Tag Archives: relationships
Living with a Chronic Disease, can at times, feel isolating and an ongoing test of endurance. You never know what great mountain awaits you when you first open your eyes every morning. That’s providing…
I think I’m doing marriage wrong.
When people are in love, they frequently call each other by cutesy pet names: babe, baby, sweetheart, darling, or my husband’s least favorite: bae.
I kind of want a pet name, but we’re incapable of using them right. Look at this fight we had (seriously – we were actually mad, and this happened):
Andy: *says something stupid that I don’t remember now*
Me: Sweetie, you’re not understanding what I’m saying.
Andy: Don’t call me sweetie.
Me: Why not?
Andy: I know whenever you say “sweetie,” what you really mean is “fuckface.”
HAHAHAHAHAHAHA! And then I started cracking up, shocked, because my husband drops f bombs about as often as our country drops atomic ones. Also, what the junk is “fuckface”? Not, like, “asshole” or “shithead” or some other normal profane insult? I’d never heard that one before.
Also, he was spot on. It wasn’t a conscious decision, but he was right: I only use pet names when I’m mad. He does too. That’s, umm…not how they’re supposed to work. So then we were laughing so hard that we forgot what we were fighting about.
Last night I said that I wanted a nice pet name so that we could, you know, pretend like we’re normal. He looked at me and said, “Well, you’ve got a great body. How about Boobs MaGoo?” Oh my word. Not exactly what I was going for. Can you imagine it? We’re out with a bunch of friends and he calls across the room, “Boobs MaGoo, you ready to go?” Not happening.
I don’t think pet names work for me. I’ve tried a few on like clothes that don’t fit right. “Babe” and “baby” annoy me, like, “I AM NOT A BABY! I AM AN EMPOWERED, INDEPENDENT WOMAN!” But that’s just me being overly-feministy. Excuse me while I go clean up the ashes from my bra bonfire.
I also don’t like getting called food names, because “honey” and “muffin” and “cupcake” straight up make me hungry. Like, “Mmm…cupcakes…” And if I want to have a Boobs MaGoo kind of body, I can’t stock up on cupcakes.
“Darling” makes us sound vaguely British. “Boo” is so very R&B. “Doll” makes me think of the movie Chuckie.
WHY CAN’T I HAVE A PET NAME? Someone please comment with a good pet name I can steal.
This is just great. We’re going to be “Boobs MaGoo and Fuckface: Best Friends Forever.”
I’ve stalled out in a mixed-state depression. It’s nothing new, not even very noteworthy, but I’m always surprised by how it changes everything. My perception becomes bleak and twisted, my body slow and creaky. I miscommunicate and send mixed messages, because every part of my brain is mixed. I’m confused and confusing.
Depression with rage is so uncomfortable, and so isolating. I hate everyone. Or am scared of them. Ancient resentments and regrets rise up like specters out of unholy ground. This is the part of my bipolarly existence that sees a life as a hermit as the only option.
I have a couple of mantras during these times:
Keep Your Mouth Shut
It Will Shift Soon
And making art.
Lots of art.