What Sunday Night Turned Into

Sunday night turned into a big ole mess is what Sunday night turned into. Somehow we got to talking about the moving in and the difficulties and he got more resistant and reluctant and I got less zen and compassionate and more ... I wish I could say sassy here, but it's simply not that cute ... pissy. It was ugly. It was so bad that I was still upset Monday morning and it took hours to get through the venting process. Luckily for me, my coworker is a good listener and doesn't allow those rants to influence her opinion of me, A, our relationship, our future or my friendship with her.

I can't even remember how it started, but I remember there was some resistance to things that had been earlier agreed upon and then things just escalated. I think the piece de resistance (no pun intended) was when he said, '...and you made me miss the closing ceremonies to the Olympics to help you with this,' after he helped me do something that a.) I hadn't asked for his help with, b.) I could have done without him and c.) we both seemed to enjoy doing together once we got going. (Not to mention the feeling of accomplishment at having done it and the important fact that this task, vital for my comfort and health living there, is now completed, a week after I moved in.)

So, Sunday sucked. But Monday was back to compassionate zen. We cleaned out the fridge together, made and ate dinner and recylced a bunch of stuff. He was helpful, I was relaxed and we had a lovely evening together. So, clearly it'll be up and down for a while. I guess compassion means being compassionate about those things too.