March 7, 2009

N and I are fighting.  We do this quietly, preferring the sophisticated methods of emotional snipery to the cleaner and more straightforward (and louder) tactics we’ve observed in our friends.

Our home is leaking.  We want out.  But he’s much more angry with the landlord than I am and I’ve said things to him that must feel like betrayal, like I’m taking their side.  I ran from him because he hates to see me cry and I cry so often, now.  I hate this.  I don’t know how we ended up in this state over something so trivial (in the larger scheme of things, this is very trivial indeed).

I’ve been drinking teh vodka.  I should know better than to blog when I’ve been drinking teh vodka, but I’m feeling horrible and self-destructive, so I’ll do it anyway.

I wonder, would life suck in quite this multi-layered way if Teddy hadn’t died? And I think no, no it wouldn’t. Nothing is clean any more.  Everything is piled onto this emotional mine field, layered in ways that take on extra significance.  All the problems dogpiled onto the one big problem that we can’t do anything about, that hurt from which we haven’t recovered.  We don’t just kick each other, we kick each other when we’re down, even though we don’t mean to.  We hurt already-bruised flesh.  We fight dirty, whether we want to or not.

We don’t fight much, which is good because I hate it.  I hate it more now that there’s no such thing as a good clean fight.  All my fights are dirty, tainted, and maybe they always will be.



  1. “Would life suck in quite this multi-layered way if Teddy hadn’t died?” No, I don’t think it would have at all. Have a vodka for me, Erica. I’m still playing the lets-not-drink-because-you-might-be-pregnant pretend game. Oh so fun. Bah, I’m thirsty.
    Hope this blows over, soon.

  2. Every trivial little thing feels so much more distressing, doesn’t it? Sometimes I’m able to have the “remember what matters” perspective, and realize how insignificant things that worry me are compared to how huge the past year of my life has been. Then I’m able to say, “To hell with the leaky house,” or whatever it might be. But other times I just have no ability to deal with it, and I would want to scream to anyone who would listen, “Don’t you realize my child died? How can you do this to me?” (You, in your case, being your landlord… or your husband.) Still, a leaky house sucks, and I totally understand your collective frustration. Of course you’re going to take it out on each other… that safe place. Sending you love and some peace…

  3. I think our losses multiply everything, exaggerate the minor annoyances into mind blowing devastation. It’s easy to go there…we’ve lived out the worst case scenario, so we assume everything is worst case scenario. But as Gal aptly points out, our babies taught us what’s really important, and I try hard (often unsuccessfully) to separate out each little challenge…its too overwhelming to look at it all together.

  4. here too. Little things are disproportionally huge.
    hope you can get out of your lease. Mold and all.
    Sometimes yelling it out does help…

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