Mary is on a rampage this evening. She's tearing around the house threatening my life and wellbeing. She's accusing me of being stupid and selfish and unreasonable. Why? Because I want to head back up to the cottage tomorrow so that I can work on, and hopefully finsh, the wall sculpture that I started to install over the past weekend when we were there.
I've been working on making the various parts for the piece for the past couple months, and got my first chance to see it inn place and how it will turn out last weekend. I liked how it was progressing, so I am anxious to finish it. I have this compulsion to complete any piece I'm working on when it gets to a point where I know how it is going to turn out. I will go nuts if I don't get to it and complete it NOW. I know, that is a bit extreme, but unless you are an artist or have a similar compulsion, you don't know how difficult it is to wait to finish something like this.
You would think that Mary would understand me by now, having had to put up woth me and my creative energies for all these years. I think she really does understand, but likes to make a big deal out of it just for the sake of argument. She doesn't want me to get too sure of where I stand. Gotta keep the old man on edge. So she calls me all kinds of unfreindly names, impugns my intelligence, questions my common sense, mutters about the expense of putting gas in the van, and claims to be worried that I will starve to death. (since I do all the cooking around here, she should be more worried about starvng herself.) She does all this complaining while spending the entire evening making sure I have everything I need to take along, that everyhting is properly organized. She is busily writing copious notes to remind me of everything I need to take and do once I get there. That's just her way of maintaining control.
Of course she is mumbling irrational obscenities aimed in my direction the whole time. She tries desperately to cuss like a longshoreman, to find the most vile and disgusting epithets to hurl at me, but it all usually comes out garbled and mixed up in an unintelligible slurry of syllables. I can't help myself, I just have to laugh. That just drives her into a more expressive frenzy of mangled language. Soon enough her invective has petered out and she will retreat to the bedroom where she can mutter to herself and convince herself that I really am worth all that emotion.
Despite all her ranting and raving, I again will get my way. I will go tomorrow to the cottage where I can work and satisfy that urge to finish what I started. She also knows that I will take care of a number of other minor tasks that need to be attended to, so she is a bit more willing to let me go. For my part, I better to be sure to accomplish all the tasks on her list or risk more hellfire when I get home. As long as I get my main objective done, the sculpture, all the other stuff will get done eventually.
I'll check back in here towards the end of the week to let you know how I fared. I'll have pictures, too, to prove I was actually there working and not just playing golf.