Power and Lack Thereof 

Inspired by Firedake, some things I noticed about Matthew Hart and Angela: 

  • They seem to be giggly and fun.
  • They have baby faces; it's astounding that shopkeepers accept Habib.  (To see what Habib is, look it up in the Big Fun Glossary.)
  • I would kill for Angela's complexion.
  • I would die for her hair too.
  • They are very gracious hosts, at least first thing in the morning when it comes to McDonald's.  And fruit juice.  That's all I had occasion to observe.
  • Maybe it's just me, but they seem to mosh tamely.
  • Matthew has an engaging and instantaneous grin.
    My email is a shambles, my commercial and personal sites are down, and I have no idea when this entry will be posted.  Some ISP down in Florida bought out another, more reliable provider, and that lousy ISP is what is standing between the company that does my hosting and the rest of the net.  This is infuriating and costly, as I have clients who are supposed to be online, and my host has many more clients who are supposed to be online.  Tons of email are not getting in, the backlog will be staggering.  And my host is but one customer.  How many others are suffering? 
    They are called CyberGate, and I notice that their site is working perfectly.  It's infuriating.  This is very bad timing; I just faxed a contract to my newest, biggest client today.  The domain has already been purchased, placeholder pages installed.  The client is now getting "Server is not responding."  Bad.  Very bad. 
Retraction:  it was neither CyberGate's fault, nor Synergy Corp.'s fault that the servers were down.  My sincerest apologies.
    Items scaveneged recently:  one double mattress, one crib mattress, one dining chair with arms, a toy auto repair shop, and a "little tykes" changing table.  I should start selling the stuff I find at the open yard sales on Saturdays.  The big mattress was the miraculous find; it is stained, but it doesn't smell bad, and it wasn't soggy from recent rains, must have just been set out when I found it.  The changing table makes a good underbed storage bin.  The chair may prove to be a loss.  It looked easy to repair, the one dislodged leg, but it's turning out more difficult than I thought. 
    I worked on my husband's site some tonight.  It's been a source of irritation in the house that I have not completed any of his several renovation projects, but he is much harder to work with/for than any client/customer/boss in any field I have ever entered.  But finally some progress is being made.  He will be starting a journal of his own, so those of you who might wanna see what our life and marriage looks like from his point of view might find it interesting.  I have my doubts about how much truth it will contain; he tends to reinvent reality to suit his own purposes.  But then again, who knows?  I am still undecided about whether I will read it; he hasn't stated a preference on whether he minds if I do or not.  We'll see. 
    Ok, enough dancing around.  We got separate bedrooms Sunday, after I came back from the party, after he came back from his business trip.  Most of the contents of the office got moved into the master bedroom, and some of the contents of the bedroom went into what was the office.  He has no bed, is sleeping either on the sofa or the floor.  I offered him the mattress I found.  He doubted it would fit in the limited floorspace. 
    We had fought over who would sleep in the master bedroom, on the bed.  This room had borne no stamp of my personality, hadn't felt mine, so for the month he was gone, I seldom even came in here, and didn't sleep in here at all.  But he contended that the bed had been mine before we ever were married, is in fact an artifact of my first marriage, and therefore I should have it.  I finally caved, though I like the downstairs sofa much better. 
    It feels good to have my own space now.  The posters and maps still need to be moved, but it's nice to just have my vibes in here, just my stuff. 
    The sadness and anger come upon me in flashes, though.  All I have to do is remember the things he has done or said (and I don't mean ancient history, either) or remember the loving friend I married, and the nasty reception I got the morning after, or listen to him tell me how he never means to hurt me and he is sorry if I was offended.  If I was offended.  He says the most hateful despicable things to me, and then says I am over-sensitive if my feelings get hurt.  If I say these very same things to him, he gets extremely insulted, and upset.  It's a double standard that I cannot live with anymore.  Years of trying have not made him see the pain he causes me, it's completely invisible to him, he thinks his behavior is so normal. 
    But then again, he doesn't behave this way when other people are around.  So, on some level, he must know. 
    So why torture me like this? 
    Speaking of torture, my dear friend, my dear oppressed friend, has me worried again.  It's not just his wife who shackles him so mercilessly, it's also his feelings of self-worthlessness, as well as his religion.  Just wanting freedom, just wanting the power to play a part in deciding his fate, hell just wanting to have some say about how the money he earned with his own hard labors is spent, all these seem so sinful to him.  Over the years he has allowed himself to be trained to obey his wife, and that failure to do so is despicable and distasteful.  He has been on the verge of suicidal at times, and it is so scary.  The poetry he writes is so beautiful, so full of insight, and his needs are simple, just to have a little more control.  Just to be able to run a bit every day, to not tune pianos if he doesn't want to, to belong somewhere as an equal, as a respected human being. 
    My friend has been taking some baby steps to empowerment, and it has been a beuatiful thing, though it's a hard struggle.  And I do worry.  Sometimes he wants to change things too fast.  Sometimes he wants to take drastic action.  Sometimes he wants to take drastic and destructive action.  God, please help him hang on and take small steps slowly, and find a little more of his voice every day.