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 @ 1:33 pm
@fixitchick:
YESSSSS YES JAWOLL OUI SI SI ….. fixitchick is right and right….. BLUE is it, and you know WILD WOMEN DON’T GET THE BLUES 🙂
wake up girl to a new day and your old Paul, he is the bestest…..
August 30, 2017 @ 1:33 pm
Please write. I don’t care about what. I’ll read anything you write. Also please finish your kitchen so I can see how you incorporate GFTs. You must miss creating GFT moments. Miss your voice. I don’t care what color your stove is. It will look awesome anyway you do it.
August 30, 2017 @ 1:34 pm
Sweetie… is it possible that you can’t face the kitchen because you’ve already dealt with all the Big Change you can handle right now? You pictured the house “finished” with Elvis curled up at your side, and now that’s not going to happen. This is so sad, it’s the saddest kind of sad—it’s rage-sad. Because it’s brutally unfair. The universe stole from you and now you’re supposed to not only keep getting haircuts like nothing’s wrong, but remodel a kitchen?
But you are getting haircuts. You’re shaving your legs. And Future You will be so grateful for the effort you put in on the kitchen. Nobody (shut up, Paul) expects you to fling yourself back into it. But… maybe you could look at some fixtures? Tiles? Go on, demand a skylight on the ground floor, for old time’s sake.* Wade in slowly, so you don’t get a cramp, but you can do this. I believe in your ability to over-shop, over-plan, and drag out a remodel until you’re sick of it and finish in a mad rush.
*seriously, google tubular skylight: it’s totally a thing
August 30, 2017 @ 1:35 pm
I hope you accept this with the love I am sending, but I think you have a classic sign of serious depression. I am not a professional but when my daughter was diagnosed the first time, my sister (who is a professional) told her that she will know when she is getting better (after great therapy and some medication) when things that used to excite her- but don’t now – start exciting her again. Your kitchen used to excite you. Now it paralyzes you. Please be kind to yourself and look for some professional guidance. I’m worried about you. And Paul. (I assume you screen comments before they are posted and don’t expect to see this on your page.)
August 30, 2017 @ 1:37 pm
VEB, Cobalt blue is absolutely my favorite color! I just about died when I saw those cobalt stoves, and if you got one like that, it would be a wonderful GFT and conversation piece, in addition to being practical!!
Kim
August 30, 2017 @ 1:48 pm
I so get it. Once you are in that place you really can’t force it. Why don’t others get that? Must be zebra thinking. And if you truly don’t care about the kitchen…just let Paul get on with it. I suspect that may rekindle your interest because he can’t possibly make the right choices.
August 30, 2017 @ 1:51 pm
Your Paul is obviously from a different age..and I think you are Coco Chanel…I was looking at old pictures of her the other day and as I looked at her hair, and the way the camera caught her expressions and even the way she held herself…I thought of…You..now don’t think that I stalk you or anything but you are kinda hard to forget..
August 30, 2017 @ 2:01 pm
We built our third house last year…..I totally know about brain shutdown. My man can go on and on about the same subject until I want to STAB him. He will visit EVERY car dealer before deciding on the FIRST ONE to buy from, and this takes about a years time. I shut down so often I should be a nuclear plant!
Just continue to work your way through the only way that feels good to you – or if he is so anxious, tell him to finish it his way and when you feel better, we will redo it! LOL!
As for color choice, I vote white with brass accents. Timeless and classic,
August 30, 2017 @ 2:15 pm
When it is new, grief is a series of tsunamis that pull you under and threaten to never let you catch your breath. As time goes on, the waves settle into a gentle lapping at your ankles with beautiful memories. Wishing you a gentle tide to help you move forward.
August 30, 2017 @ 2:19 pm
Why not let Paul do the kitchen so he won’t be left in a state of upheaval? And you should accept what he does. You will learn to love it because you love him, and anything else would show rigidity. Please! acquire an approachable but practical therapist and consider medication for your depression. Most of us have had pets who’ve passed away (terrible!!), and most of your readers also cried for Elvis’s passing. We really grieved for you.
Because one can acquire the habit, yes, habit, of being depressed, you want to turn it around if possible! Every day you spend in a horrible funk, suffering emotional paralysis, is one you might not have to endure if you get help.
I hope the very best for you, because you spread a lot of light in our lives, and your relationship with Paul deserves to be strong and happy. Please keep us posted.
August 30, 2017 @ 2:22 pm
My day started with a phone call from my daughter, worried about me. Followed by a call from a friend who had gotten a call from my daughter. I assured bother that I am FINE (hmmm…) it’s just that I’m changing the medication that has kept me stable for so long, but is no longer quite doing the job. So it is decreasing, but not quite far enough to start the new replacement meds. It’s called a cross-taper. Besides, not only do I have a reason for how I am FINE, I have a new email from VEB waiting in my inbox that will make me HILARIOUSLY FINE… if I can just get off the phone and read it!
Wasn’t prepared to have tears rolling down my cheeks as I read, but they are. We’ll blame the meds. But really…. I get “it”, and wake up, folks, this is not about stoves. I can’t even make a decision about what to have for dinner… PBJ sounds good to me every night. Or what room to start to clean. With 3 cats and a dog the dust bunnies multiply quickly. I have 3 bottoms and 5 tops that can be put together any which way and not look too bizarre…whatever my hand hits first goes on because I cannot make decisions. And because I don’t care — it just isn’t important.
PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE, get some professional help. For yourself find someone who can help you start to care about important things, like what’s important to Paul. For Paul and yourself, so that RAGE PAUL can feel his zebra-ness is important to you, that you’re re-learning how to show him that, and how insecure you’re feeling on top of everything else. For your kitchen, which does not require perfection, but for Paul’s sake does require finishing. Have Paul or a trusted friend find a designer who can minimize the choices you need to make, so that Paul can go back to being Paul, and working the magnificent magic he works on your home. If you decide down the road you don’t like something you’ve chosen, you’ve got Craigslist and your blog to help you unload it, poke fun at it, and make a change. Because you’re right, in the big picture which stove you have is not important.
August 30, 2017 @ 2:23 pm
Stoves. Meh. The writing, the love, Elvis, the kittens, Paul. That is what matters. You know in your heart what you need, that is obvious. The easiest thing to do is say, “you decide Paul”. And free yourself for other things. But easy is not the usual way. The choice is yours to make. Loved this post. This coming from the wife of a builder and former perfectionist.
August 31, 2017 @ 11:04 am
Victoria,
It is not uncommon to have difficulty caring about things again after experiencing a loss. You don’t have apathy for everything- you’re still going out and doing things, you recognize the wonderful things in your life and you still feel happiness. Those are great. However, you’re not back to yourself. I’d like to encourage to you think about having a meeting or two with a counselor. Paul is wonderful and supportive, giving you everything he can. However, he’s not a professional. He’s helping you as best he can. Maybe talking with someone would show Paul that you’re helping yourself too. Give it some thought. A good therapist can at least give you some tools for how to talk to Paul when you feel yourself shutting down in the face of his desire to get things completed.
August 30, 2017 @ 2:36 pm
Umm, uh, what? Seriously, love you. Love Paul. Sometimes read your blogs to my SO. (That you’re so completely insane it makes my rants seem normal.) But, what? What’s going on with your kitchen? Did you insult your sponsor?
August 30, 2017 @ 2:43 pm
Since you are stuck in I don’t careville, Paul assumes ALL decision making powers, and you agree to love Any and all choices he makes”. Problem solved.
September 1, 2017 @ 2:49 pm
Nononono. Paul gets to make decisions, but must acquiesce to hearing all about how WRONG they were IN PERPETUITY. Husbands dont listen anyway. That is why they call it marital hearing.
August 30, 2017 @ 2:46 pm
The royal blue one, of course. I mean seriously.
August 30, 2017 @ 2:50 pm
That last picture really got me! =(
August 30, 2017 @ 3:04 pm
Victoria, I was completely unaware that I need a blue tiles range. Until today.
Thanks a lot!
– Your Grudging but Loyal Servant
August 30, 2017 @ 3:07 pm
Rage Paul can get over himself and then write his own post about his faults and the ways you make his life better. You’re not the only one who got lucky in your marriage. He got the funnest blogger, the fanciest dresser, most creative remodeler (seriously, who else looks at a piano and thinks KITCHEN ISLAND or a pool table and thinks CHEAP COUNTER TOPS), the most loving cat mom, the most passionate animal activist, biggest dahlia grower, and best Edy Beale impersonator. Don’t sell yourself short lady. There is nothing wrong with your SELF and you absolutely deserve to be accepted just as you are. Tell that zebra to chill the eff out.
The kitchen will get done when it’s time for it to get done.
August 30, 2017 @ 3:18 pm
This is the post of a deeply disturbed individual. I’m just kidding; I think you’re still grieving over Elvis and you aren’t ready to deal with much of anything else. Don’t be so hard on yourself! My sweet, wonderful husband died almost two years ago and I still have trouble dragging myself out of bed some days. People keep saying things will get better with time but it hasn’t happened yet. Everyone is different. So, Victoria, give yourself all the time you need to start feeling better and stop beating yourself up. But in the meantime, don’t run off Paul. After all, who would take out the trash if he weren’t around?
August 30, 2017 @ 3:19 pm
Just reading some more of the comments now. Shocked by all the patriarchal bullshit. Why would Paul’s needs supersede Victoria’s??? I thought marriage vows were for better or worse, in sickness and in health.