March 6, 1999
Battle-Weary


David is off doing his usual Saturday family stuff, leaving me here to do *my* usual Saturday computer stuff.

This has become our routine, as of late, and it's nice. He gets to spend time with his family ... I get some much needed Alone Time ... and we still have all day Sunday to drive around the Bay Area, looking for "Nash Bridges" filming locations.

So  ...  I'm spending my Saturday as productively as possible. I've fired up a second pot of Millstone, tossed another fifty cents into the dryer and plopped The Flirtations onto the CD player.

Now it's time to do battle with my website  ...  and I mean that literally. Trying to get anything accomplished on this website has been a nightmare lately. I still haven't found a new ISP, so I remain at the mercy of AOL for my Internet "connection." And there is all of AOL's cranky ridiculousness to contend with: I've already been booted in mid-sentence twice this morning, in spite of the contraband "Kill The F*?ing Idle Message" program, running impotently in the background. I'll get three paragraphs written, prepare to hit "Save" ... and suddenly find myself spewing profanities at another frozen computer screen.

The whole process is like trying to compose a sonata on a broken Hohner Melodica.

But I'll limp along and see how much I get written before the next Big Freeze ... or before David gets home and we're off on a bookstore-and-dry-cleaners run ... although it might wind up being more sonatina than sonata. We'll see what happens.



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And speaking of doing battle  --  David and I had our first fight this week.

I suppose we were overdue. Five months into the love affair, our biggest disagreement to date had been whether to put vinegar or butter on the brocciflower. (There is also the running argument over Bob Dylan. David thinks he's the spokesperson of a generation. *I* think he sounds like a goat stuck in a fence. But that's another story for another day.)  

Partly this is because we've been firmly stuck, since October, in Gooey Romantic Mode: guitar serenades, pet names and ice cream in bed.  It's hard to pick a fight with someone who brings you a bowl of Triple Chocolate Thunder, calls you "Bunny" and lays next to you in bed, playing the intro to "Little Girl" for an hour.


Partly it's because David is extremely deft at handling my rollercoaster moods, and because he doesn't come unglued over stuff like teabags in the sink, and because we are basically the same brain, housed in separate bodies.

Partly it's because we are so delighted to have found each other, finally, that we don't want to waste time throwing plates of spaghetti and shouting obscenities at each other.

But for whatever combination of reasons, fighting just isn't on the agenda, around The Castle. At least, not on a regular basis.

The argument was cyber-related, ironically enough. (Ironic, because cyber is where we met ... where our friendship began, almost four years ago ... where we fell in love last year ... and where we still like to spend tandem free time.)

The long and short of it is: David posted something on his message boards that I wasn't comfortable with. He thought it was funny; I thought it sounded hostile, even for him. We both have friends and family who read those particular message boards. (The truth is that we also have NON-friends who read the boards, hoping for signs of trouble in paradise.)  And I was afraid that his post might be misinterpreted.

"You have to remember that we are viewed as a package deal these days," I said to him.

(Again, the irony of the situation  --  me, Miss "I Plop Our Entire Life Onto A Website For All The World To Read," getting wigged-out over David posting something on a message board  --  is not lost here.)

It was late, and we'd both had a long day at the office, and I was standing in the middle of a hot kitchen cooking dinner. Circumstances were not conducive to reasonable discussion. Tempers flared, briefly ... mostly mine. I tossed my oven mitt onto the floor, said "I don't even want to be with you right now," and went off to eat my dinner alone. The tension around The Castle, for the rest of the evening, was so thick you could pour it over your Triple Chocolate Thunder. We turned off the light at 11 p.m. and pretended to sleep for most of the night.

I emerged from the shower the following morning, and he was sitting up in bed, looking stricken and exhausted. He folded me into his arms. "Let's not ever fight again," he said. I snuffled into his shoulder and nodded in agreement. And that was more or less that.

Of course, this brings up lots of interesting questions about the nature of cyber, and about how much of our lives/our feelings/our relationship we want to share with the world (via his boards/my website), and about how *comfy* we are with what the other is doing online ...

... none of which I have time to explore right now, because David just got home and we're going to go shopping for that WEBCAM.

But I'll definitely be thinking about this stuff during the next few days. I'll let you know what I come up with.


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