I don't cry.

I really, really don't. Which is why it threw me for a loop tonight when I lost my proverbial shit.

Going to work has been hard for me. My husband doesn't make me, he's sweet, easy, understanding. I feel like an accessory wife, like I go well with any outfit; I've been losing weight because I haven't been boozing, and it's been forcing me to deal with my emotions.

My manager scares me. He's old friends with my husband, but sometimes I go in later than he expects and he corners me and says

Catherine, I've made exceptions for you

and telling my friends

She's a distraction for G

even though he doesn't baby me.

One day I was sitting in the window, swinging my long legs in a decisive manner, showing my eight inch heels and a man comes up, and pokes me in the thigh, right where my tattoo is and he comes flying saying

YOU TOUCH MY GIRLS I TOUCH YOU

and I had to bite my lip to keep from smiling, because I admire such dedication.

Tonight, I washed my hair and ironed all the curls out pin straight, facebook chatting with a girlfriend of mine who is equally adventuresome but a little less polished than I.

I could never be with anyone who couldn't decide to travel on a dime with me

she related

and I replied

Why do you think I even entertained the idea of getting married? He's like me, the idea of moving around and not being settled sits well with him.

I called a taxi that never came and the music next door started booming through my walls, rattling my feet and making me shake with the thought that

I'll never make it.

The police came and blocked off my street; I live in a nice neighbourhood but I'm the lightest girl on the block; despite my Canadian upbringing I am still relatively cautious; had my husband been home he would have been outside screaming at them to

SHUT THE FUCK UP!!

Even though it seems trite I sat on my couch and cried.

I cried for the fact that I am terrified to go to work.
I cried for the fact that I seem ungrateful.
I cried for the fact that no matter how impossible I am, he loves me no matter what.

You would think that unconditional love wouldn't be hard to swallow but it is. You mean you will love me, even though I'm a slob? Even though I have a bad temper? Even though I have no family? Even though sometimes when I try my best, it isn't good enough for me?

He came home, tried to make me laugh. I rebuffed him, wallowing in my own sorrows, trying to make sense of it all, as he grabbed my kneecaps and smiled at me. I tried not to look him in the eyes, lest I smile and forget how I felt; I'm not honest with my emotions, so when they do come, I try and let them overcome me.

What if I go and I don't make anything? The house fee will be astronomical.
Anything you make will be more than we had before.

In less than twenty minutes I was in the car, covered in kisses, love and support, and went into work.

I didn't do as well as I had imagined. It was long, impossible, though I did meet someone for good conversation. I met an agent from Los Angeles, who did a 3 for $100 with me, talking about how he is disenchanted with his lifestyle and wishes he could meet a girl like me.

At the end of the night, my husband came to get me without complaint, even though I woke him from a nap.

We came home, and I layed on his shoulder before we went to run errands.

When I lay there I feel nothing can get me, the warmth seeps through his shirt and into my skin, his arms wrapped around me so I can only peek over them to glance at the television, but it doesn't even matter.

As hard as work is, when he comes to get me, I am home. Wherever, whenever, whatever that may be, as long as he is there, everything is going to be all right.