Meno, mentioned this before I was cognizant of it being one of my issues; disrupting the peacefulness of the home. I don’t care much for “commotion”. Like all preferences, there are exceptions, but suffice it to say I am spoiled by quiet time. I like white noise, I prefer the absence of television, I like hearing birds chirp outside the kitchen window. I also like having the Mister around, but having him home means forfeiting the quiet which soothes THIS savage beast.

I’ve spent more time than usual with the Mister the past two months, hence my noticeable absence from this blog, as well as, yours. These days are marked by sleeping late, eating late, and planning nothing. The blathering of those horrible news channels echo the same non-news story three times an hour, and replace my beloved white noise. The conversation is dominated by rhetorical questions, real questions (he suffers from CRS), and statements about the obvious (not to belittle his observation skills, when you spend as much time alone as I do, you resent unnecessary spoken words while simultaneously feeling starved for adult conversation. I’m bitch that way.). My personal favorite, is being summoned across the house with a yell proclaiming, “you need to come and see this”. As luck would have it, “this” is typically of a nature that requires me to fake interest, an interest typically shared by another middle class white male of the same age. The Mister really needs a boyfriend.

Yeah, I go along, listen, feign interest, ask questions (all without rolling my eyes in his presence) then return to the laundry. The entire time I’m playing along, I’m preoccupied by the notion, of whether or not he would return the favor of listening to my excitement about some mundane topic of no interest to him.

Yeah, I came to that conclusion too.He’s accustomed to be being listened to, but doesn’t always reciprocate. In his profession, he holds a position of authority and prestige. In this society, this southern society, his maleness has earned him a pedestal position in the eyes of women, of a certain age, specifically my mother’s age. I can make a true statement to my mother, which she will quickly dismiss because clearly I am a girl, her youngest child, a total void of credibility. When Mister Hombre offers the same explanation, she reacts as if his words appeared at the bottom of one of the stone tablets Moses is alleged to have received from the hand of God. ‘Scuze me? And she wonders why Dad never picked his socks up off the floor. I don’t hold the Mister responsible, for my mother’s hero worship. In this instance, she has excellent taste. I wouldn’t be with him if he weren’t a good, kind man, but it does wear a chic down when isn’t take seriously because she can’t pee standing up.

I’m accustomed to being ignored. I don’t share common interests with my family, and there is fierce competition to be heard. If you don’t talk loudly, or interrupt, you won’t get the opportunity to speak. As for listening, they aren’t good at it. I used to compete, but as I get older, I just don’t care anymore. Why bother to set the record straight, when people don’t care about the truth?Family gatherings often result in being on answering twenty questions from siblings. I’ve noticed if I don’t answer, it doesn’t matter, because they seldom notice, and change topics. Requisite formality to pass the time, and camouflage indifference? No thank you, I don’t need that kind of favor. I would rather not be inquired than be ignored, if the answer is of so little interest. Typically, they misread my silence as captivation, when it is nothing more than a patient attempt to wait my turn. I can’t will my family to listen, nor can I compete with their lives, but being the designated listener challenges my capacity to be polite.

I met Mister Hombre, his brother, and Ole One Eye for lunch last week. I tried to engage Ole One Eye in conversation, but he wasn’t interested in exchanging words, only in giving a soliloquy. He quickly dismissed and ignored me (typical patriarchal egotistical entitlement). I withdrew my attention, and read the ingredients on an artificial sweetener packet. Mister Hombre was trying to tell his brother and Ole One Eye a story about the cat. His brother, clearly uninterested, starts ANOTHER story about a lake in Siberia. Ole One Eye, uninterested in listening, starts talking about the Dead Sea. All three are talking over one another, about three DIFFERENT subjects. Dejected, Mister Hombre gives up and abandons his story about Patches. Brother and Ole One Eye are still competing for center stage about two different lakes with no relationship to one another. All three refused to believe no one was listening. Later I learned, Mister Hombre had no idea they were talking about two different lakes, and he was indignant no one care to hear about our beloved house cat. Poetic justice, but the lesson was wasted.

I don’t fault the Mister for having a voice, but I am jealous. I’m tired of competing to be heard, and consequently I don’t feel my presence should be required in situations in which my voice isn’t permitted to break the silence. I’d rather be absent than decorative.

The Mister isn’t used to being ignored, and I accept it as inevitable. I would prefer not to consider it an all or nothing proposition, but I wonder…