My wife is convinced that I hate people. After much deliberation, I have come to the conclusion that she is wrong; I do not hate people. What is left to me, realizing this important fact, is the question of why my wife would believe such silly things. The answer is simple: she wants to. Essentially, it makes her bullshit easier for her to swallow.
It has most recently been my contention, which I've up to recently kept to myself, that my wife wants the best of both worlds. She wants a husband and a safe place to call home while also having any social outlet she damn well pleases. She wants a social circuit that includes co-workers, casual friends, and semi-intimate people that she can share her dependency on drugs, booze, and cigarettes with in an environment like a bar where there's a guarantee that I'll never crash. She wants, really, her own version of a cone of silence that is kinky enough to satisfy her illicit desires without enabling her to go too far. That's probably why she'll (hopefully) never participate in these shared addictions at someone's apartment, or home, or studio, or what-the-fuck-ever. It is a version of her own ideal social outlet where the friendships will remain so shallow by design that a toddler could wade in it.
I've tortured myself into trying to understand why she wants these trivial friendships, especially since she contends that she wants deeper friendships. Her actions speak otherwise. For example, the other week, Shannon was in bed with me ranting about how much she hated people and the worthless conversations she has with them. Surprised, I once again fell into a belief that maybe she was coming around about the futility of barfly friendships. Instead, a few days later, she's verbally undressing me for being such a square in regards to friendships, pointing out my total lack of friends in my current life. This came on the heels of my discovering that she'd secretly met up with my only friend under the sun at, you guessed it, a bar. She'd told me that she was going to throw back a few beers with a female friend of sorts named Vanessa. Instead, she met with my friend, Zach. We fought. She was totally in the wrong, but she felt it important to make me feel equally, if not more, like shit. Her only defense, it seems, in arguments like these is a cruel offense. Eventually she'll admit she'd fucked up, but at that point I'm left questioning my own lifestyle, often to the point of self-loathing. And, brother, I hate hating myself...
Back to the point. Shannon wants this distracting lifestyle for some reason I can't comprehend. I'm unfortunate in my social setting. I've had terrible luck befriending people. The opportunities that I've had lately have been blundered, but most recently it is because of my wife. With Zach, I'd hoped to connect with a nerd just like myself. Videogame talks, card games, movie showings, comic book rants... shit like that. My wife, however, had to be involved, too. I didn't care. Why should I? She wanted friends, too. Naturally, she went too far. On several occasions. No joke. This clandestine rendezvous at the bar last Sunday was the latest example. I blame Zach for not contacting me to confirm I was cool with him meeting my fucking wife at a goddamn bar, but I mostly blame my wife for, duh, setting the whole thing up. A lesser man would've beaten the shit out of her.
Anyway, I admit my social graces suck. People frown at me because I don't drink, or smoke, or do drugs, or fuck indiscriminately, or go four-wheeling, or have a diversified investing portfolio, or snow ski, or attend orgies, or what-the-fuck-ever... I've had trouble being simply good enough to befriend, and that translates in me simply not giving a fuck most times. However, I still try. It was me who worked to get Zach into my life. I've even began attending an artist's group that meets at a comic shop on Mondays. Why? To make friends. I'm even considering a hockey league, or even basketball... Anything! Why again? Friends.
If I were truly the way my wife perceives me, none of this shit would be important to me. I would truly be a lonely king in a castle in the sky. My life has been so turbulent this past year that all I've really been trying to do is square myself up; figure out who I am and what I need. My life certainly isn't what I wanted it to be, but I'm no less happy than I hoped to be. How is that possible? Shannon. She's made me so happy. Despite all she's put me through, I'm so happy to be where I am because she's there, too. I want her to have friends. I want her to have this cone of silence that she wants so badly. I just don't want her to treat it like it's something exclusive of me; something I would ruin. I have included Shannon in everything I do, including Zach. I've even made efforts to get her interested in the art gathering. She's declined. Is it because there are no drugs, or booze, or cancer sticks? Or, is it because I'm there? That's the scary part of all of this. Am I that much of a Captain Bring Down?
If that is the case, then what hope is there in my friendship with Shannon? If I let her have her duplicity in life, her two worlds, at what point will the other outweigh the one I occupy? At what point will she favor the other to mine? At what point will she decide against mine? Or, has she already? Her blatant lie will be difficult to forget. I'm often wondering if she's lied to me about anything else. Such is the venom of lies; it lingers and festers and leaves you numb and scared.
Yet, I will not quit. I adore Shannon. I know Shannon. I know what is in her heart... most of the time. I don't believe she does these things out of malice. I do believe she loves me. These things get me through. These things keep me from completely shutting down. These things make me love her. I falter just like any other man does, but that's the burden of the soul. In my weaker moments, I hope that I remember to give Shannon this simple benefit of the doubt.
It has most recently been my contention, which I've up to recently kept to myself, that my wife wants the best of both worlds. She wants a husband and a safe place to call home while also having any social outlet she damn well pleases. She wants a social circuit that includes co-workers, casual friends, and semi-intimate people that she can share her dependency on drugs, booze, and cigarettes with in an environment like a bar where there's a guarantee that I'll never crash. She wants, really, her own version of a cone of silence that is kinky enough to satisfy her illicit desires without enabling her to go too far. That's probably why she'll (hopefully) never participate in these shared addictions at someone's apartment, or home, or studio, or what-the-fuck-ever. It is a version of her own ideal social outlet where the friendships will remain so shallow by design that a toddler could wade in it.
I've tortured myself into trying to understand why she wants these trivial friendships, especially since she contends that she wants deeper friendships. Her actions speak otherwise. For example, the other week, Shannon was in bed with me ranting about how much she hated people and the worthless conversations she has with them. Surprised, I once again fell into a belief that maybe she was coming around about the futility of barfly friendships. Instead, a few days later, she's verbally undressing me for being such a square in regards to friendships, pointing out my total lack of friends in my current life. This came on the heels of my discovering that she'd secretly met up with my only friend under the sun at, you guessed it, a bar. She'd told me that she was going to throw back a few beers with a female friend of sorts named Vanessa. Instead, she met with my friend, Zach. We fought. She was totally in the wrong, but she felt it important to make me feel equally, if not more, like shit. Her only defense, it seems, in arguments like these is a cruel offense. Eventually she'll admit she'd fucked up, but at that point I'm left questioning my own lifestyle, often to the point of self-loathing. And, brother, I hate hating myself...
Back to the point. Shannon wants this distracting lifestyle for some reason I can't comprehend. I'm unfortunate in my social setting. I've had terrible luck befriending people. The opportunities that I've had lately have been blundered, but most recently it is because of my wife. With Zach, I'd hoped to connect with a nerd just like myself. Videogame talks, card games, movie showings, comic book rants... shit like that. My wife, however, had to be involved, too. I didn't care. Why should I? She wanted friends, too. Naturally, she went too far. On several occasions. No joke. This clandestine rendezvous at the bar last Sunday was the latest example. I blame Zach for not contacting me to confirm I was cool with him meeting my fucking wife at a goddamn bar, but I mostly blame my wife for, duh, setting the whole thing up. A lesser man would've beaten the shit out of her.
Anyway, I admit my social graces suck. People frown at me because I don't drink, or smoke, or do drugs, or fuck indiscriminately, or go four-wheeling, or have a diversified investing portfolio, or snow ski, or attend orgies, or what-the-fuck-ever... I've had trouble being simply good enough to befriend, and that translates in me simply not giving a fuck most times. However, I still try. It was me who worked to get Zach into my life. I've even began attending an artist's group that meets at a comic shop on Mondays. Why? To make friends. I'm even considering a hockey league, or even basketball... Anything! Why again? Friends.
If I were truly the way my wife perceives me, none of this shit would be important to me. I would truly be a lonely king in a castle in the sky. My life has been so turbulent this past year that all I've really been trying to do is square myself up; figure out who I am and what I need. My life certainly isn't what I wanted it to be, but I'm no less happy than I hoped to be. How is that possible? Shannon. She's made me so happy. Despite all she's put me through, I'm so happy to be where I am because she's there, too. I want her to have friends. I want her to have this cone of silence that she wants so badly. I just don't want her to treat it like it's something exclusive of me; something I would ruin. I have included Shannon in everything I do, including Zach. I've even made efforts to get her interested in the art gathering. She's declined. Is it because there are no drugs, or booze, or cancer sticks? Or, is it because I'm there? That's the scary part of all of this. Am I that much of a Captain Bring Down?
If that is the case, then what hope is there in my friendship with Shannon? If I let her have her duplicity in life, her two worlds, at what point will the other outweigh the one I occupy? At what point will she favor the other to mine? At what point will she decide against mine? Or, has she already? Her blatant lie will be difficult to forget. I'm often wondering if she's lied to me about anything else. Such is the venom of lies; it lingers and festers and leaves you numb and scared.
Yet, I will not quit. I adore Shannon. I know Shannon. I know what is in her heart... most of the time. I don't believe she does these things out of malice. I do believe she loves me. These things get me through. These things keep me from completely shutting down. These things make me love her. I falter just like any other man does, but that's the burden of the soul. In my weaker moments, I hope that I remember to give Shannon this simple benefit of the doubt.