Groups around me picnicked with expensive wines and baskets from trendy shops. I sat silently reading the program, my husband-not-husband doing the same next to me but not too too close. We waited quietly for the beginning of a chamber music concert that he had left his love of all loves for - The Boat- to come listen to. It wasn't out of love. Or concern for my aloneness. More to be the user of the ticket rather than someone else. By intermission, I was more than ready to go home. The music was not as I thought, and almost as bad as if I had tried screeching a violin for the first time myself. Not out of tune - the ensemble chose to play their own original compositions.
Not a fan.
We drove home silently, went to our separate floors of the house, and turned out the lights. I will say that I cannot continue to live like this. I awoke with a pounding headache and intestinal drama. I will say that life was given for so much more than this. I am working way too hard to keep busy...to keep out of my own head. I am looking for a place to belong, I guess. Not just people to keep busy with. A place where there is a slot that only I fit, where I am meant to be...where I can say AHHH and relax into myself. For most of my life, I have been the one to try to make everyone else's life wrinkle-free. I am done. Done working too hard for a husband who cares not...who sees his entitlement but not his responsibility...or his wife. I am done trying to fix my head, to fight the astoundingly crushing depressions that come, and waiting for the other shoe to drop when there is a break in the clouds. Tired of being marginalized by a man I married...only to be kicked to the curb when his kids are grown and my earnings aren't much of a help. Tired of being the maid, the cook, the grocery shopper, the laundress. I am glad he has found a passion, however, wish there had been room for me, as well...wish that it was not required that I participate in his passion -The Boat- in order to have a place in his life. I get the all-consuming passion thing...I'm an artist. But by god I never walked away from my life in order to persue it. My one week retreat every year felt like stolen time that was never acknowledged or spoken of, other than mild mocking about the "girls making art in the woods." I have clung for life to those "girls" at times. I have replayed moments and hours and days...a mix of happiness and longing for them. The fault is my own for living so narrowly...for not demanding my place...for not branching out more earlier on. I can say that the demands of my stressful previous job with the weird hours is partially to blame. I can say that living with an un-admitted alcoholic is partially to blame. I can say that not keeping my eyes open and listening to my gut is partially to blame. I guess I just expected back what I gave. I guess I just expected a partner in life. I have, instead, a large house to keep clean (for no one), a high energy dog that needs a lot of time and attention (who gives back quite a lot, by the way!), a studio turned upside down & is unusable, and friends and neighbors who are busy with their own lives, living the sweetness of our quick summer season. I think to myself, what would I leave behind in order to travel lightly? My studio? My clothes? My sweet pup? What?
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