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rinueI don't get angry very often. Oh, sure, I get righteously outraged, but we both know it's not the same thing. While one stems from ideology, the other is intensely personal. And although my delusions of reference dictate that I have control over things like stoplights, it is rare that I actually take things personally. Or, well, I do, regularly, but my reaction tends to be occasional weeping and a fair amount of shaking my fist at the sky. More often than not, I turn it into some kind of comedic routine.
Anger is something entirely different. I have set up dozens of mechanisms to avoid it, (one being the aforementioned comedy, another the crying, and yet another drinking Coca-Cola Classic,) because as much as we might joke about it, Romie angry is not something anyone ever wants to see. In its mildest form, it dictates that I suddenly change address without warning anyone; if it's minor enough, I do eventually come back - but that effectively requires that the person I've left is my spouse. Much stronger, and we start dealing with homicide.
Let me tell you: I'm fucking pissed off at the moment.
To get me to this point usually takes something subtle. Ciro will get it if I say it's about whether or not chili has beans in it; fans of Silverado will understand if I say I have to go back for the dog. It's whatever the miniscule thing is that I suddenly find very important, until it overtakes an entire situation.
It has to do, as you might imagine, with the situation at Clinton House.
Thing 1: The Long Distance Bill
As you may or may not know, I do various odd jobs around Clinton House under the name of free room and board. If anyone were to pay attention, they would realize that it is far from free -- I do everything from laundry to dishes to making dinner. I scrape the paint out of crown moulding. I refile the videos. I scrub the toilets. If anyone had a long enough memory, they would recall that I moved here as a favor to Stretch because nobody else was willing to do it.
That's right.
A favor, out of love.
I am an angel, not an employee.
Despite this, I deal with a lot of shit. It pisses me off, but I accept it because I understand that everyone's under stress -- which is the reason they need me around. I'll do the Cinderella racket and whistle a happy song because I have an appreciation for melodrama.
But.
They've suddenly decided I'm paying for the long distance calls I made last month. Arbitrarily, it does not fall under the auspices of room and board.
The total comes to $15.81.
This is one fifteenth of what either of them make an hour. On the other hand, it is more than one fifth of what I make in a week.
This is stupid and petty enough that it's had me irritated ever since I got back from Boston and found out about it.
Thing Two: Adding Insult to Injury
Three times, Uncle Rex has insulted one of my best friends for no reason. I don't care what anybody says; that's shit. Unacceptible.
Thing Three: The Camel's Back
Here is the actual thing that's making me angry:
Moments before I began writing this entry, Stretch decided she needed to check her e-mail and kicked me offline. I can understand that. However, she decided it was so important that she disconnected me instead of letting me disconnect myself. Just unhooked my telephone cable from the wall socket.
I'm fucking moving.
The Rasors, of course, will not know this until I'm already gone.
I give it two weeks, maybe three.
Anger is something entirely different. I have set up dozens of mechanisms to avoid it, (one being the aforementioned comedy, another the crying, and yet another drinking Coca-Cola Classic,) because as much as we might joke about it, Romie angry is not something anyone ever wants to see. In its mildest form, it dictates that I suddenly change address without warning anyone; if it's minor enough, I do eventually come back - but that effectively requires that the person I've left is my spouse. Much stronger, and we start dealing with homicide.
Let me tell you: I'm fucking pissed off at the moment.
To get me to this point usually takes something subtle. Ciro will get it if I say it's about whether or not chili has beans in it; fans of Silverado will understand if I say I have to go back for the dog. It's whatever the miniscule thing is that I suddenly find very important, until it overtakes an entire situation.
It has to do, as you might imagine, with the situation at Clinton House.
Thing 1: The Long Distance Bill
As you may or may not know, I do various odd jobs around Clinton House under the name of free room and board. If anyone were to pay attention, they would realize that it is far from free -- I do everything from laundry to dishes to making dinner. I scrape the paint out of crown moulding. I refile the videos. I scrub the toilets. If anyone had a long enough memory, they would recall that I moved here as a favor to Stretch because nobody else was willing to do it.
That's right.
A favor, out of love.
I am an angel, not an employee.
Despite this, I deal with a lot of shit. It pisses me off, but I accept it because I understand that everyone's under stress -- which is the reason they need me around. I'll do the Cinderella racket and whistle a happy song because I have an appreciation for melodrama.
But.
They've suddenly decided I'm paying for the long distance calls I made last month. Arbitrarily, it does not fall under the auspices of room and board.
The total comes to $15.81.
This is one fifteenth of what either of them make an hour. On the other hand, it is more than one fifth of what I make in a week.
This is stupid and petty enough that it's had me irritated ever since I got back from Boston and found out about it.
Thing Two: Adding Insult to Injury
Three times, Uncle Rex has insulted one of my best friends for no reason. I don't care what anybody says; that's shit. Unacceptible.
Thing Three: The Camel's Back
Here is the actual thing that's making me angry:
Moments before I began writing this entry, Stretch decided she needed to check her e-mail and kicked me offline. I can understand that. However, she decided it was so important that she disconnected me instead of letting me disconnect myself. Just unhooked my telephone cable from the wall socket.
I'm fucking moving.
The Rasors, of course, will not know this until I'm already gone.
I give it two weeks, maybe three.
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Date: 2002-09-04 11:09 pm (UTC)Stretch Speaks
Date: 2002-09-06 03:10 pm (UTC)I know you’re probably surprised that I care enough to read your journal, but the fact is, I do, every once in awhile—especially when you leave it open on the computer for me to run across. I’m sorry that sometimes I appear too distracted to care.
And this is not meant to piss you off even more. However.
1--I'm upset that you don't trust me enough to let me know how you feel. Your apparent superficiality amazes me. "Hi Stretch, how's it going, Stretch? Gee, I'm sure working hard cleaning your house! Oh -- you're going out? Hope you have a good time, Stretch!”
Am I so fragile or unimportant to you that you don't feel you need to let me know how I'm affecting you at any particular time?
2-- Newsflash: money is still a major issue at Clinton house. Just because I pay you $80 a week to clean my house doesn't mean we’re rolling in dough. We have only just started to make good money, Rex and I. He's almost 50, and we still have no savings whatsoever. In fact, we still have considerable debt. The house is far from being finished. We’d like to have a child of our own. We could really use a good financial planner, to tell you the truth.
I pay you to clean my house because a) I need a clean house in order to focus on other projects; and b) Because you do a good job. That part of our relationship has to be professional. If you’re going to lord it over me—well--it’s just not worth it--sorry. I actually did offer you extra money to do the daily chores as well, but you refused it, insisting on the room/board trade. And honestly, we really can’t afford that. You’re welcome to our food, a room in our house, the phone line, air conditioning, my computer, etc. If you want to renegotiate, we can. But $15 extra on the phone bill is $15 extra on the phone bill. I don’t buy your gas, do I?
3—I don’t completely understand what’s up between you and your Uncle Rex right now, but you’ve known him longer than I have, and he’s probably been insulting your friends for about that long. For no good reason, I suspect.
4—I apologize for disconnecting you from the phone line. I was exhausted at the time because I haven’t been able to sleep this week, and I was annoyed that I couldn’t just pull up the email I needed. Selfish of me, yes. I did believe, however, that you had given me the go-ahead. Was I making it all up in my own mind?
The upshot: People who live together get on each other’s nerves frequently. This is the case no matter how much they love each other. I think this was one reason I was completely charmed by the Rasors initially: even though they sometimes hurt my feelings, I always knew where I stood with them. They’re nothing, if not honest – to a fault many times. You and I are of different molds—perhaps we just find it more difficult to confront our feelings. So our relationship has languished.
I’m sorry, Romie. I do love you, dear. You are an angel, but I don’t think you’ve got your wings yet—and neither have I.