Tag Archives: marriage

Marital Amnesia

I don’t typically write or post unless I’m deeply affected by an event or a feeling in my life.  Apparently I haven’t felt deeply about very much lately.  I guess I just go about my day to day activities and then BOOM, the title of a blog impales my brain and all I do is think about it until I finally write about it.

My own personal experience with marital amnesia might be different than others that you read about.  To be honest, I had never heard of it before, so I thought I was having an original idea.  I guess in this day and age there are very few “original” ideas.  I do however think that this form of marital amnesia should be admissable in a court of law, just in case you get yourself in trouble legally.  I’ll allow that to be my disclaimer for now.

I can say that I have marital amnesia when I’m so used to the way that my spouse reacts to me and around me, and then he turns and changes it up.  Of course it’s temporary, sometimes just an hour or a day.  To say that I’m hopeful is probably a pretty big understatement.  Every now and then, he will be fun.  He will let loose with a spring in his step and smile on his face.  Not the stupid humor smile that I’m so accustomed to seeing day in and day out.  He’s different.  I hesitate to say “normal”, because what truly is “normal” anymore? And what’s normal for me or him might be totally abnormal for someone else.

I was texting my daughter last week and sending pictures of her sleeping-all-day-on-the-couch father, and she asked how I’ve put up with it all these years.   My reply:  because when he’s fun, it’s wonderful.  I take that crumb that he throws my way and want  so badly, so when he IS fun or nice or whatever I’ve always wanted, I forget about all the times that he was a complete asshole.  How strange is it that a person can be pretty much mentally persecuted, but one tiny glimmer of hope will make them forget all of the petty neglect and virtual feast or famine affection?


I couldn’t put that at the beginning of the post, I think I would have scared a few away initially and that’s not my intention.  I mean, how many of us have honestly said that under our breath but never had the opportunity to say it out loud, to them or anyone for that matter?  Start writing people, it’s cathartic in so many ways.

So when I thought about my title for this blog, I usually always like to post a song to go along with it, to truly get the whole “feel” of the post.  Nine times out of ten, I’ll be driving to work or home and a song will come on that will just completely consume me and make me WANT to write.  The following is an older song, but one that I have always, ALWAYS felt such an enormous attachment to, mentally.  I watched quite a few versions of this song on YouTube, and to be honest the original has the best vocals but there was one on Jay Leno which featured the lead singer starting the song wearing a black leather straight jacket.  My gosh, what a visual and so very fitting for this blog, but I can’t make you listen to the off key screaming, it’s just not tolerable.   The words might not be completely literal for my perception of this kind of amnesia, but the emotion of the band’s lead singer and the beat just makes me wanna scream, “how’s it gonna be, when you don’t know me…anymore”?






Just Take the Cookies

I’ve started and never finished several blogs, and that’s just where my life is right now, but I do miss writing.

Yesterday while at work, I had to complete a very in-depth, specific project for my husband, and since he cannot double-click, I was asked to work on it for him.  Initially I thought to my self,  “hmmmm, he never actually finishes any of MY requests, why should I do this for him”?  I’m not sure if I was thinking out loud, but he looked at me and added that if “we” didn’t get it done by Friday, he would not be able to work, or get paid to work for that matter.  Without going into detail about this particular assignment, it would be in mine and probably everyone in my family’s best interest to get it done.  Since my husband is either working or sleeping his entire life, I was going to be on my own basically.

I started the project yesterday, while at work.  I clearly underestimated the length of time (3 hours) and the concentration level I would need to finish the work.  So many specific questions and detailed answers, so little time.

Long story short, I completed it, and with probably only a minute to spare before my 2pm work meeting.  It was mentally exhausting and I constantly asked myself why I felt the need to take care of his business while taking care of my own.  But I did, like I always have for the past 30 years.

On my drive home from work, I called to let him know that he would indeed have a job and be paid, thanks to me.  ME!  I guess I really wanted more than a thank you.  I wanted a kind of answer equivalent to saving somebody’s life.  I wanted to hear that no matter what happens to us in our lives, I was and am a big part of making his so much more easy.  I wanted a level of appreciation so large that you could fill a stadium with the gratitude.

But then again, this might just be what I’ve wanted my entire married life.  Not to just be “good enough” but to be EVERYTHING, even if it were just for the day.

Here’s what I got….”I’ll bring you some cookies”.  My first thought was to quickly check my look in the rear view mirror.  Was I a large, furry blue puppet with big buggy eyes?  Cookies?  Is Cookie Monster expected to double-click?

In order not to cause I fight that I’d never win, I accepted the offer of cookies.  Because I’m happy just to get crumbs, remember?  Here’s how bad it gets, I started dreaming of exactly what kind of delectable treats I deserved for ensuring that he would be able to make a living at a job he absolutely loves.  This is worth something truly decadent. Some ooey, gooey chocolaty surprise.  I can’t wait!

Hours later when he returned from finishing a job and visiting his dad, I heard our garage door go up, and I put my phone down, eagerly awaiting my surprise.  He was rustling some bags around in the kitchen and finally came into the living room.  I tried not to act too jubilant.  He opened a Giant Eagle bag and voila, there they were…..Trefoil Girl Scout Cookies, his favorite.

To be clear, I don’t like Girl Scout Cookies.  They were ordered at least a month ago.  Nothing special, not even bought with ME in mind.  Oh and a box of Do-Si-Dos.  Mother Fucking Do-Si-Do’s.  We used to call them dog biscuits when I was a kid.

Here’s the bad thing.  Here’s the absolutely terrible shell of a woman I’ve become.  Without blinking an eye, without missing a beat, I graciously thanked him for my gifts and told him I wasn’t hungry at the time, but would certainly devour them later.

Because why?  Why have the argument?  Why ask why he doesn’t know that I despise GS Cookies?  Why ask why that each person that came into his view on that specific day go all of his attention, and I got screwin Girl Scout Cookies—for SAVING HIS LIFE.

So what did I tell myself?

Just Take the Cookies.

Please enjoy the music while your party is reached:

Three Decades

For Better or for Worse, For Richer or for Poorer, In Sickness and in Health, til Death us do Part.

Who knew I’d have all of these.  Damn you wedding vows.

Thirty years ago today, I turned in my single girl life for that of a married woman. I’ve had some good times, but mostly bad.  We’ve been more rich than poor, and more poor than rich.   I’ve been pretty sick, and for the most part, he’s been relatively healthy.  And there are times that I’d like to kill him, and I’m sure that he feels the same way about me.  I don’t carry a gun for reasons of safety—HIS!

I could be all sad and gloomy today, we aren’t even talking, but I’m gonna channel all my energy into remembering the good times.

When I first started dating Dave, the first I remember thinking was, “wow, this guy is a lot of fun….and sooooo good-looking”.  It seemed like this union was meant to be, right from the beginning.  I think there was a mutual attraction on both sides, and within 2 months I was proposing marriage to him in the McDonald’s of Olympia Shopping Center.  Yep my idea, and he was all in.  We were inseparable, him even driving from work late one evening, through a pretty nice size snow storm.  I can still see his dump truck sliding around the bend at the bottom of Bayard Street, getting ready to trek up the brick hill to my house.  There aren’t really words to describe how it feels to have somebody want to see you that badly.  Risking life and limb comes to mind, which is pretty much what he did on a regular basis.  And that felt really really good.  I used to make him steak, mashed potatoes and gravy with a salad with ranch dressing.  He never ate salads before, and he was in love, love with the salad AND me.

I would leave class at the Art Institute and shop for a card for him.  Just a random card, sometimes funny, sometimes heart-felt.  I found a very cool store in PPG place downtown.  I would sign the cards Mrs. David Gossman, even on the return address.  His mother was THRILLED!  I just wanted him to know that I thought about him all day long.

We were both excited to be pregnant with our first child.  Still practically kids ourselves, we were entering this new adventure with such enthusiasm.  He used to talk to the baby, we both named “Roxanne” after the song by The Police.  Now don’t listen to the words, that’s not what the name was about.  We loved singing the song, being kind of rock, kind of punk.  We enjoyed a lot of the same things.

Roxanne turned out to be male, and then the real fun began.  Being young and having a baby has its downfalls, that’s for sure, but it’s also just a blast.  We used to take road trips and the baby went everywhere with us.  Dave started working more and I started seeing less of him, but we still had that spark.

Four and a half years later we had a baby girl who finally got to use the “Roxanne” name, albeit in the middle.  Times were getting tougher, but she was the light of her dad’s life.  Babe-in-suit and all, she made our lives complete.  One boy, one girl and a nice little family.  We still traveled, weekends and Myrtle Beach vacations.  One road trip that stands out was a trip to Tucker County, with a visit to the countries smallest church.  Everything we did that day just seemed so in sync with each other.  One year he surprised me and the two of us flew to Florida for my birthday.  Having a birthday in December, somehow it always seemed to snow on that day making it difficult if not impossible to go anywhere to celebrate.  That was probably one of the best weekends in our marriage.  I’ll remember it forever and a day.

Dave and I still managed to make time for each other, going out on weekends and just having fun.  He’s the type of person who has quick wit and can really make you laugh hard.  No need for sit ups, he’ll make you belly laugh those stomach muscles into shape.  (Secretly wish that was a real thing)

Fast forward 11 years and surprise, we’re pregnant again.  Things seem to have gone down hill after that, pressures of making enough money to support a family and all that that entails.  Another son to add to our family.  He would turn out to be a difficult baby and toddler as well.  The spitting image of his dad, in more ways than one. One of these days I’ll write a blog about this lil dude, he’s definitely a trip for sure.

To this day my husband can still make me laugh.  We don’t have what we did, and although I try to never say never, we probably won’t ever be the same as we were.  I’ll just keep holding onto the good memories as long as I can, and just think about what we use to have.  That will get me through another day.  Oh, and this song…good times.

Fake Smiles

I heard Taylor Swift sing this song a few (6) years ago and was instantly drawn to the lyrics.  At first I thought about my son and some of the troubles he was going through, but a friend just reminded me today about the perception of a smile.  More to the point, a fake smile.

I posted a picture of myself and my husband over the weekend, and needless to say got a lot of “likes” on Facebook and Instagram.  The perceived notion that we were happy was evident.  I mean, we look happy in the picture, so we must be, right?

These days we can edit the shit out of our pictures, covering up our flaws and making an ordinary pictures look extraordinary.  I honestly tried to edit that last sentence, removing shit, but guess what?  There’s no other word I can put in there that means as much.  Sorry.

I’ve been guilty of editing my pictures to appear to be entirely different than they started out.  I’m one of those people who doesn’t believe they are very photogenic, so it takes me quite some time to play around with my pics, insuring that they have the right shadow, fade and coloring to do the impossible – make me look good.

My friend commented on the picture that I posted stating that she thought myself and my husband looked happy.  That was not the case.  We weren’t happy or unhappy.  We just were.  We are.  We exist. 

So how then is it possible to edit your life to appear happy?  Can you fake smile your way through life, making people actually believe that you’re something you’re not?  Apparently it IS possible. Who knew that I have a filter button on my life, and pressing that lil sucker in sends a message that is actually believable?  I’m guessing that my husband has that same filter button, and it’s still working after all these years. 

I remember an acquaintance of mine was at the same wedding as I, getting a drink at the bar when we struck up a conversation.  I had been having an argument with my husband earlier, and I guess it spilled into my evening/conversation with her.  She acted surprised as I spoke about splitting up, not being happy.  Her reply, “Really?  I thought you were like Barbie and Ken, perfect for each other”. 

Barbie and Ken?  Okay, she’s kind referring to our appearance a bit.  Myself with a slight 80’s hairstyle, never really letting it go completely, and my husband with his rugged good looks and pleasant demeanor.  But she was also speaking about our appearance of being perfectly in love, whenever she had seen us out. 

My mother used to tell me, “don’t show your ass in public”, and all that really means is that you don’t air your dirty laundry for other people to see.  Sorry mom, if you’re reading this, it’s mostly for perfect strangers to read, as I don’t make a habit of telling friends with about this blog. 

So I don’t show my broken heart in public.  I don’t let anyone see my pain.  Friends get to hear me complain, sure. 

It seems I’m tied together with a smile, but I’m coming undone. 

The Point of No Return

Life is a journey.  It takes us on ups and downs, like a roller coaster.  We ride the coaster because there are some good, exciting parts that keeps us going even after we go through the bad parts.  Optimism.

Sometimes, the coaster is a drag.  It’s slow, it has no exciting parts.  You’ve waiting forever for what you thought was going to be a fun time, and it was a dud.

That’s where I’m at right now.  I’m on a dud roller coaster.  Yes, I’m guilty of continuing to get back on the coaster, knowing full well that it’s boring as hell.  There are no adventurous turns.  I’m in the dark most of the time.  I’ve paid full price to get on the ride.  No discounts.  There are no refunds.  It’s too late.  I’m sitting in the seat and there are no seat belts.  Hold on, get a good grip, you’re on for the duration.

I have to admit, sometimes I want to jump from the ride mid-stream.  I want to get the hell off the ride, not caring where I land or where my mangled body will end up.

Those feelings are getting more frequent.

I think I’ve reached the point of no return.  The fear of what will happen after I jump is not as bad as sticking with the boring ride.  It’s getting to that point.

I’m listening to Nina Simone, Feeling Good.