Love that man…
I’m not going to say that I don’t bitch, because I do. I think everyone needs a way to vent out the frustrations of whatever is pissing them off throughout the day, but if you’re bitching about the same thing on the daily and not doing anything about it, then shut the fuck up because no one wants to hear it.
So with that said, I’m going to commence to bitching, and while I do so, I’m also going to continue to focus on my goals and get shit done. Because no matter how hard shit gets, I still put on my big girl panties and do whatever it takes to get the job done. Doesn’t mean I have to be happy with every aspect of the equation.
Relationships are fucking hard and a serious pain in the ass to maintain. I do believe my man is worth it, if for no other reason than I can’t imagine who else would put up with all the shit I lay on the table year after year and still maintain a home for me to come back to when it’s time to rest up from my travels.
Still, shit sucks when it’s time to roll. The tension around here has been mounting, lack of sex, lack of funds, lack of food, and a wife that’s going fucking nuts because she can’t get on the road soon enough…well it makes shit hard. It would be easy to leave the house with a fuck you, I’ll see ya when I get back, but that’s no way to leave…not for me, and he doesn’t deserve it. Yesterday was another fight, while working on the easel for my hair flower display in the garage. Talking about money always brings stress, and when there’s tools and projects involved it gets more frustrating. That only thing that made me smile was the smell of the carb cleaner on my hands. I love that smell. I was using it to remove sticker residue off the poles we had to re-drill.
His argument was that I was cleaning out the bank account, and leaving him with no food or money…and he didn’t see how 3 grand (from our taxes) could disappear so quickly, at the same time almost scolding me for the decisions I made on my business when I wouldn’t be home to maintain it properly due to touring. More than anything, I hate when he tells me it’s okay to do something, then when the bank account starts to reach zero, he starts talkin’ about how we shouldn’t have bought this or that, and it’s usually that I shouldn’t have bought this or that. To me the past don’t really exist so much, and I don’t see how crying about the money you spent yesterday is going to change anything about what’s going on today…so I sat him down and showed him the budget, our bank account, and exactly where the money went.
I made sure he got everything he needed to put his bike back together, and didn’t say a goddamn word when he spent over $200 at Game Works on the Warhammer stuff. He thought I was fucking shit off instead of buying what I needed for the business out of our taxes…no…I barely got anything I needed because $3000 isn’t a whole lot of money when you’re playing catch up. Out of our taxes, the only thing I splurged on was a custom dress from Bonsoir Bella. Which is $75 I planned on paying him back for. I started crying. I don’t spend money on trivial shit, and I felt guilty about the dress, because I don’t really need it, but I don’t by shit for myself. Every fucking dime I make goes back into furthering the business, which is supposed to fund the music expenses. And we’ll get there.
I know shit’s hard, but we’re not in debt, and at least we’re breaking even.
After he saw the finances, he apologized…once he realized I wasn’t fucking shit off…I love that man so goddamn much, but I fucking hate money, and I hate when he stresses money, because then it makes me stress, and I don’t give a fuck about money. Money is nothing more than a tool. You makes some, you use some, it’s gone and when you need more, you find ways of making more.
I’ve always had what I needed without having a grand set aside in savings. And when we got together, he was 3 months behind on all of his bills but the rent…I fixed that. Everything gets paid on time, his credit kicks ass, and there’s rice and beans in the cupboard.
His need for security is something I will never understand. I know he needs it, so I do my best to maintain the illusion, but I’m fine with the clothes on my back and a dry bridge to sleep under if it came down to it again. It’s not the end of the fucking world.
I also know he’s getting agitated because I’m leaving. He hates it when I’m gone. I tried to crawl out of bed a few nights ago, because something popped into my head that wouldn’t let me sleep until I wrote it down, and he had a fucking death grip locked around my waist, in his sleep. I told him I’d be right back that I had to get a pen and paper, and he said “no”, and held me tighter. It took me 5 minutes to get out of his grip.
It’s fucking hard. I’m going to miss him too, and I’m glad we had the last 9 months to get reacquainted, because I was barely home the last 3 years before this break in tour. But the fact remains that I am still leaving and I will be back. Yes, we’ll be crying ourselves to sleep some nights, I’m sure, but for fucks sake, don’t make it harder than it has to be, and let’s not part on a sour note, because I fucking hate that shit.
So we talked a lot last night, and he seems to feel better, which leaves me feeling a bit relieved, because it means I can go back to focusing on getting ready and not on fixing something that ain’t broken.
Really, he knows who he married just as well as I know who I married…we’re an oddball couple for sure. Two people who want to stay together, no matter what…but he’s a homebody, and I want to travel the universe…he don’t wanna roll with and I don’t wanna stay. Somehow we’ve been making it work for 8 and a half years. I’m fucking grateful because he really is the best goddamn thing that ever happened to me…but it doesn’t mean shit is always easy.