Later that day, I asked the Captain if he wanted me to make him a grilled cheese sandwich. He had a migraine, and he looked fairly pathetic. Plus, we've reached the point in the "Buy No Food" experiment where you've really got to forage to find anything good to eat.
"Only if you want to," he said.
"This is a little like the comics," I said. "I don't ever want to help anyone. But I do, because I love you."
"Wow. That's a little selfish," he said.
"Really? I think it's completely unselfish. I don't want to help you, but I'm going to anyway. Isn't that what love's all about?"
Listen, by Sunday I was cranky and aggravated, so my responses may have been a tad skewed. I wasn't in the mood to do anything for anybody. I understand that these depressions in the valley of self-sacrifice happen most often when I'm feeling overwhelmed. Actually, "over-used" is more accurate. I do occasionally get overwhelmed by the volume of tasks I must complete. But I get totally pissy when I feel over-used, like I exist solely for the convenience of others. And by others, I mean my children.
The Captain doesn't make me feel that way. He's much more giving than I am in our relationship. He would have just made me the sandwich without my asking. But I consider him an able-bodied adult, so his lunch order never even makes it to the back of the diner. I've got too many other humans begging for my time, and it's exponentially worse on the weekends.
I don't like the weekends. It pains me to say it, but it's true. Especially in the spring. The weekends are so busy with pack commitments, there is no time for me. I barely get to sit down, much less write. And I need to write, people. I have a deadline. But there is so much planned over the next six weeks, I may be dead before I reach the line.
I'm going to have to explain my notion of love to my children. Help me, even if you don't want to. They're selfish, maybe they'll understand.