The passive new me.

There was a fight.  A bad one. 

The worst ones always seem to come right after i was so sure we were on the same page.  Right when i feel the most secure.  The most happy.

Maybe there's something about that security that makes me too arrogant.  Too mouthy.  too opinionated or pushy.

Because there was a fight.  A bad one.

And as I wondered who to call, as i wondered where to turn, as I wondered what on earth I should do, the painful smack in the face of it was this:  If I left I'd be the one crashing with relatives indefinitely until I could somehow manage to get back on my feet.

But far from making me more sympathetic, this hardened my heart further, and I was filled with a black, bitter resentment the likes of which I have quite honestly never known heretofore. 

I may be going mad.  the awareness of which does little to divert me from the current path towards such inevitability. 

In the aftermath, of the fight, I had to promise never to mention the situatiion again.  Let him deal with it.  Now i feel stoppered up.  And muzzled.  And achingly depressed.

Where the hell is that optimism, eh?

It is a new endeavor of mine to behave in a less passive-agressive manner.  I dislike passive agressive people.  i dislike the trait immensely.  So i have decided that I want to do more straight-forward thinking, talking, and reacting.

the peoblem with this, however, is my phenomenal lack of balls.  I'm no good in a direct conflict.  I used to be, once upon a time, but find those muscles rusty.  Nowadays I get tongue-tied and slow-witted and flustered and hot in the face.  I find i cannot articulate my point, even if i am in the right, and things that should be said to prove my case get omitted or forgotten, or bungled and /i end up a huge douche with a whole ton of 'woulda, coulda, shoulda' left in the old hopper.  but the damage done.  the moment passed.  The mission botched.

So in my endeavor to become a less passive-agressive individual, I find that my default mode is just passive.

hm.

not the sexy kind.

the plain old doormat kind.

Being passive, without the WASPY scratching-post outlet of the passing agressive comment or snide remark, or even slamming assorted doors\drawers\cabinets\toiletseats\ anything that can be slammed;  the quiet without the electric charge, the fierce scowl, the dagger eyes, the loaded sighs and huffs and clicking of my tongue?  Well my dear readers, this sort of passive is just not me at all.

It is not satisfying.  It is not cathartic.  It is not productive.  It is infinitely, unshakeably defeatist and depressing.  I feel like a leaden weight is round my shoulders.  Like a numbing agent is cushioning my heart.  Like i've had a frontal lobotomy.

EVEN THOUGH i know that this is actually, really, 100% more healthy and productive than the silent temper tantrums of my former passive agressive state.

Because why should I take out my frustrations on people in such a bitchy way?  Why should i sulk and fume and suck all the good energy out of a room, and yet deny that anything is the matter?  why should I attack the dishes with a glower and a habit toward slamming the faucet on and off?  What does that accomplish?  It just serves to piss others off, or make them irritable, or tickle at their guilt module-- or worse-- it does absolutely nothing and I just look like a colossal jackass.  A child.  A terrible person.

So i have decided, if the dishes, or the bathroom, or the laundry, or the state of the living room, or the litterboc, or anything at all is bothering me-- If this happens why should i wait for another to solve the problem for me?  I am not crippled, as my father would often refrain, and am more than capable of getting off my ass and solving the problem for myself.

I tell you this one load of dishes down and the litter box on deck.  It looks as though i will be cleaning one thing or another all night.  but not, i reapeat NOT, with a self-righteous attitude or a grumpy demeanor.  It is my choice to scrub that bathroom sparkling in the aftermath of Aaron's brother vomiting and shitting all over it.  It is my choice to clean and refresh a litter box that is days overdue for attention.  It is my choice to get my kitchen back into the state where it doesnt make me blindingly furious or powerfully depressed to behold it each time i enter my home.  It is my choice to pick up the livingroom until it more accurately resembles its name, because right now It isn't liveable, not to me.

And Aaron need not be punished by these decisions of mine.  he can continue to do whatever he wishes.  If something bothers him enough he will take care of it.  I can do the same.

Resolution update:

Fell off the vitamin wagon while sick,  hope to start up again tomorrow.
At a brownine today and chips last night.  Feel awful.  hope to re-fresh that project tomorrow too.
Optimism?  Fuck that smiley bitch right in her perky ear.  My heart is a cynnic and can't shake the feeling that as an optimist I look like a perfect idiot.  I hope to settle for outwardly pleasant no matter what I may privately think.
excercise?  Pah.  We'll see what energy I have left after all this cleaning.  Maybe I'll hope on that old eliptical.
What else?  I'm certain there are others i've already fucked up.

Off to do the litterbox, my lovelies.  Those cats didn't do a thing to deserve being neglected!  They are always affectionate and supportive and full of unconditional love.  They, like anyone, deserve a nice clean bathroom.  so cats first, then the people bathroom.