What happened with the kitchen?
I don’t know how to explain what has happened with the kitchen… The closest I can manage is that once Elvis got sick, I started having anxiety. And it just leaked out onto everything… and if the everything was not important (or fancy) I stopped caring about it.
I’m sure you understand that! But it becomes less explainable when you consider that Elvis has been gone for a while now, and I have not gotten my care back.
I do not mean that I have some deep apathy towards life; it’s more like, life is GOOD just.as.it.is.
I am happy exactly where I am: the pajama-pants-version-of-existence.
The idea of firebombing my own inner peace— over something I do not care about, (especially a project of the kitchen’s mess and magnitude) makes me want to lie down in the street and hope that someone runs me over.
I just want to hang out with Paul, and the munchkins of destruction; grow flowers, read, go dancing, wear fun costumes, and occasionally get something giant on Craigslist.
I’m done with anything else life needs from me.
Paul has done a wonderful job of being patient… telling me stories about Elvis, tolerating my endless distractions, flights of fancy, and three-in-the-morning-whims-of-iron.
Occasionally absenting himself, so that RagePaul can visit.
(RagePaul is AngryStainGuy’s angrier brother)
RagePaul feels that life is intolerable because we have not moved forward with the kitchen… and RagePaul’s perspective has clouded mine.
Is this intolerable?
Or?
Is this irrelevant?
When RagePaul is 93, will he still be mad about the kitchen?
(That’s a rhetorical question. He will definitely still be mad.)
But when I am 93? ALLOW ME TO ASSURE YOU: the very last thing that I will spend ANY time thinking about will be this kitchen.
Plus, there is another problem that is happening: when Paul tries to talk to me about the kitchen, my brain slams shut.
I feel like I am being suffocated.
Seeing as how my preferred form of communication is hyperbolic overstatement, you may not realize that I am describing my actual experience without embellishment:
MY BRAIN SHUTS DOWN.
I freeze.
I cannot even hear the words that Paul is saying.
Instead, I hear that clanking-movie-noise when the gate is closing, the spillway is overflowing, the building is on fire, and the door on the alien spaceship is sliding shut.
But instead of sprinting to the exit accompanied by exciting music and explosions, I’m like— WHATEVER. The aliens are totally fine. I’m just going to stay here.
This is deeply unfair to Paul.
And yet, sometimes life is unfair.
If this is the first he is learning about this, I cannot help him.
Compounding my alien-brain-paralysis, is that I am married to someone who is SO DIFFERENT from me, that he cannot relate AT ALL.
In a lot of ways, I think it’s mostly good to marry your opposite… (AS LONG AS YOU ARE THE CRAZY ONE)… But it has turned out that Paul is not simply my opposite; but rather a COMPLETELY DIFFERENT SPECIES; and at this point, I have no idea which of us is entitled to be the way we are.
I mean, it seems reasonable that we are BOTH entitled to our species’ traits; but Paul seems to disagree… and because none of this is legitimate to him, it feels not legitimate to ME… like my own Self should not exist in this way because it is wrong.
And yet!
Like it or not!
HERE I AM!
EXISTING IN THIS SUPER ANNOYING WAY!
Unfortunately for Paul, (the title of my memoirs!) other people’s expectations have never been a determining factor in my personality, and the chances of me reversing course NOW seem REALLY SLIM.
After all, an aardvark does not become a zebra!
It’s a fact.
LEARN ABOUT SCIENCE, PAUL!
At this point, I am unsure if who I am at the core of my being is an acceptable lifeform… or if who I am is an intolerable mess that should be left on the side of the road with a sign that reads: caveat emptor.
Probably the latter… in which case, I won’t begrudge Paul swapping me out for a zebra and enjoying the rest of his days, grazing the plains in peace; enjoying the serenity of an appropriate species-match… luxuriating in the clarity of black and white and never thinking at all of the muddled grey aardvark he booted from the vehicle.
BUT there is a caveat: if he is planning to abandon me freeway-side, he’d best get on it; because I am fast approaching what (I suspect) is a hard and unforgiving wall of sell-by-date, (an event that may have already passed, but I’m fine living here in denial.)
Either way, once I reach it, THERE WILL BE NO REFUNDS and Paul will be stuck with me forever.
I have informed him of this, and offered to make him a countdown clock so he knows how much decision-making time he has left.
It’s a trick though because HONEY, I’M NOT LEAVING.
The offer is just to lull him into thinking he has choices… the illusion of choice is surprisingly satisfying!
Sort of how I think that if Paul leaves me, there will be a silver lining: revisiting the guy not taken… the one who was so interested in sifting through the depths of my life-ineptitude with curiosity and empathy!
WHAT would THAT be like?
To be accepted EXACTLY AS I AM.
I cannot even imagine such a miraculous thing!
And it’s irritating that I cannot even enjoy my nice imaginary-alternate-universe without realizing that sans-Paul, my soul disintegrates into a million useless pieces (and probably goes to jail.)
Thinking about all of the paths not taken does not make me sad or nostalgic… instead it forces me to realize exactly HOW INSANELY LUCKY I AM and that I should definilty TRY NOT TO RUIN the only smart life-choice I ever made: a man who facilitates the growing of kale.
A man who fixed Elvis with duct tape.
A man who tells me that EVEN IN DEATH, I will be overly particular… and that when I get to the River Styx, I will be all— I do not like this boat… do you have another one?
So now I am basically STUCK HERE, because what with his moving of heavyoldthings and fixing of brokenoldthings and also buildingofkittenhammocks, and channelingElvis’smesagesfromthegreatbeyond… Paul has ruined me for ALL OTHER OPTIONS and rather than pinballing through the world, I am forced to STAY HERE AND THINK ABOUT MY FLAWS.
Thanks a lot, Paul.
August 30, 2017 @ 12:49 pm
I still miss your sweet Elvis too– I always say that why, oh why can’t our pets live as long as we do? Having to say goodbye is so difficult.
A little La Cornue therapy would definitely be helpful to me– my personal favorite–white with the COPPER accents instead of brass– but the willow green with copper is stunning–after that the provencal blue with brass is lovely. If you like the white with copper accents–then you must get Mauviel copper cookware with brass handles and a copper rack to hand them from. Happy decision making!
August 31, 2017 @ 12:42 pm
I agree…copper.
August 30, 2017 @ 12:50 pm
Choose the color that Elvis would have liked.
August 30, 2017 @ 12:52 pm
I recall reading here once upon a time that Paul likes things to be finished. I think I’ve even read your comments about Control and Balance and how worthwhile it is to have a Paul who does all the other terrific Paul things (as you said here again.) YOU are not perfect but you are lovely as YOU, and at the same time, in the business of marriage, we sometimes have to do things just to make someone else happy. If you have to do it TOO often that’s a problem. But but but. Can whatever Paul wants just be done to make him happy? Can he be forgiven for behaving intolerantly? He is definitely a different species. I’m pretty sure they all are. Good luck and peace be with you.
August 30, 2017 @ 12:53 pm
Another gentle, loving, kitten-paw nudge to go see a doctor…you really may need some temporary meds to get you out of the funk…OTOH, if it turns out that all is well “as is,” you could just tell Paul he can make all the decisions about the kitchen, because YOU DON’T CARE, tra-la-la!! 🙂
August 30, 2017 @ 12:56 pm
A. Cobalt blue, always.
B. Grieving will have its way. There are no clocks.
C. We all need a Paul and some of us are lucky enough to have one, who will stick with us even when they have no idea what upside-down universe we sprang from and why we were sent to harass them in particular.
side note: I cannot, try as I may, see you as an aardvark. I fail.
August 30, 2017 @ 12:57 pm
1. Please don’t even joke about leaving Paul (plus you know that 100% of your followers will swoop him up ASAP- we love Paul)
2. Do write a book- a big project (excuse) is just the thing 😉 I would definitely read it!
3. My kitchen remodel was similar to childbirth- I look back at my year of a plywood floor, garage fridge and skillet only with fondness, sort of forgetting the pain. Remember, this too shall pass.
August 30, 2017 @ 12:59 pm
This is the most beautiful ode to a partner I have ever, EVER, EVER!! I’m sending it to my own version of Paul. Seriously you wonderful gal, please write a book. Unfortunately for Paul is actually a great and hilarious title.
August 30, 2017 @ 1:02 pm
They make purple stoves?
August 30, 2017 @ 1:03 pm
The blue is gorgeous…but also limiting should you decide to change your color scheme at a later date. I love black too….run with it……
Hugs,
Pam
August 30, 2017 @ 1:04 pm
Oh. I’m so sorry you’re feeling like that, and for so long. That’s a description that reached out and grabbed me by the throat, it’s so familiar and painful, yuck. A bit post traumatic depression/self-disappointment/needing a cattle prod….. Having married my further-birth-than-polar opposite, I think I can relate on several levels. My honey and I are never really in synch and usually he tolerates my excintricities rather than accepts them, when I really want him to yaaaa-whoooo with excitement at every idea I let spill out of my brain. He asks me ‘why is it always chaos?’ and I have no good answer. But, we try to always keep appreciating each other’s quirks (you can set your watch by his every purposeful moment), and I love the heck out of him. Back to YOU, applying my therapist hat again… seems you need a creative idea stimulating push-partner right now to kick start your otherworldly wonderfulness and Paul just isn’t it, not st the moment; he’s not seeing the forest, only the trees. That’s my 2 cents, I usually need someone to yank me out of that funk kicking and screaming and dangling a quick instant gratification project in front of me. I wish you sincere luck, you know you’ve got it in you!
August 30, 2017 @ 7:22 pm
(Oh! Just read my comment! I certainly didn’t mean to imply Paul doesn’t EVER get it!! His head is in a different place right now, your mutual planets will align again once you get your groove back. His current reaction seems to be in response to your current inaction.) Probably wish we’d all keep our advice to a dull roar by now, eh?
August 30, 2017 @ 1:06 pm
Looooove the title of your memoirs. Almost made me do a spit take. 😉
August 30, 2017 @ 1:10 pm
Pick white! I currently have a cheap stove from Sears that is white to match my white Sears fridge, and I hate stainless steel, and want white whenever said stove quits. I had no idea such fanciness existed. So please pick the white one, for moi, a complete stranger. becky up a hill
August 30, 2017 @ 1:11 pm
It takes courage to share our insecurities with the world at large, many of whom won’t have any idea of what you are experiencing. Just the act of being able to identify how you feel is in itself helpful and will guide you to your next step in life. Nothing wrong with abandoning an idea or project that at one time you felt was the best thing ever if your life has taken a different turn. It’s difficult for our loved ones to follow along, but somehow they will find a way…just as you would should they make an abrupt change…or maybe that won’t – hard to guess. At any rate, we can all only do our best to struggle forth. It’s about the journey, not the destination, right? I have a feeling that all will turn out just as it should be in the end. No matter what color stove is in the kitchen! Take good care of yourself. You’re the only one you have.
August 30, 2017 @ 1:18 pm
I’ve been in your shoes. A life event (a problem I desperatley tried to solve but in reality was completely out of my control) triggered anxiety and then I just stalled. I felt so overwhelmed by every little thing. So I did nothing and just existed and unmade decisions piled up around me. I didn’t solve the problem but I have accepted the problem and I’m slowly digging out of the hole I made for myself, one decision at a time. Good luck to you. When you are ready, you will restart the project and it will flow naturally, one decision to the next.
August 30, 2017 @ 1:19 pm
I too, have been wondering about the kitchen status… At some point you need to eat…? And so does Paul…? Elvis would not want you to starve to death…? It has been established that you are indeed, very particular, so doesn’t it drive you bananas to live in a construction zone?
August 30, 2017 @ 1:20 pm
Grief goes on for quite a while. You are getting through it, whether it feels that way or not.
When you finally emerge and are again interested in your kitchen (believe me, that will happen–I’ve lived long enough to know), that is the time to pick the color of your stove. Now is not a good time. But when you’re ready, I can say from experience that a blue stove is simply fabulous. I’ve had a Portuguese Blue Lacanche for four years now and never feel like I should have picked something else. You can probably find a beautiful blue in a less expensive stove, since stove manufacturers finally figured out that women like colorful stoves. But if you do get a color, don’t match the refrigerator. It’s better to go with white and let the stove be the star, along with your piano island.
When you and your husband are so different, times of stress and difficulty are inevitable. It makes me sad when people give up on a marriage during hard times, because eventually things will get better, and the bond strengthens when you stick with it. Paul is a gem, but so are you, so quirky and gifted and interesting. His life would be easier without you, no doubt, but a lot less fun. I’ll bet he realizes that.
August 30, 2017 @ 1:23 pm
There is nothing like bereavement to make you know what is important, a cooker isn’t important in the greater scheme of things. If Paul is impatient then let him make the decisions and choices (because when you DO start to care they can be changed) Brain fog will clear in its own time, if you feel its taking too long then seek help but in the mean time, go with the flow. Hug all the cats that come your way, cat hugging is wonderful therapy.
Love and blessings xx
August 30, 2017 @ 1:23 pm
Sweetie, you are grieving and depressssssed. Those of the Fur-Baby Tribe know this feeling well. Cut yourself some slack. Allow yourself NOT to care. BUT! Wear glitter every day. Things will start to change slowly (Hmmmmm, which stove is a MUST for me? I have whittled my choices down from 1,283 to 5. I’m going to ask Paul what HE thinks, then pick the one *I* want.) Give yourself some time and know you aren’t alone. Big Warm Hug!
August 30, 2017 @ 1:28 pm
HAD to show this to my husband!!
He says you write like Dawn French—one of his heroes. 🙂
August 30, 2017 @ 1:31 pm
“Unfortunately for Paul (the title of my memoirs!)”
This made me burst out laughing.
Thank you.
I love the way you write (“or if who I am is an intolerable mess that should be left on the side of the road with a sign that reads: caveat emptor.”) and how you weave psychology, and, distantly, design and kitties all into one.
Because I am single the restoration of my huge 1894 house involves none of the titanic personality battles you endure/create/enable but I would trade my stress-free situation for the delicious tangle of a fabulous partner without hesitation. I envy your tangle.
(Oh, if I were Paul I would wall you off from the kitchen and go ahead a finish it. But I would make sure to include a dance floor.)