Was that a Mack truck?

Dragging myself out of bed, took the effort of someone trapped in an upturned car with petrol dripping slowly toward sparking electrical cables. The doona as resistant as a buckled seatbelt and the carpet under my feet seemed littered with shattered pieces of windscreen. I shuffled to the bathroom and prepared for the stinging pellets of cold water that would jolt my system awake. My morning routine was familiar enough that there was no need to open my eyes, and so my eyelids remained snugly together, pretending to steal a final moment of sleep, until the cold water, like the tin-man’s oil can, released their bond and allowed the light to bounce into my eyes. Conveniently, the cold water easily explained away the shivering that permeated my body.

The image of a car accident seems apt, as this morning – like most lately- I felt hit by a truck. Even so, it is easier to justify this to myself rather than risk thinking anything might be wrong or that I might be in any way abnormal: I have a demanding job; I don’t exercise like I used to; my sleep is interrupted by poking thoughts of responsibility… with enough determination to avoid looking more deeply at this problem, the list of acceptable alternate conclusions is without end.

My wife finally loses her vice like grip of her tongue: ‘I don’t think it’s ok for you to feel like this Todd.’

My stereotypical, caveman bravado whirred to life; unlocking an endless list of standard phrases, that our childhoods were subjected to – in a loving attempt to build resilience from our parents and teachers. Without thought or control, they spew forth to make a jumbled argument of;

• Life isn’t meant to be easy.
• They call it work, because every other four letter word was taken.
• Short term pain – long term gain.
• I’m big enough and ugly enough to take care of myself.
• Money doesn’t grow on trees.
• Work hard now, reap the benefit later.
• Success takes hard work and sacrifice.
• Nothing comes from nothing.

In hindsight, I know that I recognised immediately that my wife was right on the money – as she usually is – but as I rarely admit. 

As the more gracious and emotionally intelligent half of this relationship, she allowed my crazy rhetoric to end this conversation. Yet, as the realisation of my overreaction settled, my niggling cough broke the silence and provided me with an alternate path to my wife’s obvious intent, whilst manipulating my ego into thinking it was my idea. 

‘I can’t seem to shake this cough – I think I’ll go to the doctor.’