Tuesday, January 18, 2011

control...

Again, apologies to my faithful Lola fans for not having written for so long. As many of you know, my DH just recently returned from a year-long tour in Korea. I didn't talk about it much because...well, for several reasons. For one thing, although there were some pretty rough moments for me, I knew I was going to make it through just fine. I felt strong and I had lots of support. I also felt it was inappropriate for me to complain, having married the man knowing that would be a possibility. Plus I felt strongly that it put me in a vulnerable position, emotionally and physically. We are told constantly that we shouldn't advertise online when we're going to be away from home or alone at home or whatever, so I thought it wise to just keep that to myself. My point is that I'm sure you can all understand that I've been a little caught up, what with DH coming home, the holidays, and then getting re-settled back in at work after lots of time off.

Of course, I'm THRILLED to have my honey home safely with me again. Being lonely sucks, and being worried and lonely REALLY sucks. But of course, the readjustment from living alone to once again living with someone has been a little bumpy. For example: We have a "no kittehs in the bedroom" rule after...well, let's just call it an incident and leave it at that. Yet, for some reason, closing the bedroom door is a challenge for the other person who lives in this house. Then last night, crossing the living room in the dark, I walked SMACK INTO my CLOSED bathroom door! I yelled 3 things: 1) OUCH! 2)FUCK!! 3) WHYYYYYY????? So to sum up: BEDroom door=hard to close; BATHroom door=closed inappropriately.

Please, I absolutely understand that I'm no picnic to live with. I get cranky when I haven't eaten and I take things personally that really have NOTHING to do with me. Which brings me to my main point...

Hi, my name is Lola and I'm a control freak. (This is where you all say, "Hi, Lola" in a really unexcited way but loudly enough to make me feel welcome. Thanks.) I try to leave it at work, I really do--I'm just not good at it. I absolutely would rather work myself into the ground by doing almost everything myself, because I'm supremely confident that if I ask for help (aside from feeling like a FAIL for having to do so), you'll just fuck it up and I'll have to re-do it anyway, thus wasting the same amount of time you were supposed to have saved me. (I say "you" in a very general, hypothetical way. Just go with it.) Or, in some feeble attempt to head that off at the pass, I'll spend an inordinate amount of time patronizing you by trying to show you each detail of how I like things to be done. And I try REALLY hard to be nice about it, and I go out of my way to make sure you know IT'S NOT YOU, IT'S ME. So by the time I have "taught" you to do it "right," I could EASILY have done it myself. (Please, do NOT attempt to point out that I would only have to teach you once but could reap the benefits of you doing it from then on. I just don't see it that way. I take it as one more thing that's been chipped away from my responsibility, thereby rendering me ever-so-less useful. This is another mark of the control freak.)

So at home, I try to remind myself that it's OK if things don't get done exactly as I would do them, as long as they are done. Like, it doesn't matter what road you take, as long as you get home, right? But I can't help myself...I hear myself saying, "Why are you going THAT way?" or "WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!?!" or "Um, honey? Wouldn't it be better if you did this?" Trust me, I get it. As soon as the words start forming, I'm trying to stop them. Again, I'm just not good at it. Ya'll know the roadblock between my mouth and my brain only works about 20% of the time!

I think what I'm trying to say is, let me handle it. I think I've proven that I can and I will. Don't expect me to ask for help, I just won't do it. And if you offer me help and I turn it down, it has everything to do with how that makes me feel and not how I feel about you.

I love you all,
Lola