Wednesday, 2 May 2012

The Masks.

The day I came back from a wrenching trip to Africa, my husband Dave left for a two-week holiday to Mexico. It was my idea that he go. I didn't say goodbye or wish him well, because I'm an arsehole. Marriage is indeed special. I struggled, while he was off on a trip exploring and discovering new things. Himself, I thought.

I just want him to discover himself.

I didn't feel so hot, and slunk into a cesspit of shame and fury. And hopelessness. I despaired of ever being happy again. Ever ever ever I'd had ENOUGH.

He returned home last week .. to find that Africa had indeed broken his wife. (Just a bit - it's fixable.) I'd given up all hope, and I mean ALL hope. Speaking in a flat monotone about decisions that obviously needed to be made ... I look up, to suddenly see a different guy standing in front of me.

Dave wants to change his whole life. Just like that. Simplify it, make it easier, stop stressing, stop achieving and striving and giving his whole life force to his work. Just like that.

We're going to sell our house and live overseas for part of each year. We're going to downsize and spend more time together and rediscover what it truly means to be alive ... with children. Why wait until we're sixty? Soon an agent will come and value our house while we plan on moving into another smaller one nearby. Dave strives and achieves, while I bumble and ricochet. He has enough self-esteem for the both of us. I metaphorically punch myself in the head every day. It's how I get through.

Last weekend we fell in love all over again - a rich, deep full love entered my heart, I swear I've only ever feel that kind of love for my children. Tangible. Undenying. Real. I've been with Dave since I was 28 and he was 34. Twelve years. Never have we been with anyone else. Our relationship has twisted and turned around, just like other people's relationships. If you don't grow and evolve with each other, somebody gets left behind. I understand deeply, how some people do not make it through together. I'm not sure you're always meant to.

We got massages, had lunch, talked and held hands and planned the rest of our lives together. I told him,

"Mate, you had the balls to build such a ridiculously huge and amazing house like this. You're going to need balls to sell it."

If it were up to me I'd buy petrol, light a match and watch it burn down. I'm sad about leaving my office wall and Rocco's buried placenta but that's pretty much it.

I've never liked stuff ... the most important things in life aren't things. (Spoken like the truly privileged woman I am. *BOWS*)

There is no time, there's only clocks. There is no "days of the week." There is no "order." Sometimes I feel like the loneliest and weirdest person on the planet, sent here to just ENDURE until it's my time to leave. Ask somebody in remote Niger how old they are and they laugh and give a rough estimate. They get up when the sun comes out, work hard all day, and go to bed when the sun tells them to. They don't re-assess their life. The only "issues" they have is finding food and water. Hopefully shelter.

I forgot how cool Dave is. How he is *just* as impulsive and hardcore and as unshockable as me. When we are running right, we can take on the world. I forgot. It all got lost, the past few years. Yesterday we stood in the pantry and I held his face and kissed him so deeply ... and he felt it because he knows how much I hate kissing. LOATHE. The two younger boys started having a punch up. His beautiful teenage daughter walked into the room, and then his older son rang on his phone. I just held him tighter and all of it swirled around us like a blur .. the house, the kids, the piles of stuff that we do not need. All we had was Love.

(Is this sickening? I'm sorry. The next crisis will appear, soon enough. Always does.)


In Africa I bought myself a red wooden mask. In Mexico, Dave bought himself a green ceramic mask.

We then met each other back at home.

And took them off.


1 comment:

Write to be understood, speak to be heard. - Lawrence Powell

Related Posts Plugin for WordPress, Blogger...