Life's Negotiations

Do you ever ask yourself: Am I crazy?

Bad news: you probably are.

Good news: so is everyone else.

I'm reading, "The Private Lives of the Impressionists" by Sue Roe about my favorite period in art history. Connecting these paintings to historical events and the friendships among the artists brings more to the interpretation of their beloved work.

Between the soap opera of love affairs and illegitimate children, I'm struck most by how little they were thought of by fellow artists and patrons at that time. It's surprising, when you consider how prevalent Monet's reprints are today (let alone Van Gogh's who came a few years later and similarly struggled for acceptance).

For these artists - Monet, Pissarro, Cezanne, Renoir, Manet, Degas - to stay true to their inspiration and keep creating despite the ridicule and poverty they endured, took possibly a combination of ego, insanity, determination, vision, and camaraderie.

I just ran across this New York Times article, "Welcome to My World, O My Beloved. Don't Bring Your Stuff." It's one guy's viewpoint on co-habitation. This author's relationship crazy and mine could definitely be friends. Now his pack rat obsession on the other hand would drive me up the wall.

There are real gems in the article including his description of buying towels to mark the move-in (although Joan Crawford buying toilet seats is priceless) and of a cat pieta. Basically, this guy could say 'I love you,' but accepting his boyfriend's stuff was a much bigger step.

Reading this, I kept thinking of the hoops my husband went through - and still does he's likely to tell you. I might be the only woman who wasn't thrilled to get engaged, but is completely happily married. Since learning that I'm not much for surprises, he's begun introducing a topic months in advance of me needing to make a decision, giving me plenty of time to freak out, analyze every possible scenario and basically get used to the idea of moving in together, getting married, moving, buying a car, etc. etc.

I could see this becoming a recurring column.

If you're this side of hypochondria like me, you might enjoy this article: "Insufferable Clinginess, or Healthy Dependence?" in the NY Times today. Enjoy...or drive yourself nuts.

By the fifth paragraph, I started thinking through my day -- for example, the 10 instant messages I sent my husband most of which went unanswered. Either that means I'm too needy or he's just mean/busy. While I prefer to believe the latter, I had to keep reading the article to be sure.