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Gloom and Doom

It’s May.  It’s May 19, exactly three years and one day from the day Michael landed in the city permanently.  Semi-permanently.  Anyway, it’s May, and it ought to be sunny and beautiful and breezy, but instead it’s gray and gloomy and cold.  I’m still wearing my winter coat.

I’ve realized that the movie Splash, with Daryl Hannah, Tom Hanks and John Candy, is actually about a California girl, not a mermaid.  See, she’s from the Valley, which is why he can’t understand anything she says.  Anyway, I’m like Madison when they’ve been keeping her in that aquarium in the science lab and all her scales are peeling off. I’m beginning to wilt.  The only reason I have survived thus far is because I spent every sunny day this winter curled up on top of the radiator under the window like a cat, soaking up the sunbeams.  Only there hasn’t been any sun in three days.  THREE DAYS.

gloom and doom

I need the sun.  I am a girl who’s meant for sandcastles and tide pools, not skyscrapers and taxicabs.  I haven’t had tan lines in three years.  I am suffering from a serious case of Vitamin D deficiency.  My doctor swears my vitamin D levels are fine, BUT WHAT DOES SHE KNOW?

Oh god, please make the sun shine soon.  Please.  Please.  Please.

Taming the Beast

I am absolutely giddy right now.  I should be careful about how I phrase this because it’s one of those situations where I shouldn’t be happy, and while I’m not happy about the situation exactly, I’m happy about the way I handled the situation.  Let me explain.

Michael had a really awful day.  He had a first world awful day, yes, but it was an awful day nonetheless.  For one thing, the weather was awful. It was grey, pouring rain, fifty-four degrees and eighty-four percent humidity —

I’d just like to take a moment to remind you that I grew up in the Southern California, where the thermometer rarely drops below seventy and humidity tops out at about forty-seven percent.  In my personal opinion, fifty-four degrees and eighty-four percent humidity is awful weather.  When it’s fifty-four degrees, eighty-four percent humidity, grey, gloomy and pouring rain, it’s sh*tty weather.  Mike’s from Michigan, and while I have no idea what the weather is like there, I do know that he, having lived in Los Angeles for seven years, has exactly the same opinion that I have about the sh*tty weather we experienced today.  I know it because we’ve had this same weather every day for the last week and every day for the last week Mike has come home from school/errands/job searching and announced, “I f*&$ing hate the weather here.”

When I got home from work at six o’clock and realized Mike was still out running errands, I knew he was going to come home grumpy.  And I felt like he had a right to that grump because if it’s a drag to run errands in midtown in nice weather, which it is, it’s fifty times worse to run errands in midtown in sh*tty weather.

One of the things that people who live in suburbs take for granted is their ability to run two weeks worth of errands in a single afternoon.  I remember when we lived in Hollywood and I could stop at the dry cleaners, return the movie rentals, go to the market to buy a week’s worth of groceries, go the post-office to mail a package and pick the dog up from the groomer all within a few short hours.  That’s impossible in New York.  I won’t venture to say that running multiple errands in a day is impossible throughout all five boroughs of New York City, but it’s been impossible in all four neighborhoods I’ve lived in, the worst of all having been midtown because of it’s proximity to Times Square and tourists.  Considering the time it takes to walk from place to place through swarming crowds of sweaty people, the forty-five minute lines that must be waited in and the fact that whatever you pick up, be it dry-cleaning or groceries, you have to carry on your person until you get home, it’s really difficult to get more than one or two errands done in a single afternoon.

So today the weather was awful, grey, miserable and depressing, and he’s sweating and sweating because of the humidity, but every time the wind blows he gets a chill that almost knocks him over, and he’s got to take this big heavy bag of clothes and coats to Salvation Army and then pick up a week’s worth of vegetables from the cheap little veggie market off Times Square.  The Salvation Army is only a fifteen minute walk from the veggie place, which is worth going so out of the way for because it’s the only market in the city where you can buy a weeks worth of decent looking vegetables for under ten dollars, but the walk from the subway to Salvation Army is also fifteen minutes, plus the walks to and from the subway at our end and the walk from the market to the subway, all in all it’s about thirty blocks total, in the pouring rain, cold and sweaty, carrying way too much stuff.

It helped that I knew, long before he called to tell me he was almost home, how trying his day had probably been.  Even still, I’ve never been able to manage Mike’s grump as well as he can manage mine.  Michael is really good at dealing with me when I’m in a terrible mood.  He knows exactly what to say, how to let me vent without trying to fix, and how to not take my grumping personally.  He’s so good at it that now when I come home grumpy he can get me calm and smiling in a matter of minutes.  Until today, I have never been able to that for him.  Instead I bend over backwards trying to fix everything, trying to cheer him up when he doesn’t need cheering, what he needs is space, but I want so badly to make everything better I end up pushing him away.

But today I took a minute to think about what he would do if it were me coming home soaked, cold, sweaty, and tired and so I greeted him at the door with hot tea, made just the way he likes it.

“How was your day?”
“Wanna talk about it?”

I didn’t take it personally when he didn’t want to talk.  I didn’t try to push for more information.  Instead I started telling him about my day, focusing on all the good things that happened.  I signed a new account, I emptied the recycling bin and watered the plants, I have an audition tomorrow.  I didn’t mention the creepy guy who followed me from Seventh Avenue to Broadway, or the fact that my water bottle burst in my backpack and soaked my writing notebook.  I kept things light and positive and within a matter of minutes, he started talking too, telling me about his day, all the things he got done.  And he sounded better.

So while I feel bad that Mike had an awful day, I’m absolutely giddy because after seven years together I have finally figured out how to manage Mike’s grump the way he manages mine.  And that is pretty awesome.