Morning Has Broken

I woke up grumpy. First, Adam took a shower before me, which caused me to leap out of the bed in a fury to beg him to think of me as he drained our hot water heater. Sweet man that he is, he was taking a cold shower so that he wouldn't use it all up. I know. my stomach hurts just thinking about it.

Once I finally got in the shower, I couldn't find my shampoo. So I fussed at him again for taking my shampoo with him to the river (which he didn't do). He just quietly picked up the bottle from behind the toilet and gently placed it on the ledge of the tub.

He made a wonderful pot of coffee, which I sipped on as I spouted off various renditions of "I'm so fat. I hate these pants. I have nothing to wear. Look at me! I mean, how would you feel walking around with your pants wedged up your crotch? Everyone's going to think I'm a hussy." (I've been reading Tess of the D'Urbervilles for a class and she gets called that a lot). Of course, each remark was punctuated by the refrain, "And you don't even care!"

Throughout all of this, Adam smiled and resiliently claimed that he DID care (except when I viciously insisted that he didn't even know what it was like to be fat in tight clothes bc guys could get as fat as they want and they still don't have to wear their pants tight. They just go out and buy another crappy pair of Carharts that actually fit). In the back of my mind, throughout this whole episode, I am thinking, "I hate mornings. But you know you can control this bc if there were a stranger in the house right now, you would be nice to them. Yeah, but strangers don't try to sabotage your mornings. But neither is Adam trying to sabotage your morning. Look how nice he is being. I don't care. He's not wearing tight pants and he's a morning person. He should be nice. Well, you should be nice too."


Yes. I have conversations like this with myself. How else am I going to curb these nasty habits?

Adam's quiet resistance to my grumpiness is somehow a cure for it. It is unbelievably hard to continue to act like a brat when someone close to you (whom you are inflicting your impossible attitude upon) has no reaction. Then, I can see myself for myself and there is no one to blame but me. Me and my tight pants.