There are times when the old saw of "How long have you been married? Too long." rings true.
The argument is not over politics, religion or the kids but over a sponge. Well let's say the sponge is the trigger to the smoking gun.
Years ago my husband stated he hated the sponge being left in the flat area next to the faucet on our kitchen sink. So in my travels I found this "thing/holder" which straddles the double sink in our kitchen. One side is for the metal scrubby we use on pots and pans and the other side is for the sponge. It's not the greatest thing but it works for me, not for my husband. To him it is an impediment. Whether getting a glass of water or washing up, it is always in his way. So he removes it and leaves in on the counter next to the sink and usually neither the sponge or the scrubby are in it. The sponge can usually be found on the counter and the scrubby in the sink (although many time both are on the counter). The biggest problem is usually the sponge is soaking wet or at least damp when placed on the counter. He does not think of putting the holder back in place and putting the items back in it. Guess that is my job.
The counter has suffered over the years from this constant action. Water has pooled in the grout and despite my efforts to clean it, the grout has turned unpleasant colors and in some areas the grout has almost disappeared entirely. Yes, this upsets me but I have lived with it along with the many other things my spouse does that piss me off and knowing I am not perfect, I am smart enough to know there are probably a few things that he has to put up from my side of the marriage. But it sometimes are the small things, those everyday things that spark off the conflagration. They pile up like dried tinder, just waiting for a spark, that little something that will ignite them. A misplaced word (or sponge) will cause everything to go up in smoke.
Sometimes there just doesn't seem to be a rhyme or reason to why the argument starts. Surely a sponge is not that important. But in reality it's not the sponge, it's the days before. In my case the stress build up to an important meeting, learning about 2 incidents aboard Navy ships, one which has cause the loss of life of 7 sailors, which as a mother of a sailor currently deployed just brings tears to my eyes for the mothers of those lost, my own chronic illness which at times causes me to swirl out of control and become morose, blue, sad, exhausted, lost and bewildered and finally that getting older isn't for sissies, I am just am not sure I can do it some days.
It all piles up and then....the sponge incident. As I sit in my darkened room typing this out it does seem a bit silly but it's not. There are so many things in marriage that are left unsaid. No matter how honest your relationship may seem it's not as honest as you think.
We do not tell our partners of all our fears. We don't tell them of all the things they do that drive us crazy. Why not? Because we have learned that honesty can hurt. That we are not perfect and we may not want to hear what they say.
I have deep fears, hiding down in a place I don't go. Really there is no reason to go there because they are the things I faced many years ago and unlike the fool in the horror movie that opens the door despite all of us in the audience yelling for them to step away, it's not a door I need to open. I know what is there and it can stay there. I don't need to revisit the past.
It is now the future that frightens me. The truth that there is less time ahead of me than behind. The fact that my body is slowly wearing out and my mind may go with it. There are a thousand and one fears if not more that some days I can't keep behind the door. They all come out and terrorize me like the nightmares I had as a child. I don't want to feel this way but I can't help it. Just like the fool in the horror movie I open the door although I can hear all those voices telling me to step away.
So is the sponge a metaphor for something? No, it's just a sponge. It was just the tipping point. That place where this time instead of cleaning up and not saying anything, I got mad, I yelled, I cried, I wrote this and then I read it to my husband. You see, one of my secrets that I find easier to write and post then try to verbalize my feelings. Product of my environment? Yes. Will I be able to change at this point? No, but I have found a door I can open, this one. I can write what I feel better than say it, which means I can also share it with the one person that counts more than anyone in my world. It may not be a perfect way to communicate but it is the best I have and a hellva lot better than starting a fire.
