Sunday 17 September 2006

Fire with fire.

What a quiet, frustrating little way to have an argument. I remain voiceless. Silent and unable to make my points adequately. Which means he'll win by default. It's not fair.

Several weeks ago I dropped Jacob off downtown to have some tests. Standard, part of a physical, I assumed it was required because he had changed his health insurance to include us a while back. Paperwork, no big deal.

He lied to me. Well, not so much an outright lie as when I asked if that was what it was for he didn't correct me and that wasn't the reason. Lies by omission are just as deceitful.

It was a standard physical so that he can become a volunteer firefighter. A paid on-call one. Whatever. I'm not listening right now.

This became part of an argument wrapped in a second outrage because I'm not 'allowed' to get a job. I wanted to work a few nights a week or Saturdays at the bookstore near our house. It's a two level bookstore with a built-in coffee shop. Would that be heaven or what?

But no, Jacob thinks I do enough.

Plus if I'm working on the weekends what about church? Or his evening counseling? I didn't want a forty hour a week job, maybe two nights, maybe one shift a week. He doesn't want to give up any of our free time spent together but at the same time he signs up for something that requires him and his giant truck to be on call during our free time together. A potentially dangerous job. A job he wants to take without even discussing it with me first.

So last night we indulged in a rip-roaring, squeaky, phlegmy, razor-whispered drag-out verbal war because I don't want him to work more, I wanted to help out.

And it's so lovely that he wants me to continue to play the sweet little housewife role, always here, the center of my family's universe. It's also plainly obvious that he conveniently forgot about me being one half of his equation now and went and did something because he lived on his own a little too long and is used to just doing what he wants to or feels he needs to do.

I'll give him the admirable part that he'd even consider it. They need people. Very badly. He's overqualified, a wall of strength with the body of a twenty year old.

But I don't want them to have him. I don't want him going into burning buildings, and getting calls in the middle of the night to race off to dangerous situations. I wanted to work at a shop where I would bring home a pittance after taxes and get a discount on all the books we buy. I wanted to have a little of my own money, something I haven't had in years. The last thing I bought that I earned myself free and clear was a $150 watch that I'm still wearing. I bought it in 1990. I'd really love a new watch. Not a heroic husband. He's already a hero in my eyes, in the eyes of everyone. My job would cover the family health insurance and he wouldn't have to depend on a stipend. Why can't I take this weight, for once?

But he's as stubborn as I am and so the fight goes on. And he's winning, because my voice still hasn't returned. And when he holds my face and promises me that nothing will happen to him it's really hard to argue with him anyways.

Those blue eyes are just a little too phenomenal, it's difficult to look away.