And Now Begins the Stewing. . .

Well, yesterday I talked to Ben. Not, of course, about the whole Foreign Policy issue except for very briefly. He apparently thought I was mad when I texted him, and even though I keep telling him I wasn't (and really, I wasn't) I get that wonderful, "Yes, dear," response that drives me crazy. What's the point in getting mad about it? I mean, it's not like he's going to change my mind on the matter, so why blow my top over it? Kind of like when we went to sign my lease, and he didn't want me to sign in until he saw the apartment. He got mad when I wouldn't relent, but I knew that I was signing the damn thing no matter what he said.

I guess the more time I spend thinking about the whole thing, the more his need to be in charge (is that the right wording?) is bugging me. I mean, I'm down with compromising. I agreed not to get my lip pierced when he asked me not to, I agreed to hold off on new tattoos for a while, I even went ice fishing for a week even though I was moving the day after we got back. But I also hate feeling pressured when it comes to making decisions. I'm in charge of me and my space; you can have yours, I don't really care, but as far as me and my corner of the universe, don't fuck with it. It probably doesn't help that we've both been busy this past week and pretty over tired when we talk, leading to more hostility than usual (including one run in that could have turned violent if I didn't let a few random comments directed at Poli Sci/politics go.)

But, I guess at some point we will have to talk about the whole thing. Not today, probably not tomorrow. Until then, I'm just keeping it all in the back of my mind. Not worth getting into an argument about until it's totally necessary, if it's necessary at all.

Urgh. I should just aspire to be that creepy old lady who lives alone on the edge of town. God knows it'd be a lot easier.