File this one under TMI, but it’s important and it’s good.
By Friday, I was so excited about the Vampire Ball in downtown, that I was twittering every few minutes as I was finishing up the program. My costume was all picked out, I had a great makeup artist to do my vampire face and I was rambling!
Then the day of the ball, I had all I could do to wait around my home for the witching hour. So I troddled up to the theater to assist in anyway they’d let me so I could be not at home for the remains of the day.
But it wasn’t because I was excited about the party. No.
I was tired of being me.
Do you ever have those days? Where you just want to crawl into a shell or disappear and pretend you’re not who you are?
My husband was tired. He lumbered into my office and announced his fatigue, and then asked (rhetorically, I think), “Why am I always so tired?”
Flippantly, I replied “It’s the weekend, it’s your M.O. You’re always tired.” I resumed my clickety clack on the keyboard.
I flashed a cheesy “I’m teasing you” grin, and he replied “WHy am I always tired on the weekend?”
I really should have held my tongue, but it was an open door to disaster. “Good question.” I replied.
But I think he heard the coldness in my voice. Because he went upstairs to take a nap.
In my defense, I have told him repeatedly to see a doctor about what could be apnea, but he refuses. I get tired of “playing the game” with him. I love him, he needs help, he won’t get it, don’t come whining to me.
See? It was a day I didn’t want to be me.
The baby had pink-eye. The oldest was grounded because he’s failing at school.
I just didn’t want to be me.
So after he slept for a couple of hours, I woke him, told him I was going down to the theater to help, and left.
That was around 1:30 on Saturday Afternoon.
I didn’t get back home until almost 7 the next morning.
Don’t roll your eyes. I was 3 minutes from home the entire evening. At 1:00 there was an “after party” and because I was such a good helper, I got to stay. I rubbed elbows with the headlining musician at the party, and because I was the unofficial DD, I got the honor of helping Voltaire load his gear into my pal’s Hummer and chauffeur him back to the hotel.
He was every bit the gentleman – we talked about our kids, music and branding. He wouldn’t even let me help him unload his gear from the car.
That was 3:30 in the morning.
But I still didn’t want to go home. So I drove the Hummer back for my friend and helped clean up at the theater. By the time everything was wrapped it was 6:30 in the morning. I sad a few last goodbyes to Ted and JAcque and drove as slowly as I could to get back home.
It took me about 15 minutes.
My baby was up eating breakfast. My husband had already showered for church. All I wanted to do was sleep.
I wasn’t even naughty in the traditional sense of the word, but I felt so bad about how I felt. I hoped sleep would “fix” me somehow.
Sunday afternoon, I wake up, as my husband is returning from church. I’m usually a church-goer myself, but not today. He also didn’t take my oldest and left him home with me. Good thing he didn’t set the house on fire – I would have slept right thru.
But my oldest noted that Dad took the baby to McDonald’s – and he didn’t get anything.
Argh! Inequity rears it’s ugly head AGAIN this weekend. Where’s that rock I want to crawl under?
So as my husband once again ascends the stairs for another nap, this time with baby, I move to appease the oldest with lunch and a movie.
We made a good lunch choice and a horrible movie choice. The kid will probably have nightmares, because I didn’t take the time to listen to my conscience on this one.
And I came home ready for something else to fall apart.
My check engine light came on.
But then I saw another movie I really wanted to see: Fireproof
You know, that new Kirk Cameron movie from the makers of Facing the Giants and Flywheel. I’m starting to think every one of their movies is going to start with the letter F.
At any rate, it took some finagling – and of course I was the one that had to finagle – but I found a sitter for the 9:40pm showing of the movie.
And hubby and I went to an empty theater – we were literally the only two people in the whole theater for the film.
It was like God had set it up just for the two of us.
The story echoed through me like a recent memory: a couple drifted apart, a spouse wanting to save the marriage, the other not so sure, God’s intervention and the obligatory happily ever after for which Hollywood is famous.
I wanted to see this movie because I thought – no, I KNEW, my husband needed to see this movie. He was excited about seeing it, so I had that in my favor. But I just knew that if he saw this movie, he’d change his behaviour, his attitude, his disposition. Like some kind of magic wand, he’d be all fixed and I’d stop wanting to be someone somewhere else this weekend.
But it didn’t turn out that way.
It turned out better.
I realized that God can do anything, but I can’t. All I can do is work on me. I can be the change I want to see in the world. In my husband. In me.
Why is all this in a marketing blog? Two reasons: First, this movie very cleverly comes wrapped in a pitch for an upcoming book: The Love Dare, and second, because this is a “real life” marketing blog, and in revealing things about my real life, I hope to share ideas, concepts and beliefs that will empower you to make yourself a better person, not just a better marketer.