Fighting

I feel like writing but don't know what to write about. What is on my mind, however, is how much I love my husband.

Marriage is an interesting thing. After five years my husband can make me more mad than anyone else, but when we are mad at each other it is the worst feeling in the world. I would rather forgive him than be at odds. It doesn't mean that I don't act the martyr once in a while or almost every time we fight but our fighting doesn't last for long. In fact, the longer we are married the less time it takes us to make up.

A fight could last all night when we first got married. In fact, one memorable night we started close to after dinner, we yelled and slammed doors and walked off and came back and did it again. We ended up being so tired that we tried to go to bed but we kept each other up fighting. So, we turned on the lights and fought some more. Finally we were so exhausted we decided to go to Denny's because maybe we needed to get out of the house. We hadn't exactly made up, I think we might have bickered in the car, but as we sat there, in Denny's, we began to talk normally and it was better. I think we went to bed around 3. We were so tired when we got to Denny's that we didn't stay long. That was all night and I can't even remember what it was about!

After five years some fights last longer than others but they generally are not more than 30 minutes. Last night we fought when we were playing darts and started fighting. I know I started it and he fueled the fire and we argued, but after only a half hour or so we ended up on the couch together with his arms around me and my head on his chest.

So, this is a tribute to marriage and my husband. I love him so much! Some days I want to be married and some days I don't. But when I feel like I don't want to be married anymore I imagine life without Bobby and it makes me cry and I still don't...but only for a little while and I run out to find him.

Sylvia

Ever since I had to write a paper on Sylvia Plath's poem "Lady Lazarus" I have had an interest in her. I had a desire to read "The Bell Jar" by her but have always forgotten once I step into Half Price Books and am completely surrounded by them. What was I looking for again? So many books to meet and so little time! Then I end up with another book, not completely satisfied, because I know I came for something else! That also happened with "The Handmaiden" by Margaret Atwood but I ended up getting it for Christmas a couple of years ago from my husband who did remember (only because he had it written down, mind you. That is not normal.)



Anyway, I am not completely sure why but my sister-in-law, Jenny, and I ended up talking about "The Bell Jar" this weekend. I mentioned that I wanted to read "The Bell Jar" and she said she did too. That, in fact, she had just finished reading "The Death and Life of Sylvia Plath" because she had heard "The Bell Jar" was largely autobiographical and she wanted to understand it better when she did read it. Well, I ended up borrowing "The Death and Life of Sylvia Plath" and will read "The Bell Jar" soon. I have also decided that I will buy it. I mean as opposed to checking it out of the library.



The library in Hitchcock, TX not only has hours that make me wonder "who beside that same kid on the computer makes it to the library before they close?" I, myself, have never been there earlier than 30 minutes before it was scheduled to close. Except the time I had to post fliers for camp. I was tempted to stay but I had to work. Beside the hours, the selection reminds me that I never should have been tempted in the first place. I believe their library is made up of all the thrift store books in the neighbouring areas. You know what I mean. Like ten copies of a science book from the sixties. Bobby and I had an excellent thrift store we used to go to in Spring Branch called MAM and it had an awesome book selection, but I have never been in another like it. Most thrift stores have the books that Half Price wouldn't give you any money for. Half Price employees probably take them in the back and chunk them for you, muttering: "You should be paying me to chunk these for you." Thrift stores only take them to fill up space. Anyway. The La Marque library is better. Not great, but significantly better. To sum it up, soon will come a Half Price Book/Jamba Juice smoothie night!



I also thought I would include in this post a poem I wrote a little over a year ago simply because I feel like making this post longer. It has been too long since I added to this blog!

GOOD MANNERS

Her petticoat covers

The red-blooded maiden legs

Underneath.

Ladylike, she crosses them

So they are incarcerated,

And strapping legs

Grow weak and womanly.

One hand hides the other

While they sit

Powerful and still in her lap

Gentle and refined,

Her polished poise

Is two-fisted now.

Sloping shoulders

Cloak well-built bones

Gallant, they hold up her girlish

And whimsical burdens.

All the while

Sensitive, soft, and shy

Her smile is all three

She has learned

To flex those muscles well.

They are her honor

A vigorous attempt at being deferential

This smile can be reproduced

Over and over.

Once a month she submits

To its pains

And bears a child-

Like resemblance

To women stouthearted,

Gone before her.

-Emily Chumchal Andrews