domestic bliss

"i hope you rot in hell for what you've done to me."

confused? okay, let me backtrack a little.

i got out of bed this morning, as i always do, at 7.25. i tumbled out of bed, stumbled to the kitchen, and poured myself a cup of ambit...oh, wait. no, that's dolly parton. although, i did get out of bed, go to the kitchen, and start making my coffee. i was in the middle of making my lunch when t poked his head out from under the pillow on the futon--you know, he sleeps in the living room now that we're "roomies."

"sorry," i said. "good morning."
"couldn't you do any of that after you shower?"

for some reason, this request set me off like he'd said "good morning yourself, you fucking faggot!" i'd just gotten out of bed, and i don't remember the three phrases that followed. what i do remember is that the conversation ended with me flipping t off and him responding, "well, i guess it's started." what's started? i don't even want to think about it.

after seething while eating my honey nut cheerios, i opened the door and went into the main room. "i want to take a time out," i said. "i want to talk this out before we go to work." "good luck with that," terry replied. okay, i thought, it's going to be like this. "i'm sorry that i blew up. our relationship is already tenuous, and even thought i'm not being attacked, sometimes i feel like i'm being attacked; and i come out swinging." "let's just see how you like it when i wake you up at 6am next time i go running."

i couldn't decide which part of this was worse--the fact that t was being so unresponsive when i was trying, at least, to be a grownup, or the way t looked. when he tries to be a bitch, or mean, it just doesn't fit his face. he's a kind man, and seeing his face twisted into hatred just makes him look like he's wearing a mask.

he went into the bathroom, leaving me with this look. i followed him into the bathroom, grabbed him by the shoulders, and shook him. if he'd been a baby he would've suffered brain damage and i'd be in jail right now. "i hope you rot in hell for what you've done to me," i told him. he flipped me off, obviously referring to my own motion earlier, and i slammed the door, breaking the doorjamb.

how on earth is it that "i hope you rot in hell for what you've done to me" escaped my lips, as i shook t? i don't think he knows what i meant; i didn't just mean for dumping me. what i feel like he's done--however erroneously--is make me go crazy. granted, i was already well on the way; i just didn't need this last twig to snap. i've never come so close to hitting someone in my life, and that scares the shit out of me.

i hope that by tonight--if not by dinnertime, then by the time church choir is over--we can talk this thing out like adults. no threats, no screaming, just two roommates/ex-boyfriends/best friends figuring out how they're going to make their lives together work.