upset

My spouse was upset that their friend was not getting back to them and not making time to see them.  My spouse was upset to the point of losing sleep about it.

“Is there something wrong with me?” my spouse asked.

“No, sweetheart,” I said.  “You’re a good friend–you’re amazing.  There’s something wrong with the world.”

It was the middle of the night, and I was up to pee.

“That guy is a mess.  He can barely manage his own nose,” I said.  “His foolery has nothing to do with you.”

I asked my spouse to take off their shirt and cuddle me in bed.

gender

“You aren’t giving him what he’s looking for,” I said.  “He’s looking for someone with breasts who will giggle at his jokes and stroke his ego.  You’re not going to do that.”

My spouse agreed.

“He sees the world like there are women, and there are men.  You’re not going to have sex with him.  And you’re not an energetic, strong dude-ly man who can do more work than he can.  So you might not be as useful to him,” I said.

“Yeah,” my spouse said.

“You’re not going to give him a buncha money,” I said, thinking about the house he was given by an ex.  “He had huge problems before he lost his mind.”

My spouse’s friend has dementia.

“Now his problems are really bad,” I continued.  “He doesn’t know what’s good for him.  Anyone who knew what was good for them would choose you.”

upset

My spouse dozed on my back, lulled by my diatribe of social analysis.

“I know you respect him because he was your teacher a long time ago,” I said.  “But he is a regular cis-het white man.  He’s confident and thinks he can do no wrong.  It’s not realistic.  Maybe he’s racist.  Maybe he’s getting paranoid in his old age and thinks you’re after something.”

I imagined my spouse’s friend that last time I saw him, overwhelmed by work in his extensive front yard and back yard gardens.  Overwhelmed by his hoarded house, bitter about the housemate who left under dramatic circumstances, hurting about his estranged adult child.  No longer able to track what day it is, and suffering from frequent attacks of vertigo.

community

“His wound isn’t about you,” I continued.  “He has his wound about losing his place in community and how his life got ruined by that lady.  You’re not going to touch that wound, and you’re certainly not going to heal it.  So you’re not much use to him.  He can repeat the story over and over.  But it’s like my ex–she’s looking for people who she can need and love, and then who will abandon her.  She’s trying to reenact her trauma with people, but you won’t do that.  She still tries to get stuff from you, but you’re not who she’s looking for.”

Now I was upset, thinking how so many people underestimate my spouse and take them for granted.   I was thinking about the misogynist mythology that my spouse’s friend has created and based his life on.  His wound about being asked to leave the community where he’d planned to live the rest of his life.

My spouse stirred and got up to eat a snack.  I lay in the dark, trying to sleep.

twig

I imagined telling the truth to this elder my spouse unfortunately still loves.  We have up on our wall a twig that he gave my spouse.  The twig was chewed by a beaver.

“Have you told him that you love him?” I asked months ago.

“No,” my spouse said.

“Maybe you should tell him before he dies,” I said.  “I guess you can tell him after he dies too.”

the truth

What if I said what I really think to this elder who troubles me?  It would be something like this.

You have this story you repeat over and over about the lady who hit on you at a party and years later got you kicked out of community.  You say she made this pass at you, you didn’t return her affections, and she ruined your life for it.

But the truth is, at least a year passed between that party and when she made you leave.  Probably you did 30 fucked up things between the party and your departure.  You’re living on “hell hath no fury like a woman scorned” to put all the blame on her and make you the innocent victim.

The truth is, you’re a fucked up person.  You’re conceited and selfish– a regular man.  If she did make a pass at you, I’m sorry for her.  But that pass and your rejection of her isn’t the whole story.

I’m sorry I ever giggled at your jokes as I walked in your garden with you.  I regret that I admired you and listened to you.  Never again will I play your stupid gender game in order to gain knowledge.  I don’t exist to soothe your troubled soul or titillate you.

I’m not a woman, and I’m done being treated as cute and dismissable.  You know a lot, but so do I.  There are other places I can gain plant knowledge and local knowledge beside misogynist dudes such as yourself.  You blame women for your life being filled with problems, but the source of your problems is mostly yourself.

insomnia

Yes, insomnia is a bear.  I get upset about so many things.  Really, what good is possible from lying in bed, imaginarily tearing apart an old man?  He’s made serious mistakes, but so have all of us.

Will I ever learn the plant knowledge he knows?

My spouse is heartbroken, the old friend is heartbroken, I’m heartbroken about other things.  The beaver who chewed the twig is probably heartbroken about habitat or else has died by now.

All this bitterness and upset is true.  But also true is the snake I saw in the backyard of my spouse’s friend.  That snake was sunning, and I stared at it for a long time.

“Snake!” I said.

“Oh yeah, she’s there a lot,” the elder said.

How long is it ok for me to stare at a beautiful snake?  The truth is so layered: the old man has done bad and repeats his stories.  But also he made habitat for this miracle animal who flicked her tongue and looked back at me.

Life is a mess– our loves are so messy.  I’m proud of my spouse for showing up for many people.