Rated: 13+ · Short Story · Biographical · #950332
Converstion with myself
It was 5:30 in the morning. I, still clad in my favorite, cozy black-watch plaid nightgown was curled up in a chair in the dining room, drinking a cup of coffee. I was miserably unhappy. I'd been fighting with my husband for the past few days over God knew what and it had erupted again a little while ago because I had wanted some of the blankets. Rather than have WW III break out, I quietly opted to get up. I grabbed my cigarettes and headed for the bathroom.
My husband, meanwhile, still muttering and bitching about how he hadn't even had all the blankets...(he hadn't, I hadn't said that he'd had; they'd been at the foot of the bed)...decided that he'd move to the couch.
I stood in front of the bathroom mirror, smoking a cigarette, thinking that I'd left so that we wouldn't fight any more and that now he was sulking on the couch (after thoroughly trashing the bed) and I'd come out here to be alone and think.
Looking around for my brush, I found it on the floor under a dirty tee shirt. I began to brush the night's tangles from my hair. I hate my hair, I thought looking at it in the mirror. I really should get it cut the way I want, rather than letting it grow 'cause he likes it long. Why do I do these things?
Because you love him ,that's why, said my inner voice.
Do I? I don't feel very loving right now! Right now, I want him off the couch and out of my way. I don't even want to deal with him right now.
Calmly, reasonably, I suggested that he go back to bed in the bedroom, where he'd be warm and comfortable...(and I could be alone!). After a few more comments of the sort that purely egged on trouble, he went and I could hear him remaking the bed that he really must have trashed a few minutes earlier. That ploy didn't work, I smiled to myself!
I sat, in the dark, in the dining room, a mere shudder away from breaking down into the tears that I really didn't want to cry. It wouldn't solve anything and would only prompt more comments from the other room.
God, I wish I had a drink, I thought.
No you don't either...you don't drink. Besides, it's 6:00 in the morning!
Well, it would calm me down.
You can calm down on your own. Look, he isn't the only one allowed to get mad, or upset. You have a right to your emotions too!
Not according to him. What is it with me anyway? What is this problem I have with finding a decent, loving husband? This situation is almost as bad as the last one!
Whatever. Look. What is your best way to calm down? To write, right? Take your coffee, go into the computer room (it's warm in there!) and write! Write about this--like it's a story or something. It will help you put it into perspective. Try to be objective...or don't be objective at all. Either way, you'll calm down and get out some of your anger, hurt feelings and frustrations. You know that it always works. You certainly can't talk it out with him now! That's for sure!
I lit another cigarette. I smoked it, watching the smoke drift around, buffeted by the breeze that was coming in through the closed dining room door. I finished my second cup of coffee and listened to my husband snoring away in the bedroom.
I unfolded myself from the chair, rotating my ankle, trying to get the feeling to return, and then walked, gingerly, into the kitchen as the feeling returned and pins and needles raced up and down my leg. I poured myself another cup of coffee.
Drank a whole pot already?
I went through the motions and made another pot. Then I went to the fridge to get the milk. After pouring some in my mug and some in a bowl for the cat that was entwining himself around my legs, I put the milk away. I smiled, seeing my children's report cards prominently displayed on the refrigerator door. I took a sip of my coffee. Damn!
Forgot the sweetener, didn't you?
How do people drink coffee without it?
As I reached for and then emptied the two, pink packets into my mug, I noticed that it was getting light outside. No snow. The weather report had been insisting,--warning, all day yesterday that we'd all wake up to several inches of snow this morning. Can't even count on the weather to do what it's supposed to do.
Hey, you didn't want snow, remember?
Well, I changed my mind!
I stood there, looking out the kitchen window. The corn was down and the dirt fields stretched to a horizon that was leaden with angry, glowering clouds touched pink and purple from the rising sun. Red at morning, sailor take warning.
From you or the weather?
Cute. Maybe it will snow after all. The heavy clouds are like an unrelieved argument, waiting to burst into...shit, something. I really should get writing, I thought. People don't talk in metaphors, they write in them.
Grabbing a fresh cup of coffee (yes, another one--beating my inner voice to the punch and, yes, I even remembered the sweetener!) and my cigarettes, I headed into the computer room. It was warmer in there.
Shut up, already! I sat down at my desk and got into my writing files. Taking a deep breath, I began to write.
It was 5:30 in the morning. I, still clad in my favorite, cozy black-watch plaid nightgown was curled up in a chair in the dining room, drinking a cup of coffee. I was miserably unhappy. I'd been fighting with my husband for the past few days over God knew what and it had erupted again a little while ago because I had wanted some of the blankets.......