I'm going to paraphrase a speech the fantastic Wanda Sykes gives in the comedy "Monster-in-Law," which I saw in a sneak preview last night:
I'm sick. I'm sick, sick, sick. And when I'm not sick, I'm tired. I'm sick and tired.
Of what you ask? Of this long-distance relationship. Sometimes it makes me so ill and so worn out -- literally -- that I wonder if I can see it through to its end - the day when Geoff and I live together in the same city. When that is, I can't tell you.
Of course, I really want to see it to its end, but when I have phone conversations with Geoff that start out happy and cheerful but end with me more depressed, I wonder if there's energy left on both sides.
Last night Geoff had a little incident with his mail. I call it little; Geoff calls it a catastrophe. I tried -- as I always do -- to make him see that it's no big deal. He DID get the mail, after all. But for some reason he progressively withdrew more and more, to the point where I had no choice but to end the conversation and went to bed angry at him.
It's stress, I know, but I don't know how much longer I can stand the brunt of it. I can take stress and wash it away fairly easily. Geoff needs a day or two, or a conversation with me, since I'm the only one who he tells this stuff to.
Can I make it through the remaining months -- or will it be years? -- of the long-distance chapter of the relationship. I want to, and so I will. But I hate going to bed angry. I hate waking up in the morning not wanting to talk to Geoff for the whole day.
But the bottom line is I still love him. I guess that's the only line.Posted by jcommings at May 4, 2005 12:41 PM