Text Fight

Technology. I tell you it is ruining American's lives and saving ugly lamps. In the past, you had to fight face to face, or at least over the telephone. Nowadays you can just send a text message and throw your phone in your purse. Instant last word. Because if you refuse to continue the conversation by reading the response, you have, essentially, gotten the last word.

However, you will see irrate women all over dig viciously in their purses after hearing a tiny beep. They claw at their key boards or tap in a heated staccato on the touch screen. They drop open their handbags and shove that fucker to the bottom in hopes that will keep the next beep from surfacing. The wild look in their eyes confuses clerks at gas stations, tellers at the bank and co-workers. You think they would get it. I'm sure they text fight too.

After ditching Work Guy the night before, my failed attempt at socializing in a small group still giving me heart burn, I received no text until late afternoon. "How's your day?" Grrr...

I was still trying to analyze why I was so upset. Was I being ridiculous? I felt like I had some pretty valid points so I responded "Good, how's your day?"

"Fine. Played basketball. I missed you last night, and more this morning. I'm sorry if I annoyed you. Did you (or do you) just need a little space?" It went on from there.

That opening was like saying "Go ahead and tell me what bothered you." So I did. He rebuffed, apologized, wanted to know what the bigger deal was. It went back and forth for hours while I cleaned offices. I slammed that poor phone in my purse so many times.. It's a good thing I pay extra for insurance.

I told him I couldn't go to California with him for Easter. I knew he wouldn't be happy but my mom was bitching about purging the house of anything that reminded her of my father, and guess who gets to be in charge of that? Rather than spend an excruiatingly long short weekend repeating the Couple's night, only times ten and with his family, I should just stay home and take care of my own stuff. Plus, I had been stressing about getting home in time to clean that Sunday.

He revolted. Told me how sad he was that I didn't want to go. Did I say I didn't want to go? No! I said I couldn't go, I had other responsibilities to take care of and the whole cleaning thing! It was a solid excuse. He offered to help with my other responsibilities, help me clean or pay my mom's friend to clean for me...

Finally, my hysteria leaked through the written word and he said we should talk about it over the phone later. Did that mean I was winning? I let him have the last word, because somehow, I knew my silence was stronger.

When I got home from cleaning I read for a little while, wanting to calm my nerves. I really didn't want to have a talk with anyone about how bad I am in social situations. We made small talk before getting to the fight.

Why do people feel like they have to go over verbally what they already texted? I hate repition. But there he went, saying how sorry he was for grabbing my boobs when I've told him I don't like it, regardless if he's joking or not. He apologized, I told him that was nice. I'm sure he would apologize the next time he did it because that seemed to be the pattern. Grab boobs, don't do that, I'm sorry. Wash, rinse, repeat.

It just made me start getting mad again. So I took the stance I had with the social security conversation the night before. If you tell people who think they are right that they are in fact right they will shut the fuck up.

"It will be ok. I will get over it. I will go to California with you, meet all your family and have a good time." Insert smile. That was what he said he wanted, so that was what he would get.

"But you said you're going to be anxious, I don't want you to be anxious. I want you to have fun and be yourself. They're going to love you, I want them to get to know you so they see why I love you so much." Very sweet.

"Well, being myself means that I will be anxious. But I will go to California, meet your family and have fun." Insert a much, much more forced smile. He can't see me but one of my jobs had a training titled Smile! Customers can hear it! and I have always lived by that motto.

"I want you to tell me if you're anxious.."

"Oh, don't worry. I won't tell you if I'm anxious. I'll have fun, we'll have fun." I'm smiling really hard now. Annunciating clearly so he'll finally get it.

"But I want you to tell me if you're anxious. I want to help you." Good God. Please shoot me now. You don't want me to be anxious, but you want me to be myself? This will get us nowhere. I told you what you wanted to hear! I smiled like a pageant queen so you could hear it.

"No, I will not tell you. If this is what it feels like to be open then I would rather not tell you things are bothering me. You're making me feel like a nutcase, " granted I'm pretty sure I am a nutcase but I don't believe people should drive the point home, "and I told you we will go and have fun." The smile is causing my eyes to water.

I remember being 16, super depressed, in Iowa. My sister and I were surrounded by family members. My grandmother's evil eyes laughing as she made backhanded compliments. I would run to the safety of my room and hide, nervous tears screwing up my mascara. I couldn't explain it, or handle it. Instead of talking to me like I was a nutcase, my sister went to the drugstore and got me some over the counter stress reliever. Placebo effect, I'm sure, but what helped more than the drug was that my sister loved me for who I was. Imperfection wasn't going to make her think I was less strong.

This memory made me start crying. I miss my sister. I miss my mother, even though she lives disconcertingly close, but she isn't the same. I don't think she cares anymore. I think I am her sister-in-law rather than her daughter. I miss my father, who I will never see again and never give me the excuse to blame him for stressing me out. But most of all I miss my sister.

I cried quietly, while he talked about openess, blah, blah, helping me through the anxiety with a code word, commit me now, taking walks so I could calm down, wow he really does think I'm a psycho, blah, blah blah.

I just need him not to point out that I need the time to breathe. I just need him not to tease me when I get tongue tied or overwhelmed. I just need him to drop me off at my sisters house and leave me there until he is done with his family get together. Is that so much to ask?

I nodded and agreed. Not to any code word. Not to anything in particular. I just wanted to tell him he was right so he would shut the fuck up and I could ask my friends if they have any Xanax for my upcoming long holiday weekend with my honey.

Yes, That was sarcastic. And Yes. I realize I am a nutcase who would be better off never dating and raising many furry cats.