Lucy Van Pelt: My Role Model

The Object and I have been bickering a lot lately about the stupidest shit. Prime example: last Sunday, we had a lovely stroll over to Trader Joe's to get stock up on vittles for the week. As we neared the store, the wind picked up and the temperature dropped five or ten degrees, making the prospect of the walk home less than jaunty. When we were about to leave, I nicely asked told him to stop and talk to me about The Plan to Get Home. When he didn't give the exact answer that I had predetermined was the only appropriate answer to the question, I flipped out, all stompy-foot- snarly-six year-old temper tantrum style. I was one more misplaced phrase on his part away from sitting on the floor of the grocery store, crossing my arms, and pouting, which I haven't done in weeks. I was in the mood to discuss important plans and he was acting all flighty like it was just a lazy Sunday afternoon! My friends, it was ugly.

So one of the things that I really enjoy about yoga is that it gives me time to be completely introspective and get a close look at how I'm being in life by simply that- being. In doing that, I start to recognize ways I'm being that I didn't even realize- it's a nice little look at The Way Things Are According to the Goo. Also, I get rewarded with tea and cookies at the end for doing so. Everybody wins- tonight we got Nilla wafers! I was thinking about this bickering business, and what my whole role in that is. I realized that something I'm possibly definitely doing is being just a weeeeee bit stubborn about my moods.

The Way Things Are:

I'll start out a hanging out-age with the Object in a certain mood. I'll want him to be in that same mood or similar whereabouts, because well, why shouldn't things be that way? If he is, great, we're all set. But if he's not, I'll do one of two things. I'll either expect him to tailor his mood to match mine, completely disregarding what kind of mood he's in. Otherwise, I'll reserve the right to get stompy footed for not being in the same mood as me. The nerve he has sometimes: it's just galling.

Really, I think I hit my best moments (some might call it rare form) when I give in just a little bit. I'll give up an inch of my precious, precious mood to deal with him on his stupid little level. If he doesn't immediately kowtow to my relationship brilliance, I get not only foot-stompy, but haughty and sniffy on top of that, because you know what? On top of his fucking obliviousness, now he's insulted my sense of moral righteousness by having feelings independent of mine. It makes my blood boil just thinking about what an asshole he can be.

We used to be really good at avoiding this sort of thing- diffusing these moods, but the cartoon hearts in our eyes have faded as we've settled into our relationship, and I've given up showing off how easygoing and low-maintenance I am. Nowadays, I'll refuse to be cheered up or just become all the more stubbornly intractable and determined to show how wrong he is for having his own mood. I will keep it up at all expenses and let it seep in to poison every other facet of our relationship. Should he not want to engage in a little spoonage, I'll fault him for being moody, and I'll turn it into another huge battle of wills that I'm not even sure he knows he's playing.

Ugh, I wouldn't want to sleep with me either.

Here's the thing- I'm not so sure whyI'm so goddamn attached to these moods. It's like I'm holding onto them to prove something to him- to show off that I've got a stronger will than him, and that I'm righter, (I can totally be righter- he can't, but I can) smarter, and while we're at it, I'm prettier, too. One teeensy catch: it's at the expense of getting to BE with him on any emotional level.

You know what I figured out, though, all on my own?

It's a mood, not a delicate museum artifact.

If you think about it, mood is about as intractable as a fluffy white cloud. But I'll give my mood weight and gravitas, like I'm hoping it'll win the Nobel Prize. And should anyone mess with my mood, I will treat him with the disdain that befits a person who has just cost me 1.3 million dollars.

Kinda stupid, ain't it? And not just because, much to my dismay, there's no Nobel Prize in Feelings. Anyone who's ever met me is reading that and saying to themselves, "this is not news." When the Object reads it, I'll bet he finds a tree to bang his head against and cry out, "I can't stand it! I just can't stand it!" But sometimes it's hard to see the way you're being when you're very busy being that way.

So now the problem I have is letting go. I don't even like to do this physically. It makes me very nervous to wear gloves in the winter, so that I can't keep a firm grip my sleeve cuffs. When my sleeves don't reach my wrists or I'm wearing a tank top, I have to be holding something- a piece of yarn, my iPod- I've definitely thought about taking up smoking just so I'd have a prop to hold onto. But I have a feeling that if I keep this business up, I'll be letting go of the Object, whether I like it or not. And if there's one thing I really like holding onto, it's the Object- have I mentioned how good the spoonage is? He's all warm and snuggly and he always catches my pinky finger when he clasps my hand.

So I'm gonna let go of my mood. And as scary and awful as it is to fall, I have a good feeling the Object will be there to soften the landing. There's a good chance he'll even have tea and cookies! Ad if he doesn't, well, that's a legitimate reason to get stopmy-footed.