N.B.: This week I will be guest blogging–though probably not every day–at Judgment Call, a delightful blog written by a delightful man.
The other night, E.S. asked me, “So, when are we going to have our first fight?”
“I thought we already did,” I said.
“Last night, when we were talking about my mood disorders and I snapped at you and said, ‘Don’t psychoanalyze me,’ and you snapped back, ‘I’m not psychoanalyzing you, I’m just trying to figure out what the fuck is going on.'”
He pointed out that, objectively speaking, it wasn’t much of a fight, especially as we were in bed and so tired that we fell asleep right after this exchange.
But the thing is this: I’ve gotten in exactly one fight in my entire life, a knock-down, drag-out affair with my next-door neighbor D.T. when we were both eleven years old. There was hair-pulling involved. I don’t think E.S. was referring to hair-pulling. He was referring to the kind of argument that people who care about each other have when they get mad and raise their voices and stomp instead of tiptoing and generally rebalance the emotional equilibrium of their relationship.
In other words, something I have never, ever done and secretly believe I’m constitutionally incapable of doing.
I mean, I’ve raised my voice three times in my life, and two of those times I managed to attenuate what came out before I let it go anyway. One of the attenuated times was when I was five and my mother, three minutes after telling me to pick up my things in one room, asked me why my things were still lying around in another room. I yelled, “I’m not an octopus! I don’t have eight arms!”
Except I didn’t yell it. I was about to, but right when I opened my mouth I thought she’d get mad if I yelled. So I just sort of said it loudly and then burst into tears.
So, clearly, one snarky exchange is a step in the right direction.
But it scares me how far I have left to go.
While I greatly appreciate the plug (I’m “delightful?” — how delightful!), the link isn’t working. My homepage link on here should.
Whoops. Sorry about that. It should work now.
Faustus … As a friend. If you want help with learning how to fight and raise your voice drop me an email. I am sure that within one week you will be adept in the arts of raising your voice, stomping your feet and basically – fighting.
The least I can do is spread the knowledge that I already have.
Huh…..I hate fighting, but the make-up sex is so much fun.
Let it go on someone someday… scream, shout, throw things, slam things… you will be amazed at how good you feel. I am sure you have a lot built up inside of you!
I’m in the same boat with you about fighting. I’ve only been in one fight with my cousin Stacy when we were watching the He-Man movie. I wanted to be Sheerah and she wouldn’t let me be…that’s why she wound up with a chunk of hair missing.
You’re a New Yorker and you don’t know how to yell?
Jalal, you are very kind. Mark, as I’ve never had a fight, I wouldn’t know, but I’ll take your word for it. Ruggerjohnnyd, you are absolutely right. Paul, she deserved it. Scott, though I live in New York, I’m originally from the deep South, which should explain much.
OH my gawd, I had the same expereince… And I told my mom that.
Then there were lots of spanking involved….
I used to have fights with my mom all the time about cleaning up my room. Finally, one time I yelled back, “What IS a bomhitit?” since she always said my room looked like one. When she realized I had no idea what she’d been saying, the fight dissolved into laughter. Always a good way to end an arguing session.
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