I'd like to think I'm a good catch. The kind of woman a lot of men wish they could marry. Not b/c I'm so attractive or have a rockin' body (because I'm not at all & I don't at all) but b/c I'm cool as shit & don't have the typical girl mentality where I feel the need to keep my significant other under my thumb. I also don't get embroiled in a lot of drama or try to neuter my partner. I love doin' the do. And I don't require a fatty bankroll or fancy shit. I'm mostly low maintenance. I am the type to be more thrilled w/ something simple like a mixed cd or quick text than anything else. Also, I'm funny & wholly inappropriate. I'm not afraid to work hard or admit when I'm wrong. The list goes on.
The flip-side to all the wonderfulness that is "The Trish" is that my brain works too much. I notice those small things; things that may not matter to anyone else in the whole wide world. I see these things & I fret. I fret so hard that where there were no problems before, suddenly there are big ones. It's a talent: turning something perfect into a steaming dog turd. It's not that I lack gratitude. It's not that I purposely want bad things to happen. The issue is that I build something up in my head, how it should look, feel, or be. When it inevitably does not meet my expectation, I crumble. I get angsty & passive aggressive & depressed. Then I retreat inside the same brain that caused the problem in the first place, thus mulling over the situation even further. Which we know, only makes it worse. This is me. It's a habit I've tried to change with no success at all. I see how things should look in my head & when they don't live up to that unbelievably high standard, look out!
God bless my husband for braving the wild ride that is The Trish. He deserves a freakin' medal for not only putting up with it, but making it look mostly effortless. Granted, he isn't always a knight in shining armor, leaping my baggage in a single bound. Sometimes he really screws the pooch. But it's then that I step back & see everything else I have tossed his way & how easily he navigated through it, and I have to give him props. Being married to me is not all peaches & cream. (Shocking, I know.) But he doesn't give up. He keeps on going & loves me in spite of myself. He's the only man who's ever accomplished such a feat. The rest have either become complete assholes (or were assholes all along & it just took me awhile to figure it out) or they turned tail & ran when they got the first small taste of my particular brand of crazy bitch.
I guess this is my round-about way of saying that it's not always smooth sailing but I'm very lucky for my husband. He has his quirks, too, don't get me wrong. I could write a book on his peccadilloes, but dammit if he isn't the perfect fit to my fucked up puzzle.