So tonight was a clear glimpse into exactly how much my brain pushes thoughts and ideas onto other people. And then I take them as gospel. And then I react emotionally, and you have no idea why because you had no idea any of this was happening. (sigh) I’m kind of a mess, really.
Lately I’ve found myself craving a space of my own. Like, a real, close the door, quiet thinking and writing space that isn’t my bedroom. I have a nook where my desk is off our kitchen, but it’s not really doing it for me lately. So I’ve been eyeing our office, which my husband has set up in. Probably noteworthy that I decorated that room. He’s not a huge fan of the decor, but I love it. And lately I’ve been jealous. It took me WEEKS to build up the nerve to ask him to switch with me – the office/guest room for my nook. I was all freaked out asking him. This is my life partner, people, and I’m all scared to ask about distribution of space in the house we share and both pay for? Yes, I was scared. Totally freaked to bring it up. But after weeks, I did. His response? Heck yeah! No problem! When should we switch?
I was surprised and thrilled. I got really excited and started envisioning some light yoga on the shag rug, curling up on the sofa, door closed, with a book. Putting on classical music and writing at the desk. That was Tuesday. That night, after our boy went to bed the husband was in said office, working away on a huge project for his job. I let him be and went to bed early. Wednesday he also was in there working in the evening. I started to wonder – maybe he didn’t want to give it up? Maybe this was his way of squatting? Or claiming territory? Would I have to oust him? I spent all day today wondering how to bring it up, thinking I’d just say – “remember that office switch thing? Well, never mind, we don’t have to. I mean, if you don’t want to.” You know, that thing where you leave an opening, but passively aggressively try to communicate your disappointment? Yeah, that.
Can you guess the next part?
After dinner tonight, I finally asked if he wanted the office or if I could still have it. He looked at me shocked. Of course I could still have it – and he pointed out that the only reason he’d been working in there is because I’d been going to bed at like, 8:30 every night and there hadn’t been time to do the switch. Right. (Insert sheepish grin here.)
So quick recap. A tally of the number of hours I stressed out about something that I fabricated completely in my own mind? I’d say a conservative guess is about 15 waking hours. Things I had to actually BE stressed about – zero. Minutes it took to realize this through communication – about one minute.
Yow. Maybe by the time I’m 50 I’ll start getting the hang of things. Sheesh.