I've been thinking a lot about "control" the last day or so. Probably because I was IM'ing BBB and, in a moment of frustration, typed "I DON'T EVEN CONTROL MY OWN HOME."
It was, as I said, a moment of frustration, and not entirely true. Allow me to explain.
Last week's much anticipated vacation was great except for the realization that I'm going to have to pour a lot of money into my car's Air Conditioning Unit. Enter Kalesy's money issues.
So, while the time off was great, it wasn't quite as restful as I had hoped. Add to that the knowledge that this week and next will be crazy. Napolean's in town this week and meeting after meeting after neverending meeting are going on - many of which are forcing me to recall that scene in Dangerous Liasons where Glenn Close talks about stabbing her fork into the palm of her hand under the table all while "smiling pleasantly at everyone around me." Insult to injury, I'm travelling next week and we all know how well I do out of my comfort zone.
The other night, I found out Mr. Zips would be staying until Friday a.m. And instead of dealing with that information like an adult and asking if perhaps it would be OK to shorten the trip by just one night, I swallowed my discomfort and smiled pleasantly.
It's not that I don't want Mr. Zips around. It's just that I felt like I hadn't been asked - I'd been told - what my living situation was this week. And since I become a total fanatic when I'm trying to leave the apartment for an extended period of time, this info really threw me.
I stewed and stewed and grumbled and IM'd in capital letters. Then, last night, on the way home, I decided I had to say something about it and worried the whole way home about the fighting and tears that would go down.
So, I asked him if he could crash at a friend's on Thursday. No problem, he said. In fact, it's probably better if he just goes home.
Boy, don't I feel like an ass.
I'm not suggesting that everything is all better. I still have a lot of my control issues to work out. As, I'm sure, does he. After all, he's trying his best to control situations so that I don't fly off the handle like a raving lunatic and throw Tofu Curry around the kitchen. (Yes, it's been known to happen, much to my eternal regret.) But he can't really control that - nor should he have to. I guess it comes down to me controlling my responses to situations and not trying to control him. Or us. Or whatever.