Mister has been out of town working for the past ten days. I haven’t had so much as a text message from him. He will be home tomorrow and I am absolutely dreading it.
The thought of him coming home fills me with anxiety. He expects the house to be museum clean. It is. He expects a hot meal when he walks through the door. It will be waiting for him. He expects the yard to be clean and the trash bins to sit right where he likes them. It’s all done. His illusion of perfection fully prepared and awaiting his arrival.
He will still find something to bitch about. He will find something out of place or not quite right. It will be something that he was happy with the last time that he walked through the door. Through telepathy, I am supposed to know that he changed his mind again and exactly what he has changed his mind about.
If it’s a small thing, he won’t rage. I don’t think I have missed any of the big things. Then again, I don’t really know that, do I? He changes his mind to keep me off kilter.
Something will be said about the fact that I haven’t bothered to call or text him in the past ten days. I don’t see the point in wasting my time. He doesn’t respond and on the rare occasion that he does, he only sends one word responses.
I like it when he’s away. He sucks all of the air out of the room. I can breathe when he’s gone. I didn’t want to talk to him. I wonder how he’s going to punish me for that?
He reminds me of a doctor who says, “I’m going to amputate your leg with no anesthesia. You might feel some discomfort.” You notice that they always say discomfort. Not excruciating pain.
If Mister had told me 21 years ago, “I’m going to amputate many, many small pieces of your heart and a great deal of your soul over the next couple of decades. But I’m only doing it because I love you and want the best for you. You might feel some discomfort.” What would I have said? Was I really so blindly trusting? So deeply in love that I refused to see the scalpel?
I see it now.
Hindsight. It’s ruthless.