Missy gets messy.

From a couple of posts over the past nine months, one might think that Chloe had cornered the market on unexpected eruptions of emotion. She has not.

I mentioned recently that I have been surprised to find myself the Least Bothered Person In The Room, through that period of storms. Maybe I jinxed myself: since then, more days than not, I am the one of us who's having the worst day. (Not that it's a contest.)

Several features about the Trifecta have contributed to my discomfort over the past couple of weeks. Mind you, some of the triggers are external events that have nothing to do with us -- but the nature of my response, and the effect that my behavior has had on the threesome, are frankly freaking me out a little.

I take my meds. I'm not in a giant episode of pathologic proportions. It's just, I hate feeling angry or resentful or sad ever at all, and I especially hate it when those feelings burst out at the wrong moment and bring my partners down. I'm usually the sweetness-and-light type, and even when I'm cranky, it tends to be only mild to moderate. There was a while there when Red was uncharacteristically moody (even before the storm), and it did scare me. That got better. Lately, he's "concerned" about me instead, and I think he and Chloe are having secret conversations about just how alarmed they should be.

The answer is, I don't know.

One of my parents was a scary yeller, so I don't yell. Even raising my voice for more than two sentences kind of shocks me -- and I've done it at Red at least three times in the last week. I don't cry unless there's a damn good reason, yet the weeping has overcome me a couple of times this week, at what seem to be trivial provocations.

Maybe it's that we keep shifting and settling into a new equilibrium, only to find that we're not done yet. A little like when your lover turns over in bed, halfway waking you up, then both of you falling back asleep. Except sometimes you don't. And now there are two who can wake me.

I want to scream: why does it have to be MY work that has the only elasticity? Such that if we as a family need more money, the only way to get it is for me to work more hours? Which leaves the other two with all kinds of time together without me, which in theory doesn't make me jealous, because I know they'd rather have me there, and it's not that I don't want her to be with him, or that I don't want him to be with her, it's that *I* want to be with **ANYONE** and that makes me sad and childish and unreasonable and I hate it.

Someone treats Chloe badly at our workplace, and I become enraged. I have less than half of the control over anything that happens there, but I have a thousand times more investment in her happiness than anyone else does. Or than I would have for any other colleague. And she is ridiculously protective of my happiness, sometimes to her detriment. On the one hand, I want her to stay there forever so that I can make her life better and she can make my life better and I can at least get a peek at her almost every day ... and on the other hand, I want her to gain a better opportunity, with something closer to the compensation she deserves, and where each of us is not clouded by our devotion to the other. I want to not have to be so careful around each other while other people are watching. And I can't stand wanting two opposing things so strongly.

All this grimness on my part has been a wet blanket, on the evenings when we three only get to spend an hour or two together after work, and then have to go our separate ways. If I squelch my discontent, I'm disconnected. If I let it show, they both are more blue.

These past four days, the not-just-happy-hour kind, have included a lot of fun. An evening at the ballpark just the three of us, a movie with the kids, a big family dinner with everyone from grandma to auntie to grandkids, a low-key barbecue today. Two of those nights were filled with stay-up-late, sprain-your-privates, super-glue bonding type mindblowing sex. On the downside, I had to work late Friday night, worked half of Saturday, and most of Sunday. Felt sorry for myself almost every minute. But, I come home to find Chloe has fed the kids and put away the dishes. The next I day I come home to find Red has vacuumed the house and is entertaining my ailing mother, whose arrival I missed because of work. The day after that I come home to find that Chloe has shucked the corn and made a new pitcher of tea, and Red has fired up the coals and fixed the kitchen drawers.

I come home.

I come home to find:

I come home to find love.


Somehow I have to either get a grip, or get used to not having a grip. Somehow.