I was just reading this post which I found through ikea hackers (sorry, but actual decoration blogs of people with perfect homes and even more perfect accessories just make me feel jealous and depressed, especially when I look around my own house which is full of "That'll do for now" and "mismatched and/or shabby, but definitely not chic" and "My landlord's taste in decoration (and budget)." - but I digress. I really liked the little anecdote they had about choosing lamps, and how having matching taste in lamps (or not) can seem like the MOST pressing and MOST ridiculously important thing at the time and the author managed to convey very convincingly the sheer panic of realising that, fuck, I've decided to spend my life with this person and what if we don't agree on the best way to make sandwiches???
We had a definite sandwich moment today. I bought a baguette, a real French baguette, and felt all pleased with myself and cultural as I carried it home in my arms because I hadn't brought my bag, and presented it to Creepy with a flourish. "I bought lunch!" I said proudly. "Now we can make a picnic if we need to go out!" He was pleased but said he wasn't ready to go yet. It was his weekend to choose, so I sat down and internetted for a while until he got up and looked as though he was starting to make sandwiches.
First he complained that I could have got some actual food. I felt deflated. I had specifically not bought things like meat and other fillings because the last time I remembered looking in the fridge, we had enough. Secret of Adulthood #1: Remember that groceries (and other supplies) can also get used up by people other than you. Anyway, he set about making some sandwiches and I said, oh, I'll make my own. I had a very specific idea of a sandwich, and I didn't want him ruining it when I'd gone to the trouble of actually buying nice bread. He refused and I became a bit panicky. I may have shouted at this point. He later told me that I had, anyway. So then he got a bit antsy at being shouted at and basically it was all one big mood/weird/disaster. All over a stupid sandwich. And he cut the bread wrong, so even when I made my own sandwich, it wasn't what I wanted it to be anyway. AND HELLO IT WAS A FUCKING SANDWICH.
And I can look back at this and realise that it's just all kinds of ridiculous, and would it have even mattered if he made my sandwich with the gross kind of weird sausage, and anyway HE WAS ASKING what I wanted in it, but instead I just panicked because he didn't do it in the same way as me. And I hate the way that he fries foods, but I've sort of lost how to ask "Please could you try using a bit less fat or drain it before you put mine on the plate or at least use a nice kind of oil and not the cheapest vegetable oil in the supermarket" without whining or shouting or panicking (which leads to shouting, which I don't get. How come me from the non-shouty to the point of frustrating family explodes at the slightest stress whereas he from the shouting-replaces-all-emotion family hates shouting and really doesn't know how to deal with it?)
We keep having total communication failures as well currently. Tonight we both failed to put Mini D to bed because we were assuming the other was doing it. When we went around the supermarket I was told halfway through "Well you're supposed to be seeing what we need for X situation" Thanks. Would have been nice to know that from the start! And the other weekend we argued about whether we had planned to clean that weekend or not. And this is really hard - to resolve when every time I try to resolve something I feel either attacked or terrified (not him, just previous abuse stuff coming up) overthink how to say it, fight the tendency to shout by having a shouting match in my head which then leads to tears because it doesn't get resolved. I want to be able to have these conversations with him but it feels unfair to do that around Mini D when I am prone to shouting or crying and don't seem to be able to resolve things without either of those happening. It would have been nice, on reflection, to have time without him to figure that kind of stuff out.