minutes, I found the place I was looking for.
Some construction was taking place behind a short metal gate and under a long metal awning, and across the street was the sports center which was unfortunately still under construction. It was about three or four stories tall and looked like it would someday house some great music shows or sporting events, but for that day, I had to hold off on seeing anything more interesting than crews erecting walls and messing with wiring.
Despite the setback, I continued through the construction zone and headed straight until the buildings got shorter, and I started to get funnier and funnier looks from the locals, who were obviously unused to having a foreigner walking around that non-tourist area. I stopped at a convenience store to get a drink, and asked the boss there if she knew where the community center was. She pointed me in the correct direction, and I headed off. Before I got there, I came upon a very wide street that forked into two directions. There was a wall of trees on one side of the road, and on the other were two shopping centers, one right next to the other. I think this area and the malls were on my list, so I went in to take a look.
And for the only time in my life abroad, I started to get bored.
I think by that point, that I was starting to push a hundred shopping malls and department stores visited, and try as I did to find something special about this area, they were just stores. I went into one of the buildings and walked up the stairs inside, past a huge number of stores that I completely don't remember. Then I went downstairs to the other shopping place, and rode an escalator inside to the top. It was kind of interesting because all of the walls were made of glass and transparent to the world outside, but I still found it pretty dull to be looking around yet more clothes stores. It was looking to be a bust that day, and I very briefly wondered if I was just going to spend the rest of my traveling days going from one shopping place to another.
I struck that thought down immediately, and focused even more heavily on finding something that I wanted to see. Thoughts like that were what turned me into the slug that I was at my bud's aunt's place, in those first two weeks abroad. And even though it takes several weeks of constant negative thinking to make those emotions automatic, I wasn't about to let them pull me down then, even for a single day. So I left the shopping center and headed a couple of blocks down, and found the community center.
The lobby was huge, but sparsely staffed. There were a couple of pamphlets on racks by the door, and a few signs advertising what was going on that day. By this point, my local language skills had gotten much, much better, so it was only a few seconds after I read the welcome sign that I saw an art exhibit was going on a floor or two up. I went up and saw some very well-dressed locals showing off some pictures hanging on the walls. They welcomed me heartily and let me roam to enjoy the exhibit.
The pictures were quite stunning. One was a nature piece in the old local style, another was a picture of Jesus who looked kind of like a local, and there were several beautiful nature pieces of mountains, a forest and the ocean. I took out my camera, then hesitated, not knowing if it was ok. As I was asking one of the artists if I could take a picture, I simultaneously saw a sign that said it wasn't ok.
The boss of the exhibit overheard us, then came over to me and said I could take a picture or two. I thanked them, then snapped a few photos to show my friends later. I headed home shortly after, happy knowing that I didn't let a good day go to waste, despite the middle stumble.
As for today...
I woke up at 7:00.
I played video games.
My wife and son woke up, so I turned off the game.
I played cars with my son.
I ate lunch.
I prepared teaching lessons.
I watched TV.
I built my son a fort, then roughhoused with him inside.
I played cars with him.
I watched internet movies with him.
I surfed the net.
My son fell asleep.
I played video games.
I cleaned up the floor and table.
I did the dishes.
I folded and put away dry clothes.
I slept.
Time: Mid-2007, single and at my apartment.
I went out one day from my apartment to go see some sights around a single subway stop in the city. There were several places I had the opportunity to choose from, but I was most interested in seeing two of them: some kind of civic center or arena, and a community center.
I got to the stop and had only walked for a few minutes before I came across a nostalgic place: I was on the sidewalk walking up a four lane street, two each way, with a long line of trees running down a median in the center. To my left were several large houses, not apartment buildings like the ones I was used to seeing in my poorer neighborhood. It looked exactly like the street that I lived next to while living at my grandma's house back in America. Even funnier, when I walked up the street into the center of a busy commercial district, one of the first businesses I saw was a steakhouse with her name on it. I smiled broadly and chuckled, then took a picture to show her for the next time I was back in America.
I walked down the busy street through several rows of stores. I still remember seeing several coffee houses, a couple of little independent convenience stores, and a bar with some college kids standing outside. I zigzagged up and right several times, basically trying to wander to the civic center, and within minutes, I found the place I was looking for.
Some construction was taking place behind a short metal gate and under a long metal awning, and across the street was the sports center which was unfortunately still under construction. It was about three or four stories tall and looked like it would someday house some great music shows or sporting events, but for that day, I had to hold off on seeing anything more interesting than crews erecting walls and messing with wiring.
Despite the setback, I continued through the construction zone and headed straight until the buildings got shorter, and I started to get funnier and funnier looks from the locals, who were obviously unused to having a foreigner walking around that non-tourist area. I stopped at a convenience store to get a drink, and asked the boss there if she knew where the community center was. She pointed me in the correct direction, and I headed off. Before I got there, I came upon a very wide street that forked into two directions. There was a wall of trees on one side of the road, and on the other were two shopping centers, one right next to the other. I think this area and the malls were on my list, so I went in to take a look.
And for the only time in my life abroad, I started to get bored.
I think by that point, that I was starting to push a hundred shopping malls and department stores visited, and try as I did to find something special about this area, they were just stores. I went into one of the buildings and walked up the stairs inside, past a huge number of stores that I completely don't remember. Then I went downstairs to the other shopping place, and rode an escalator inside to the top. It was kind of interesting because all of the walls were made of glass and transparent to the world outside, but I still found it pretty dull to be looking around yet more clothes stores. It was looking to be a bust that day, and I very briefly wondered if I was just going to spend the rest of my traveling days going from one shopping place to another.
I struck that thought down immediately, and focused even more heavily on finding something that I wanted to see. Thoughts like that were what turned me into the slug that I was at my bud's aunt's place, in those first two weeks abroad. And even though it takes several weeks of constant negative thinking to make those emotions automatic, I wasn't about to let them pull me down then, even for a single day. So I left the shopping center and headed a couple of blocks down, and found the community center.
The lobby was huge, but sparsely staffed. There were a couple of pamphlets on racks by the door, and a few signs advertising what was going on that day. By this point, my local language skills had gotten much, much better, so it was only a few seconds after I read the welcome sign that I saw an art exhibit was going on a floor or two up. I went up and saw some very well-dressed locals showing off some pictures hanging on the walls. They welcomed me heartily and let me roam to enjoy the exhibit.
The pictures were quite stunning. One was a nature piece in the old local style, another was a picture of Jesus who looked kind of like a local, and there were several beautiful nature pieces of mountains, a forest and the ocean. I took out my camera, then hesitated, not knowing if it was ok. As I was asking one of the artists if I could take a picture, I simultaneously saw a sign that said it wasn't ok.
The boss of the exhibit overheard us, then came over to me and said I could take a picture or two. I thanked them, then snapped a few photos to show my friends later. I headed home shortly after, happy knowing that I didn't let a good day go to waste, despite the middle stumble.
As for today...
I woke up at 7:00.
I played video games.
My wife and son woke up, so I turned off the game.
I played cars with my son.
I ate lunch.
I prepared teaching lessons.
I watched TV.
I built my son a fort, then roughhoused with him inside.
I played cars with him.
I watched internet movies with him.
I surfed the net.
My son fell asleep.
I played video games.
I cleaned up the floor and table.
I did the dishes.
I folded and put away dry clothes.
I slept.
Friday, August 3, 2012
Then and Now 42 - Odds and Ends 5
Then and Now 42 - Odds and Ends 5
Time: Before I got married.
One Monday night off of work, I was walking home from my second job teaching kids at another school branch. It was about 9:30 or so at night, and I came to the part of my town where a large canal split off the northern side of town of banks and houses from the southern, which had many schools and stores. I came to a large gathering of locals having some food and drinks outside, and they were watching a local drama being played out by fully costumed actors in a little mobile theater set.
I watched the actors for a while, a guy and a girl playing out a little love story, when a local came up to me and started talking to me in English. I felt a little embarrassed, because at the time, I had the flu and I felt a bit dizzy and tired (especially after the ten hours of work). My hair was also too long, and my spikes were drooping down, as if even they were trying to show how tired I was. He said hello and we made small talk about America and this country for a while, and after a bit, he offered me a coke, and we watched the drama play on.
Soon enough, his daughter came home from English school, and he called her over to say hello. She was only eleven or twelve, and was extremely nervous talking to me. I tried talking to her in both English and the local language, but she just stared at her feet the whole time. Her father teased her and said she should practice English more.
When it was time for me to go, I opened my wallet and took out a $2 bill that I had brought to this country to show my students. I checked to make sure it was ok with the girl's father, then I gave it to her as a thank you for their hospitality. I told her it was a rare bill, and she should hold onto it to show off to her friends. She took it hesitantly, and her father gave me a present in return, but I forgot what it was. It would be really cool if that girl still had the bill, and an interesting story, about the foreigner who came to say hello one day.
-----
I was walking up to the junction subway station where I met Tim and Jessie in Then and Now 33. I went up and down that street at least a hundred times during my time at the hostel, and I can still walk its length in my mind's eye. I got to the part where there was a road underpass just ahead with a small park and computer store to my right, when I saw a local woman coming towards me and staring at me oddly.
For a brief moment, I had forgotten that I wore my stupid T-shirt with a tie painted on it, just because I felt in a goofy mood. When the woman got closer, our eyes met, and she laughed. "Are you going to a party?" she asked in the local language.
"Looks good, huh?" I answered, and she laughed again. We said goodbye and continued on our separate ways.
-----
Another day at the underground mall, I was window shopping a bit until I walked by a video game store, which was in the center of the two walking paths that led in and out of the center of the mall. Outside, they had a few consoles set up with some games to try, and I was pleasantly surprised to see that they had Guitar Hero 3 set up on an X-Box. I had only ever played the series on the PS2, but when I got closer, I saw that the guitar was almost the same as the one I had used for several years.
So, I picked it up, and ran down the song list, noticing that almost every one had only three stars on it... except for Cherub Rock, the song I picked to play, which had the full five. Apparently, someone else had played this song before and thrashed it. I started playing, hitting almost every note in the song, until I completely smashed the record that had already been set. Unfortunately, there were two problems: first, the volume was set really low, so it was hard to hear the song from farther than ten feet away.
Second, when I surreptitiously turned around to see how many people were checking out how awesome I was, there was only one local standing there, who clapped, smiled and gave me the thumbs up. I smiled and thanked him, then looked over at the other demonstration console to my left, where some locals were playing a 2D fighting game. There were two guys duking it out, and about thirty people cheering loudly behind them. I chuckled, set the guitar down, and moved on.
-----
My bud and I went out to get dinner one night at his aunt's house, just me and him. We went to a Mexican restaurant a couple of minutes walk away, and it was pretty dark when we got there. The outside looked kind of like a cozy old log cabin, but the inside was furnished very nicely. We got seated by a waitress, and as we were on our way to the table, I saw an older foreigner with his local girlfriend at a seat next to the entrance. He looked my way almost immediately, and right after I smiled a hello, he jerked his head to the side to avoid getting into a conversation. I knit my eyebrows in confusion, not having gotten used to that kind of behavior yet, and my bud and I had a seat.
I got a bean and cheese burrito, a quesadilla and a Sprite, and my bud got a bowl of beans and rice; it had been a while since either of us had had Mexican. We shot the breeze about our experiences abroad, things we could do the next day and life back home until we were full, and on our way back home. It was a nice night.
-----
It was the first night at my apartment. My boss helped me finalize the paperwork with my landlord Nate, then he and his girlfriend Annie walked me up to the place that I would be living in for the next year. I unpacked my huge luggage bag and put everything away: clothes on my new clothes stand, electronics on my rolling TV tray, toiletries in the bathroom, and the rest of it in the sliding door cabinet in the guest bedroom. I felt great. I had had an amazing time with my bud at his aunt's place and at the hostel, but now I was not only employed, but living in my own digs.
This was one of the few times I had ever lived in a room by myself, and the absolute first time in my life that nobody lived around me in another dorm room or bedroom just down the hall, playing music at all hours of the night, stealing things from my room, yelling at me to clean something or anything like that. It was just me, and my new apartment.
After I was unpacked, I decided to get the lay of the land, so I went outside into the night to see what I could see. It was 11:00 or 12:00 at night, and there were almost no cars on the road. I walked up north through the main business section, and past a lot of darkened stores and quiet windy streets. It was a kind of peace that I had seldom experienced before.
I passed a quiet traffic light and watched a pair of cars pass by, and I soon found myself on a tiny street between two rows of very small houses. I had been walking for about thirty minutes, so I decided it was about time to make a wide curve back to the southwest, then cut back to my apartment, having seen one corner of the area around my apartment. The tiny street turned to the side and went between one of the rows of houses, and past a house with a very wide yard. I walked for a little bit until I found a pair of streetlights illuminating a road that headed in the direction of my apartment, then went down it.
Almost immediately, I saw some shadows move. The silhouettes of several dogs perked their heads up, then looked straight at me. I heard growling, so I started to back away slowly. I turned, and almost bumped into an old man, who was walking calmly down the street. My local language skills were still pretty poor so I didn't know how to warn the man, so I just stood back and watched him go straight towards the dogs. They started barking at him. I remained at the end of the street, balled my hands into fists and every muscle in my body tensed as I prepared myself to rush forward and fight the dogs off of the old man.
But there was no need. The dogs barked, but they didn't advance, and the old man just kept going. Not quite having the balls that he had, I turned around and went home on the same street I had walked up.
As for today...
I woke up at 7:30.
I surfed the net.
I went to work.
I taught students.
I came home.
I ate lunch.
I watched DVDs with my wife and son.
I went to work.
I taught students.
I came home.
I started a load of laundry.
I cleaned up the floor and table.
I did the dishes.
I folded and put away dry clothes.
I watched internet movies with my son.
I hung up wet laundry.
I slept.
Time: Before I got married.
One Monday night off of work, I was walking home from my second job teaching kids at another school branch. It was about 9:30 or so at night, and I came to the part of my town where a large canal split off the northern side of town of banks and houses from the southern, which had many schools and stores. I came to a large gathering of locals having some food and drinks outside, and they were watching a local drama being played out by fully costumed actors in a little mobile theater set.
I watched the actors for a while, a guy and a girl playing out a little love story, when a local came up to me and started talking to me in English. I felt a little embarrassed, because at the time, I had the flu and I felt a bit dizzy and tired (especially after the ten hours of work). My hair was also too long, and my spikes were drooping down, as if even they were trying to show how tired I was. He said hello and we made small talk about America and this country for a while, and after a bit, he offered me a coke, and we watched the drama play on.
Soon enough, his daughter came home from English school, and he called her over to say hello. She was only eleven or twelve, and was extremely nervous talking to me. I tried talking to her in both English and the local language, but she just stared at her feet the whole time. Her father teased her and said she should practice English more.
When it was time for me to go, I opened my wallet and took out a $2 bill that I had brought to this country to show my students. I checked to make sure it was ok with the girl's father, then I gave it to her as a thank you for their hospitality. I told her it was a rare bill, and she should hold onto it to show off to her friends. She took it hesitantly, and her father gave me a present in return, but I forgot what it was. It would be really cool if that girl still had the bill, and an interesting story, about the foreigner who came to say hello one day.
-----
I was walking up to the junction subway station where I met Tim and Jessie in Then and Now 33. I went up and down that street at least a hundred times during my time at the hostel, and I can still walk its length in my mind's eye. I got to the part where there was a road underpass just ahead with a small park and computer store to my right, when I saw a local woman coming towards me and staring at me oddly.
For a brief moment, I had forgotten that I wore my stupid T-shirt with a tie painted on it, just because I felt in a goofy mood. When the woman got closer, our eyes met, and she laughed. "Are you going to a party?" she asked in the local language.
"Looks good, huh?" I answered, and she laughed again. We said goodbye and continued on our separate ways.
-----
Another day at the underground mall, I was window shopping a bit until I walked by a video game store, which was in the center of the two walking paths that led in and out of the center of the mall. Outside, they had a few consoles set up with some games to try, and I was pleasantly surprised to see that they had Guitar Hero 3 set up on an X-Box. I had only ever played the series on the PS2, but when I got closer, I saw that the guitar was almost the same as the one I had used for several years.
So, I picked it up, and ran down the song list, noticing that almost every one had only three stars on it... except for Cherub Rock, the song I picked to play, which had the full five. Apparently, someone else had played this song before and thrashed it. I started playing, hitting almost every note in the song, until I completely smashed the record that had already been set. Unfortunately, there were two problems: first, the volume was set really low, so it was hard to hear the song from farther than ten feet away.
Second, when I surreptitiously turned around to see how many people were checking out how awesome I was, there was only one local standing there, who clapped, smiled and gave me the thumbs up. I smiled and thanked him, then looked over at the other demonstration console to my left, where some locals were playing a 2D fighting game. There were two guys duking it out, and about thirty people cheering loudly behind them. I chuckled, set the guitar down, and moved on.
-----
My bud and I went out to get dinner one night at his aunt's house, just me and him. We went to a Mexican restaurant a couple of minutes walk away, and it was pretty dark when we got there. The outside looked kind of like a cozy old log cabin, but the inside was furnished very nicely. We got seated by a waitress, and as we were on our way to the table, I saw an older foreigner with his local girlfriend at a seat next to the entrance. He looked my way almost immediately, and right after I smiled a hello, he jerked his head to the side to avoid getting into a conversation. I knit my eyebrows in confusion, not having gotten used to that kind of behavior yet, and my bud and I had a seat.
I got a bean and cheese burrito, a quesadilla and a Sprite, and my bud got a bowl of beans and rice; it had been a while since either of us had had Mexican. We shot the breeze about our experiences abroad, things we could do the next day and life back home until we were full, and on our way back home. It was a nice night.
-----
It was the first night at my apartment. My boss helped me finalize the paperwork with my landlord Nate, then he and his girlfriend Annie walked me up to the place that I would be living in for the next year. I unpacked my huge luggage bag and put everything away: clothes on my new clothes stand, electronics on my rolling TV tray, toiletries in the bathroom, and the rest of it in the sliding door cabinet in the guest bedroom. I felt great. I had had an amazing time with my bud at his aunt's place and at the hostel, but now I was not only employed, but living in my own digs.
This was one of the few times I had ever lived in a room by myself, and the absolute first time in my life that nobody lived around me in another dorm room or bedroom just down the hall, playing music at all hours of the night, stealing things from my room, yelling at me to clean something or anything like that. It was just me, and my new apartment.
After I was unpacked, I decided to get the lay of the land, so I went outside into the night to see what I could see. It was 11:00 or 12:00 at night, and there were almost no cars on the road. I walked up north through the main business section, and past a lot of darkened stores and quiet windy streets. It was a kind of peace that I had seldom experienced before.
I passed a quiet traffic light and watched a pair of cars pass by, and I soon found myself on a tiny street between two rows of very small houses. I had been walking for about thirty minutes, so I decided it was about time to make a wide curve back to the southwest, then cut back to my apartment, having seen one corner of the area around my apartment. The tiny street turned to the side and went between one of the rows of houses, and past a house with a very wide yard. I walked for a little bit until I found a pair of streetlights illuminating a road that headed in the direction of my apartment, then went down it.
Almost immediately, I saw some shadows move. The silhouettes of several dogs perked their heads up, then looked straight at me. I heard growling, so I started to back away slowly. I turned, and almost bumped into an old man, who was walking calmly down the street. My local language skills were still pretty poor so I didn't know how to warn the man, so I just stood back and watched him go straight towards the dogs. They started barking at him. I remained at the end of the street, balled my hands into fists and every muscle in my body tensed as I prepared myself to rush forward and fight the dogs off of the old man.
But there was no need. The dogs barked, but they didn't advance, and the old man just kept going. Not quite having the balls that he had, I turned around and went home on the same street I had walked up.
As for today...
I woke up at 7:30.
I surfed the net.
I went to work.
I taught students.
I came home.
I ate lunch.
I watched DVDs with my wife and son.
I went to work.
I taught students.
I came home.
I started a load of laundry.
I cleaned up the floor and table.
I did the dishes.
I folded and put away dry clothes.
I watched internet movies with my son.
I hung up wet laundry.
I slept.
Tuesday, July 24, 2012
Abortion
I waited in the hospital while my wife had the abortion, and kept my son company. When my wife walked out of the operating room, it hit me all at once: our child had died in the last hour.
I wondered what they did with our baby. Flushed down a drain? Tossed into a medical waste bag? Ripped into pieces and thrown into the garbage? By now, the baby should have started to look like a baby. And I still don't know if it was a boy or a girl.
We all went to get something to eat on doctor's orders. It was surreal, like we had just watched a movie, and were just going out to get lunch. I was in mild shock the whole time; the whole world kept fading in and out, and it was difficult for me to focus on anything. Soon enough, it was time to go to work, so I went home first. The entire trip home, and to work, was a blur; I felt so ashamed and guilty.
I called my wife later to see how she was doing, and she told me her grandma died last week, too. She didn't know until today, either. When I asked her how she felt about the baby, she said it bothered her, but not as much as her grandma, because she wasn't that attached to the baby. She said if she had felt the baby kick, she would probably be crying now. I was dumbstruck at her honesty, even moreso when I came home and she seemed happier than she has in months.
I'm not having another child with her:
- She's got a heart condition and I don't want to abort another baby, even if she seems to think that she's getting better, or that abortion is not a problem.
- Her reaction to all of this makes me physically ill.
- She's spent the last several months responding to every attempt I've made to prove that I have the money to take care of two kids with "Really? Are you sure?" and a skeptical face, even though I'm the one who's saved her dog twice, paid off her mother's $7000 bank debt, and never once missed a $1000+ monthly payment to her. So we'll do it her way.
- Her mother and sister don't want her to have another baby, and since my wife only yells at people that don't fight back (me and our son), I can expect a reign of terror from her family, one that she won't stop, if we conceive again.
- Last and certainly least, I can get my life back sooner.
I wondered what they did with our baby. Flushed down a drain? Tossed into a medical waste bag? Ripped into pieces and thrown into the garbage? By now, the baby should have started to look like a baby. And I still don't know if it was a boy or a girl.
We all went to get something to eat on doctor's orders. It was surreal, like we had just watched a movie, and were just going out to get lunch. I was in mild shock the whole time; the whole world kept fading in and out, and it was difficult for me to focus on anything. Soon enough, it was time to go to work, so I went home first. The entire trip home, and to work, was a blur; I felt so ashamed and guilty.
I called my wife later to see how she was doing, and she told me her grandma died last week, too. She didn't know until today, either. When I asked her how she felt about the baby, she said it bothered her, but not as much as her grandma, because she wasn't that attached to the baby. She said if she had felt the baby kick, she would probably be crying now. I was dumbstruck at her honesty, even moreso when I came home and she seemed happier than she has in months.
I'm not having another child with her:
- She's got a heart condition and I don't want to abort another baby, even if she seems to think that she's getting better, or that abortion is not a problem.
- Her reaction to all of this makes me physically ill.
- She's spent the last several months responding to every attempt I've made to prove that I have the money to take care of two kids with "Really? Are you sure?" and a skeptical face, even though I'm the one who's saved her dog twice, paid off her mother's $7000 bank debt, and never once missed a $1000+ monthly payment to her. So we'll do it her way.
- Her mother and sister don't want her to have another baby, and since my wife only yells at people that don't fight back (me and our son), I can expect a reign of terror from her family, one that she won't stop, if we conceive again.
- Last and certainly least, I can get my life back sooner.
Wednesday, July 18, 2012
Our child
My wife went to the doctor while I was working, and found out that a genetic heart problem that was present in her family is affecting her, too. Her retaining water, having difficulty breathing and her accelerated heartbeat were all signs of the problem, and her getting pregnant just brought all of this to the surface. She started crying, scared that she was going to die and sad that we had to abort the baby for this. I held her hand and comforted her.
I didn't cry at all this night. It isn't because I don't care about how our child will die in less than a week, or because I wasn't worried about my wife. I want both of them to live. I don't really know why I just felt resigned, but I can hazard a guess:
This kind of situation has been present with me for nearly my entire life. My desires, my wishes, my hopes for myself and everyone around me, have been almost universally chained to something else: my parents' chaos, my depression, my marriage, I've scarcely had a choice regarding how anything unfolds. When she told me what would happen, I felt scared for my wife and the baby, but those feelings were couched in absolute powerlessness.
I've lived so long with these feelings of helplessness and being carried along by the overbearing, unbreakable control of the circumstances of life and the people around me, that I guess I felt this was just another in a long string of situations where I was allowed to do nothing more than sit down and watch events unfold. I wanted to find a way to save everybody, to work harder at my job to make the money needed for an operation, anything.
But, as ever, I'm a slave to circumstances: I can't fight genetics, I can't place an ectopically impregnanted child in the right place, and I can't ask my wife to put her life on the line to try to bring our child into the world. Our son needs her, and it's impossible for her to have our child anyway. Even if the baby shows up on the sonogram in the next few days, it changes nothing; Peanut and my wife would both die on the operating table next year.
It would be misleading to say that I would trade my life for my wife, or Peanut's. Death carries hugely negative consequences, like never seeing my family as they are now, ever again, leaving my son without his father, and leaving everyone with debts they can't pay off. But at least it's a terribly dark cloud with a small silver lining: I wouldn't be married anymore.
Rather, I would live another hundred years as a married man, if it meant I could give Peanut a single day of life. In a way, Peanut has done this for us by saving my wife's life, revealing the nature of my wife's serious illness before it became terminal.
But I can't do anything for our child. The choice is out of my hands. Come next Tuesday, if nothing improves, the baby will die. And I'm powerless to do anything about it.
I didn't cry at all this night. It isn't because I don't care about how our child will die in less than a week, or because I wasn't worried about my wife. I want both of them to live. I don't really know why I just felt resigned, but I can hazard a guess:
This kind of situation has been present with me for nearly my entire life. My desires, my wishes, my hopes for myself and everyone around me, have been almost universally chained to something else: my parents' chaos, my depression, my marriage, I've scarcely had a choice regarding how anything unfolds. When she told me what would happen, I felt scared for my wife and the baby, but those feelings were couched in absolute powerlessness.
I've lived so long with these feelings of helplessness and being carried along by the overbearing, unbreakable control of the circumstances of life and the people around me, that I guess I felt this was just another in a long string of situations where I was allowed to do nothing more than sit down and watch events unfold. I wanted to find a way to save everybody, to work harder at my job to make the money needed for an operation, anything.
But, as ever, I'm a slave to circumstances: I can't fight genetics, I can't place an ectopically impregnanted child in the right place, and I can't ask my wife to put her life on the line to try to bring our child into the world. Our son needs her, and it's impossible for her to have our child anyway. Even if the baby shows up on the sonogram in the next few days, it changes nothing; Peanut and my wife would both die on the operating table next year.
It would be misleading to say that I would trade my life for my wife, or Peanut's. Death carries hugely negative consequences, like never seeing my family as they are now, ever again, leaving my son without his father, and leaving everyone with debts they can't pay off. But at least it's a terribly dark cloud with a small silver lining: I wouldn't be married anymore.
Rather, I would live another hundred years as a married man, if it meant I could give Peanut a single day of life. In a way, Peanut has done this for us by saving my wife's life, revealing the nature of my wife's serious illness before it became terminal.
But I can't do anything for our child. The choice is out of my hands. Come next Tuesday, if nothing improves, the baby will die. And I'm powerless to do anything about it.
Tuesday, July 17, 2012
Child tantrum
I've shown how my wife starts fights with me on many, many occasions, and in every instance, she is almost completely wrong in how she acts. These fights generally fall under one of three categories:
- She blows little things out out of proportion, then flips out.
- Her family does something stupid, then she takes it out on me.
- She's just mad for no reason.
On a few rare occasions, she actually has a point, and I'm the one who caused trouble. It never keeps her from pressing her advantage and treating me like garbage, of course (i.e. the fight where my son fell down in my Fights post). But I'm not the one who deserves the bulk of the blame when most of these fights start, because it's my wife who always escalates.
Recently, I've come to understand another of my wife's methods of starting, then winning, fights that shouldn't have even occurred in the first place, much less have her bashing me for inane reasons. These are her basic tactics:
Step 1 - I do something completely innocuous that upsets her.
Step 2 - She goes silent, or explodes.
Step 3 - I ask her what's wrong.
Step 4 - She provides the very barest of explanations.
Step 5 - Using the very little information she's provided me, I rebut what she's said.
Step 6 - She dumps a truckload of unknowable information that she was keeping to herself the entire time, then uses that as a club to berate me for how stubborn, selfish, uncaring and stupid I am.
Step 7 - I apologize, or try to find a compromise.
Step 8 - She goes into martyr mode, and yells at me to do whatever I want.
Step 9 - I insist that I'll do what she wants.
Step 10 - We repeat Steps 8 and 9 until she's had enough.
Step 11 - She goes silent and seethes.
Step 12 - I play with my son, and she takes a nap.
This actually happened a few nights ago, but I didn't mention it because the tiff started and ended in just thirty seconds:
Step 1 - Our son jumped on her in the bedroom, then she stormed out to sit on the chair in the living room and seethe.
Step 2 - She went silent.
Step 3 - I asked her what was wrong.
Step 4 - She told me, "Our son jumped on me."
Step 5 - I said it was ok; he jumps on me all the time.
Step 6 - She got mad, thrust her hand at her belly, and snarled, "HERE!"
Step 7 - I apologized.
We skipped Steps 8 - 10.
Step 11 - She seethed.
Step 12 - I told my son not to do that, then played with him. She went to sleep later.
She usually sleeps on her side, and I assumed she would have added that extra word to be more clear ("Our son jumped on my belly"), but she didn't. She just wanted to start a fight. So that brings us to today.
Step 1 - My wife told me that the doctor couldn't find our baby on the sonogram, even after a month and a half had gone by. She told me that she needed me to sign a piece of paper that said if the doctor couldn't find it this Saturday, that they had to assume it was in the "wrong room," and they had to "take it out." I told her that I didn't want to sign any papers that said our baby would die until we were absolutely sure that there was nothing we could do. I asked her if she could just give the baby another two weeks to show up on the sonogram, and if there was still nothing, I would sign the paper.
Step 2 - She started to get upset, and said that the doctor said that there was a 50% chance that mothers come down with this, and we couldn't do anything about it. I knew that statistic was complete crap; I've never heard of an epidemic so widespread as that among pregnant women.
Her first doctor, when she was pregnant with our son, told her about the same condition. But because I'm smarter than my wife is, I know he was just telling her about a magical problem that could fix her surprise pregnancy through a no-choice abortion, and by the time a few months had gone by and she realized that the baby was truly coming, she would have come to terms with delivering our son. It was just a way of soothing her mind with an outside chance of going back to her old life, until she got used to the idea of being a mother.
Step 3 - I asked her what the condition was.
Step 4 - She looked up the local word on the internet and showed me: ectopic pregnancy, a term I've never even heard of before. Without even looking at the definition, I knew it would be something that affected less than 5% of women worldwide. And when I read it, I saw that it was actually only 1%.
Step 5 - I told her what the site said, that it was very unlikely that this was her case. She said she knew that, than I asked her why she said it was 50%. She tried to dodge the question until I repeated it, then she transparently lied that her English wasn't so good, so she misspoke.
At this point, I only had a few pieces of information to go on:
- Her family may or may not have been pressuring her to have an abortion.
- She talked about abortion just a few nights before, and was evasive when I asked her if she wanted to kill our child.
- She was here, again, talking about abortion because of a problem that affects only 1% of women, one that she claimed she had.
Piecing it all together, I got a pretty crystal clear picture that she had either fallen under her family's influence, or decided herself, to abort the baby. I asked again if we could just wait two weeks to give the baby a chance, and said that that would be the best for it.
She went silent.
I asked again.
She stayed silent.
I had had enough of this stupidity, so I said, "Hello?"
"Yeah, fine, we'll do that," she replied snottily.
I went out to smoke, then came back in to talk with her. She was sitting in the same chair she always sits in when she's mad, reading something. I guess I should start calling it the Angry Chair. I asked her what day of the week she would be ok to check.
Step 6 - She flipped the ever-loving hell out, and started shouting at me.
"You really made me angry!"
"Why are you angry?"
"Don't you know that I could bleed because of this?! If we have to take the baby out at three months, I might get really hurt! I'm retaining water and can hardly breathe now, but you don't care about me at all, do you?!"
I wish I had thought of the following things at the time:
First of all, waiting two weeks would put the date at two months, not three. That's just a lie.
Second, she says I don't care, when I've asked every night that I've known she's pregnant about how "Peanut" and her are doing.
This means one of two things: either she's lying about me not caring for her in an effort to slander me and win a fight, because she knew that I always check up on her... or it confirms suspicions that I've had about her for some time now: namely, she ignores me because I barely register on her radar. I'm nothing more to her than a sack of meat that she feeds once a day, who gives her over $1000 every month, and who cleans up the house while she sits and lies around.
I'm suspecting the latter, because I've had to explain myself to her about many, many things, over and over, just so she could ignore me every time. For example:
- Why I couldn't fix my glasses.
- Why it's ok to take our son out.
- What she should do if she's depressed.
- What she should do about her mother and sister.
And much more.
Third, she's probably having health problems because she's very overweight: pushing 200 pounds. It's just another thing I've shown her how to fix, just to have her ignore me every time.
Back to the fight:
"I had to go to the hospital alone when I was pregnant before!! You weren't even there for me, and I had to learn about all the ways our son could have died, or how I could have died!! You think I want to kill the baby?!"
"..." (Actually, based on the evidence, I did).
"But whatever!! You think you're smarter than the doctor, fine!! We'll do it your way!!"
Step 7 - "Ok, we can go this Saturday. Hopefully, the baby will be ok."
Step 8 - "NO! We'll do it your way! We ALWAYS do it your way!!"
Step 9 -
"Is this Saturday ok? What time is..."
"I don't care, do whatever you want!! I'll do exactly as you ask!!"
"I can cancel my tutor classes that..."
"Whatever! I don't matter to you anyway!! We'll just go in two weeks!!"
"So would you prefer in two weeks, one, or this weekend?"
"It doesn't matter what I think!! It NEVER matters what I think! We'll go in two weeks!!"
"But this weekend would be best for you?"
Step 10 -
"Like the doctor said!! I TOLD you that already!!"
"I didn't know anything about the problem until you told me later."
"You should have known! I had to know it because I delivered our son four years ago!! But maybe you don't know because men don't care about that stuff!!"
"Now I know."
Step 11 and 12 - I don't remember all the other stuff she screamed about. I just sat there next to her until she got up to walk to the couch and take a nap, while I stayed awake and did the things a husband and father does, as I always do.
This is one of the first times in a solid year that I attempted to solidly push back against my wife's drama and demands, because me losing this fight might be signing our child's death warrant. And I think my wife, selfish, domineering, lazy, power-tripping, control freak bully that she often is, was just surprised that I decided to grow a spine and ask her to do something important, like exploring all options before our child is killed.
I can't stop thinking of the ridiculous point she made during the fight: she asked me how I only cared about the baby, and not about her health. I want to know why she doesn't seem concerned at all about our child.
She did offer one final nugget of information, though, while she was trying to convince me about the dangers of having our child: she told me that it's dangerous for a woman over 35 to have a child, and she's almost there. I'll take that as tacit permission to get a vasectomy in the next few months. I'm not even going to tell her. I don't want to have another child with her; I want to spend as little time as possible with this woman. Marriage devoured my girlfriend and vomited up the monster that now lives in my house.
There isn't a single part of me that wants to see this baby die, even if it means getting my life back three or four years sooner. But if we have no choice, then I'm getting snipped. It probably isn't even necessary, because I have no interest whatsoever in sleeping with my wife for the duration of our marriage. I don't find her borderline obese body attractive anymore, and more importantly, I can't count the number of times I've thought her name in my mind and called her "mom."
- She blows little things out out of proportion, then flips out.
- Her family does something stupid, then she takes it out on me.
- She's just mad for no reason.
On a few rare occasions, she actually has a point, and I'm the one who caused trouble. It never keeps her from pressing her advantage and treating me like garbage, of course (i.e. the fight where my son fell down in my Fights post). But I'm not the one who deserves the bulk of the blame when most of these fights start, because it's my wife who always escalates.
Recently, I've come to understand another of my wife's methods of starting, then winning, fights that shouldn't have even occurred in the first place, much less have her bashing me for inane reasons. These are her basic tactics:
Step 1 - I do something completely innocuous that upsets her.
Step 2 - She goes silent, or explodes.
Step 3 - I ask her what's wrong.
Step 4 - She provides the very barest of explanations.
Step 5 - Using the very little information she's provided me, I rebut what she's said.
Step 6 - She dumps a truckload of unknowable information that she was keeping to herself the entire time, then uses that as a club to berate me for how stubborn, selfish, uncaring and stupid I am.
Step 7 - I apologize, or try to find a compromise.
Step 8 - She goes into martyr mode, and yells at me to do whatever I want.
Step 9 - I insist that I'll do what she wants.
Step 10 - We repeat Steps 8 and 9 until she's had enough.
Step 11 - She goes silent and seethes.
Step 12 - I play with my son, and she takes a nap.
This actually happened a few nights ago, but I didn't mention it because the tiff started and ended in just thirty seconds:
Step 1 - Our son jumped on her in the bedroom, then she stormed out to sit on the chair in the living room and seethe.
Step 2 - She went silent.
Step 3 - I asked her what was wrong.
Step 4 - She told me, "Our son jumped on me."
Step 5 - I said it was ok; he jumps on me all the time.
Step 6 - She got mad, thrust her hand at her belly, and snarled, "HERE!"
Step 7 - I apologized.
We skipped Steps 8 - 10.
Step 11 - She seethed.
Step 12 - I told my son not to do that, then played with him. She went to sleep later.
She usually sleeps on her side, and I assumed she would have added that extra word to be more clear ("Our son jumped on my belly"), but she didn't. She just wanted to start a fight. So that brings us to today.
Step 1 - My wife told me that the doctor couldn't find our baby on the sonogram, even after a month and a half had gone by. She told me that she needed me to sign a piece of paper that said if the doctor couldn't find it this Saturday, that they had to assume it was in the "wrong room," and they had to "take it out." I told her that I didn't want to sign any papers that said our baby would die until we were absolutely sure that there was nothing we could do. I asked her if she could just give the baby another two weeks to show up on the sonogram, and if there was still nothing, I would sign the paper.
Step 2 - She started to get upset, and said that the doctor said that there was a 50% chance that mothers come down with this, and we couldn't do anything about it. I knew that statistic was complete crap; I've never heard of an epidemic so widespread as that among pregnant women.
Her first doctor, when she was pregnant with our son, told her about the same condition. But because I'm smarter than my wife is, I know he was just telling her about a magical problem that could fix her surprise pregnancy through a no-choice abortion, and by the time a few months had gone by and she realized that the baby was truly coming, she would have come to terms with delivering our son. It was just a way of soothing her mind with an outside chance of going back to her old life, until she got used to the idea of being a mother.
Step 3 - I asked her what the condition was.
Step 4 - She looked up the local word on the internet and showed me: ectopic pregnancy, a term I've never even heard of before. Without even looking at the definition, I knew it would be something that affected less than 5% of women worldwide. And when I read it, I saw that it was actually only 1%.
Step 5 - I told her what the site said, that it was very unlikely that this was her case. She said she knew that, than I asked her why she said it was 50%. She tried to dodge the question until I repeated it, then she transparently lied that her English wasn't so good, so she misspoke.
At this point, I only had a few pieces of information to go on:
- Her family may or may not have been pressuring her to have an abortion.
- She talked about abortion just a few nights before, and was evasive when I asked her if she wanted to kill our child.
- She was here, again, talking about abortion because of a problem that affects only 1% of women, one that she claimed she had.
Piecing it all together, I got a pretty crystal clear picture that she had either fallen under her family's influence, or decided herself, to abort the baby. I asked again if we could just wait two weeks to give the baby a chance, and said that that would be the best for it.
She went silent.
I asked again.
She stayed silent.
I had had enough of this stupidity, so I said, "Hello?"
"Yeah, fine, we'll do that," she replied snottily.
I went out to smoke, then came back in to talk with her. She was sitting in the same chair she always sits in when she's mad, reading something. I guess I should start calling it the Angry Chair. I asked her what day of the week she would be ok to check.
Step 6 - She flipped the ever-loving hell out, and started shouting at me.
"You really made me angry!"
"Why are you angry?"
"Don't you know that I could bleed because of this?! If we have to take the baby out at three months, I might get really hurt! I'm retaining water and can hardly breathe now, but you don't care about me at all, do you?!"
I wish I had thought of the following things at the time:
First of all, waiting two weeks would put the date at two months, not three. That's just a lie.
Second, she says I don't care, when I've asked every night that I've known she's pregnant about how "Peanut" and her are doing.
This means one of two things: either she's lying about me not caring for her in an effort to slander me and win a fight, because she knew that I always check up on her... or it confirms suspicions that I've had about her for some time now: namely, she ignores me because I barely register on her radar. I'm nothing more to her than a sack of meat that she feeds once a day, who gives her over $1000 every month, and who cleans up the house while she sits and lies around.
I'm suspecting the latter, because I've had to explain myself to her about many, many things, over and over, just so she could ignore me every time. For example:
- Why I couldn't fix my glasses.
- Why it's ok to take our son out.
- What she should do if she's depressed.
- What she should do about her mother and sister.
And much more.
Third, she's probably having health problems because she's very overweight: pushing 200 pounds. It's just another thing I've shown her how to fix, just to have her ignore me every time.
Back to the fight:
"I had to go to the hospital alone when I was pregnant before!! You weren't even there for me, and I had to learn about all the ways our son could have died, or how I could have died!! You think I want to kill the baby?!"
"..." (Actually, based on the evidence, I did).
"But whatever!! You think you're smarter than the doctor, fine!! We'll do it your way!!"
Step 7 - "Ok, we can go this Saturday. Hopefully, the baby will be ok."
Step 8 - "NO! We'll do it your way! We ALWAYS do it your way!!"
Step 9 -
"Is this Saturday ok? What time is..."
"I don't care, do whatever you want!! I'll do exactly as you ask!!"
"I can cancel my tutor classes that..."
"Whatever! I don't matter to you anyway!! We'll just go in two weeks!!"
"So would you prefer in two weeks, one, or this weekend?"
"It doesn't matter what I think!! It NEVER matters what I think! We'll go in two weeks!!"
"But this weekend would be best for you?"
Step 10 -
"Like the doctor said!! I TOLD you that already!!"
"I didn't know anything about the problem until you told me later."
"You should have known! I had to know it because I delivered our son four years ago!! But maybe you don't know because men don't care about that stuff!!"
"Now I know."
Step 11 and 12 - I don't remember all the other stuff she screamed about. I just sat there next to her until she got up to walk to the couch and take a nap, while I stayed awake and did the things a husband and father does, as I always do.
This is one of the first times in a solid year that I attempted to solidly push back against my wife's drama and demands, because me losing this fight might be signing our child's death warrant. And I think my wife, selfish, domineering, lazy, power-tripping, control freak bully that she often is, was just surprised that I decided to grow a spine and ask her to do something important, like exploring all options before our child is killed.
I can't stop thinking of the ridiculous point she made during the fight: she asked me how I only cared about the baby, and not about her health. I want to know why she doesn't seem concerned at all about our child.
She did offer one final nugget of information, though, while she was trying to convince me about the dangers of having our child: she told me that it's dangerous for a woman over 35 to have a child, and she's almost there. I'll take that as tacit permission to get a vasectomy in the next few months. I'm not even going to tell her. I don't want to have another child with her; I want to spend as little time as possible with this woman. Marriage devoured my girlfriend and vomited up the monster that now lives in my house.
There isn't a single part of me that wants to see this baby die, even if it means getting my life back three or four years sooner. But if we have no choice, then I'm getting snipped. It probably isn't even necessary, because I have no interest whatsoever in sleeping with my wife for the duration of our marriage. I don't find her borderline obese body attractive anymore, and more importantly, I can't count the number of times I've thought her name in my mind and called her "mom."
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