Irrational and Proud

There are times when I truly misrepresent Brenda in my journal. Last night would be a very good example. I had expected her to be more upset when I got to her place. When I arrived she was distant, but no shouting took place. Yes, she was disappointed that I had not gone to do laundry with her, but she didnít want to talk about it anymore. She seemed to have let it go even though she felt that she had took the brunt of my anger.

Just for the record I did not yell at her. All that I said was that I wanted to relax for a while and that she should do the laundry by herself. I did not think that she would want me around when I was so upset.

Yes, we do cute things like laundry and grocery shopping together. Some people might see this as pathetic, but this is what we do.

I also want to explain what upset me yesterday. My job is a very detail oriented job which lends itself to my anal retentive behavior. However this also comes into conflict with my artistic temperament. Whenever I make a mistake I tend to beat myself up just as hard as my boss might. I was fully expecting a twenty minute lecture about something that I had done yesterday. Soon I learned that I had blown the whole thing out of proportion. This does not surprise me though, because I have an amazing ability to create multiple scenarios in my mind about what might or might not happen. I fill in every detail including the dialogue. Now if I could only channel this energy into a screenplay or short novel, I would be happy.

Brenda gets upset when I point out the differences between us. I can see her point. Too much psychobabble can ruin a good thing. We are not mirror images, but we still get along very well.

Last night so many different thoughts went through my mind when Brenda was cooking supper. This was when she was still upset and in silent mode. The silent treatment is only partly effective on me, because it then becomes my time. When no one is talking to me I simply drift away off into my own little world.

The quiet time would have been a good time to reach for a pen and some paper, but I didn't. It would have been awkward. If I did I would have told her what I was doing, because I want her to understand why I write here.

Brenda was very hurt that I am so open with strangers and tell her so little at times. I guess that I could argue that most writers and artists are very shy people at heart and find it easier to communicate through means other than talking. If I consult my dictionary of Cosmopolitan magazine terms, I might say that I fear intimacy.

Expressing ones feelings is never an easy thing to do. Like I have said before sometimes this journal becomes something beyond me. Words take on a life of their own. This journal is me, yet if you met me you might be surprised by how I am in person. The voice you hear in your head is a voice from your head not mine.

I can be very pleasant in person, but like some people I hold back at first.

Yes, I think about this journal off and on as the day goes by. Where else do I have a captive audience that doesn't walk away when I start to talk. Yes, Brenda does listen to me, but this is different in some ways, because the journal has an element of distance. I like to see it as messages in a bottle that I know will be found somewhere by someone.

Yes, I grew up listening to too many Police songs.

Work was a complete contrast to yesterday, which does not surprise me. Most of my life happens in cycles. I seem to be ever rising and falling.