two Saturday ago i went off shopping for a motorcycle.
the Tuesday afterwards, i came home with one [see Wednesday's post.]
this was a problem for the PSE [see yesterday's post.]
talking it over between Saturday and Tuesday, the PSE laid out several arguments for why she didn't think me getting a motorcycle was a good idea; logistical, financial and [oddly] a question of taste.
ultimately, though, the PSE didn't really care about all of the above very much.
the PSE's biggest argument against me getting a motorcycle was that i would hurt myself.

the PSE eventually said that me hurting myself was greater then eighty-five percent of her problem.
i suspected as much, but yet, she almost never brought it up in all of the arguments we had.
the PSE played the money argument, and the poor-taste argument and the logistical argument all very heavy but only really mentioned the fact that she was afraid i would hurt myself in passing.
which is bad faith, really.
the PSE has an obligation to make the arguments that she believe in and not waste time fighting with me about shit that she ultimately doesn't really care all that much about.
but the PSE knew that my counter to her saying “i don't want you to hurt yourself” would be a dismissive “that's your right...” so she didn't really play it.
because, of course, the PSE has the right to get as worried about me as she wants, but she doesn't get to dictate my behavior.
if i lived my life based on the worry and concern of people who loved me i never would have left Essex County.
i'd be living in a house right next door to my Father, married to a nice Jewish woman and commuting to work in bubble wrap.
but i am not that kind of TITS.

the PSE is not wrong.
the odds are pretty damned good that if i ride a motorcycle, i will eventually hurt myself somehow, some way. possibly really badly.
back when the PSE was delivering Chinese food in Austin she met a dude who busted himself up pretty badly on a motorcycle and that, apparently, is what really soured her on this life goal of mine.
but, of course, everything in life is a risk and it's my crapshoot to take.
by my calculus, the pros of getting to ride around looking cool and badass like the Terminator 2 outweigh the potential for paralysis or brain-death.
the PSE told me that if i fuck myself up, if i break all my arms and legs or if i become some kind of vegetable that she won't take care of me. she disclaimed all responsibility for me.
which is sad and hurtful for me to hear, but, again, all i can say to the PSE is “that's your right.”
if the PSE wants the freedom to walk away from my shriveled-up husk and leave me to the ministrations of some government charity-care hospital, then that's her right.
she never swore 'for better or for worse.'
i can't even say i would blame her, really, though, it is pretty heartless.

i told the PSE that if she needs to walk away from me if i hurt myself real bad then, okay, so-be-it.
that seemed to manage the last of her objections to me getting a motorcycle so we should be good now, right?
despite hearing the PSE out and agreeing to pay for the expense of the motorcycle out of my own money and agreeing to unburden the PSE of any marital obligations to care for me that she didn't want to suffer under, the PSE still could not be persuaded to go along with my plan.
she couldn't even hold her peace, she had to make her displeasure know.
the PSE opposed my plans to get myself a motorcycle violently and personally, in a way i still could not understand even after all the talking we had done on the subject.
that Saturday, when i went to Freedom PowerSports and came home with a strong probability that i was going to pull the trigger on a motorcycle the PSE stopped talking to me and hasn't spoken to me since.
that was thirteen days ago.
since then, the PSE and i have been sharing our one-bedroom apartment in tense silence.
i don't know what the PSE's endgame is and i don't understand her logic.
the PSE doesn't want me to ride a motorcycle because she is afraid i'll get hurt or die and she'll lose me but she hasn't spoken to me in nearly two weeks. how is that any different from losing me?
the PSE may very well end up leaving me over all of this but, again, how is that any different from losing me?
you would think the logical thing to do would be to enjoy the TITS for however long you have him, but the PSE just doesn't seem to see it that way.

the PSE thinks she's punishing me with her hostile treatment, trying to raise the cost of me riding my motorcycle around. it's a game of spite and will to her. she is trying to break me.
of course, she will not succeed.
i can't just give up the motorcycle i only just got.
i worked hard for this and i can't let the PSE's inexplicably hostile attitude sour me on it.
if i were to cave to the PSE's terrorism, that would be the end of not only our relationship but my self esteem.
if i were to say 'okay, PSE, obviously you don't want to let me have a motorcycle so i am going to give it up because that's what you want' then i could never respect myself and i would always resent the PSE.
i am not that kind of TITS.
the only choice i have is to ride this out.
eventually the PSE will either quit being upset or she won't and presumably she will leave.
who knows how long that will take, though?
so far i have tried to be patient with this whole inconvenience.
i'm angry at the PSE for doing this to me, it is probably the most selfish thing she has ever done, but i get that it is coming from a place of concern, so i am trying to tolerate it.
i've got my limits, though.
the PSE's shitty, tense attitude is making it difficult for me to live my life and eventually i am going to ask the PSE to move the fuck out already.
hopefully it won't come to that.
we'll see.

//[ab irato ad astra]

September 2017

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