I am nearing the end of the seventh season of West Wing again. I think I am up to eight run throughs. When I think about all the hours of my life I have given this show…

Not long ago Noah indicated to me that he would try harder to not talk about work. This came up because I complained about him not listening.

So towards the end of the WW CJ and her long-time beau (Danny) have to figure out how to make a relationship work. It is as awkward and strange and delightful as those characters deserve. At some point CJ will have to figure out what to do next after the White House. CJ and Danny have a large argument about learning how to discuss things with one another rather than making decisions on their own.

Danny says, “I just want to hear you talk.”

It isn’t that I don’t want to hear about Noah’s work. That’s not it. There are reasons I can scout for appropriate people for him to chat with at parties. I listen and pay attention to the work stuff. I can give run downs on the programming languages he favors and why. I can discuss different attitudes about programming languages depending on ones initial language acquisition. I can reference different departments in a large number of technology companies.

I uhh don’t work with computers or program. I mean, I’ve figured out how to use a laptop so I “work with computer” but I don’t design programs. I just write my shit and hit “publish”. Someone else makes magic happen.

Sometimes it is incredible to me that we live in such an incredible time. There is so much untapped potential every second of the day. You have to pick and choose which aspects of it are worth your time.

Anyway, back to Noah. It’s not that I don’t want to hear about your job. It’s that I want you to be able to rattle off as much shit about me as I can about you. I want you to listen when I talk instead of formulating the next thing you want to do at work while I happen to be standing nearby.

It’s not that I don’t want to hear about work. I want to feel heard.

I want to hang out with you for the rest of my life. I want you to think I am interesting. I am scared that you don’t unless I do some pretty extreme things. That is hard sometimes.

When I was younger and I had less to be responsible for I set some pretty high bars for expectations of my behavior. Uhm. I’m tired. I’m scared that I won’t be interesting to you without masochism.

It’s not that I think I am over perverted sex. I feel very different about my sexuality being performative than I used to. Things change. I think spent a long time using sex as one of the primary ways I tried to get people to like me and now it’s… different.

I suck at sustained intimacy. We both work too much. We are both tired.

I’m sorry I made you feel like I don’t want to hear about work. I do. This balance business is hard. I know it is hard for you that the kids interrupt. They kind of feel the same way about you. They are here all day. They have a running dialogue with me that you interrupt. You aren’t doing anything bad and they should share turns with you. I’m sorry that it frustrates you so much. They don’t mean anything bad by it.

I know parenting is hard for you. But you work so hard. I am so consistently proud of your ability to take a deep breath and change your tone of voice. It takes the smallest indication that you should and you just presto like magic do it. I think that is pretty fucking cool. Emotional regulation for the win.

I am so grateful that you like to read to them as much as you do. I would have to do way more reading out loud if you didn’t and I kind of hate doing it. It makes my throat ache.

I try to thank you at every meal for making food for me. It really is a big deal to me that you do this. I feel loved and cared for. I feel grateful that you take this burden from me. I’m not very good at feeding me. I’m pretty bad at it. I am a lot healthier now that you cook for me. Thank you.

I appreciate that you spontaneously notice that the house is clean and you thank me for my hard work. That makes me feel good. See, this is why I let it get nasty. That way the difference is more stark and it makes your job of noticing way easier.

Ahem.

I’m hoping for some good date nights this week. Two! Unbelievable! Two dates in a week!

Do you know I used to go on dates five to seven nights a week with somewhere between three and seven people of ranging gender presentation? Now I celebrate two dates in a week with cartwheels. And with one guy. I used to keep detailed records of who I had what kind of sex with when so I could potentially trace back uhm issues. Now… not so much.

You are the only one I get to fall into for the rest of my life. Yes, I want to hear about your work. Your work will be a big part of my life forever. If I try to shut it out I won’t get a very big piece of you. I want you. I really do. That means tolerance for long philosophical conversations about the merits of programming languages I don’t use. It’s kind of hilarious.

I understand that part of my role here is to be your test audience for arguments. I ask questions that surprise you and cause you to have to rethink your approach to arguments. I have value as a muse even though I have no interest in sharing your work. I get it. I accept it. I’m down. I’ve got the 411. What have you.

It just needs to be an ensemble piece with all of us functioning as “main characters”.

I don’t do top down authority much. If I have to get you to do something by hurting your or forcing you then I probably don’t god damn need it done. I’m a big girl. I can do things for myself.

But you feed me. Cause you want to. So I do your laundry and clean your house and talk to your kids all day. Believe me I understand having questionable interest in the productivity of my days. Whoopdie shit. Six loads of laundry. Whoo fucking hoo.

I have treated every job I’ve ever had as something to try and take pride in. Retail, teaching, food service–I showed up and worked as hard as I could. I work as hard in your house.

I’m sorry I’m so hard on you.