I turned my pain into art. When the last straw occurred, we were part way up the trail to our retreat. After that I marched on, hitting the trail with my stick in my anger. An hour and a half later, I was at the utility tailer where our instruments are. My guitar has been my therapy for a long time. It was again. When I thought of a funny line for a blues, I laughed. By the time he arrived, I no longer had the urge to give him a piece of my mind.
You talk talk talkin’, talkin’ all the time.
I can’t fit a word in so I just stop tryin’.
I try to say something, and you shoot my words away.
Alright, go ahead, just talk to yourself all day!
You say, “what do you think baby?” and now your gonna yell.
Is it really my turn, well how am I supposed to tell?
I talk or just keep quiet, either way I lose.
I’m so tired of your monologue, you hog the conversation blues!
You withhold information about how long you’re gonna take. (the second to last straw)
And then you claim you told me when I mention that I had to wait. (the last straw)
You ask for my comment; to begin, I repeat what I just heard.
You’re impatient, yell, and don’t want to hear another word. (my worst experience of the last few days)
To be fair the last few days have been difficult for us both. Perhaps he took the brunt of it and shielded me from the onslaught from without. I’m crying because he passed some of his pain on to me. The county is being difficult to us about a vacant piece of land we own. They won’t help us move forward; they just fine us for visiting, calling it illegal storage when there’s nothing there! It’s really difficult.