I try to listen to myself when I speak, and judge how I would feel if someone spoke to me that way. Mostly I'm nice, and I try to only throw sarcasm out there when the person knows I'm joking, and only if I'm not online, as it's really difficult to tell if someone is being sarcastic when you can only read what they're saying. Over the past year or so, however, I've found that sarcasm is becoming more prevalent in my conversations, and that bugs me. Sometimes I become downright mean, and I'm no longer joking. Occasionally I realize what I'm doing while I'm doing it, and do my best to turn the conversation around. Most of the time, however, I either realize it and continue being hurtful as a defense mechanism (a really bad thing to do when you're dealing with your husband, mother, or siblings), or I don't realize it until after I've gone way too far, and been a complete witch. When either of these things happens, I usually try to run away very quickly, which only confuses and upsets the person I'm speaking with more. But if I run away, then I can take some time to calm down, remember that the person I'm speaking with is someone who loves me and who I love, try to understand why I felt so hurt that I turned so mean, and decide how to explain why I was so mean. My poor husband has borne the brunt of this horrible side of me, and but I still haven't managed to explain to him or myself how I can be so mean to someone I love so much.
I think, perhaps, I'm still dealing with some dissapointment in the way my life has turned out, which is very different from what I expected in high school. I thought I would graduate college with a degree in music ed; marry someone who was devilishly handsome (black hair, blue eyes, tall, well-defined but lean musculature), with a voice like Josh Turner (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iLn6maxATvQ), a smile like his, an avid interest in music, reading, education, and Catholic; get a good job; have kids; and live happily ever after. That's not exactly what happened.
I dropped out of my four-year college, enrolled in a tech school where I half-heartedly attempt to complete a two-year degree. I married a wonderful man, true, but he has none of the interests I expected in my husband, and while he's cute and has nice lean well-musceled arms, he's not devilishly handsome, and doesn't have the black hair, blue eyes, deep voice or heart-melting smile, and he's a bit duck-footed. (I'm really not shallow, I don't truly care about his face or voice or smile or walk, he's just a lot different from who I expected to fall in love with. Actually, I kind of surprised myself by falling in love with him, I did think I was shallower than that.) I have a good job, but it's not teaching music, and I'm not living happily every after.
To be fair, I'm not sure a life like I had planned out for myself is even possible, especially the happily ever after bit and the 'perfect' husband. Still, I know in my heart that I'm both happy with my life and dissapointed with myself. Perhaps that's why I feel under attack when someone asks what's wrong. Even just that simple, caring question can make me feel hurt and mistreated, simply because I'm dissapointed with myself, and I don't want anyone else to know. I feel like I could have done so much more with my life if I hadn't ended up with Michael, and yet I'm so grateful to have him in my life, to have his love and be able to love him. So, I suppose I had a choice to make, and I chose Michael over the rest of my life. It's funny, you hear about people who regret not choosing love, but you never hear about the people who regret choosing love. I'm not saying I regret it as a whole, but I think part of me does. Hmm, that's kind of a big revelation for me. Well, well, not only is a blog cathartic, but it's therapuetic as well. Perhaps now that I've discovered all this I can work through it. Wish me luck.