So, here’s the deal with marriage — if it’s real, it’s love/hate.
Passion causes love and hate. Couples who get along for more than 85 percent of the time, in my opinion, are more friends than lovers.
I’ve been married for 28 years now, and depending on the time of day, I either love or hate my husband. There’s absolutely no in-between. If he looks at me the wrong way some mornings, I want him the hell out! Don’t let the door hit you in the ass, buddy! Man, can he piss me off! He can be so unbelievably selfish and reckless sometimes, I can hardly stop myself from sewing up another one of his sweaters into a pillow.
Let me explain. When we first met and got into one of what has become an endless series of fights, he had a hideous black-and-white striped velour, long-sleeved sweater-type of thing. So, I got some material and sewed the whole thing up into a pillow. It’s still in our closet 28 years later, and brings me incredible feelings of power, so I keep it.
But then there are the days when he's sick and real sweet, and I imagine him dead and realize that he is my true love and soulmate, and life without him just plain scares the hell out of me.
He's the kindest soul in the world, but also extremely self-destructive, so I live a beautiful life — every day, walking the high wire above towers of love and hate. I’ve written so many songs and poems about him, I'd probably be a millionaire if we lived in Nashville. My future album is going to be called “Songs of Love Addiction and Other Drugs.” But that’s another long, long story.
It will probably take a double album just to get to the tip of the iceberg of my heart. You see, I am a love addict who is married to a drug addict. Yet if he is my drug, does that also make me a drug addict? And if love is a drug, does the same go for hate? I'd never consciously choose to feel hate, but I think for the most part love has chosen me.
I’m writing this post while we’re actually getting along with each other, which is weird because when I’m mad at him is usually when I have to write it all down, and it’s always scathing and raw. Today, I’m just chatty.
But if I walk into the living room right now and he’s still practicing his chicken-pickin’ online guitar lessons, then, to paraphrase Don Corleone, he will become my enemy and he will fear me.
Please, marriage gods, let the chicken-pickin’ be silent just this once. I really want it to be love tonight.