the little things

for all my brave talk about submission i'm fighting my husband on this poetry weekend. it matters to me. immensely.

being so close, physically. having the time and child accounted for. all that stands between it and me is the money. (that and my husband actually agreeing to let me go).

so the money issue is really a non issue in my mind. do you know how long we went without work? do you know how grueling that was? this is nothing. this is just a little glitch in the cashflow situation. i've even offered to get a part time job to repay the man for releasing me to go.

he still does not budge.

come up with a plan.

he likes plans. things delineated. variables identified.

i like to wing it. to fly out and free and see what happens. this is a great stumbling block in our togetherness.

the thing about it is, these chances do not come but once in a lifetime. i feel this to be one of those great crossroads for many reasons. for my poetry. for my marriage. for my life. which way will i go? what will i do?

i have seen myself saying,

release be damned.

and going.

this, while immediately satisfying my desire, does not address my need for covering. and that is what gets me. that is why i hesitate. i must be under my covering. the submission thing again. damned submission. blessed rebellion. that is what it would be if i went without release, rebellion. am i willing to go there at this crossroads?

some part of me cries out,

yes. go.

but i won't. i'll wait. i'll refuse rebellion at every cost because that is what i must do more than be published, or meet more poets, or whatever.

the crossroads of our marriage for me is this great disinterest in my becoming. (or seeming disinterest). granted i've gone to a great many things this year. we are in new york. so i should be "satisfied." i should be content. and in some ways i am. but i can't get around the fact that we will sit and write poetry all weekend. a whole gang of us. even if i leave there with no friends, i will have the work. i will have that intensive therapy that poetry is to me. for me. and i will have expressed myself in a way no one else can.

it is a mystery what will come at such an event. what kinds of works will spring forth. i guess i could sit down at home and write. but the actual poems are not the end of the deal. it is the community. the laughter. the swans i seek.

do i let this go and spend a weekend tiptoeing around my house while my hubby works on his classwork? do i idle about killing time, when there is so much else i could be doing?

i have suggested letting me pay him back for this excursion. i'm willing to get a part time job to fund my poetic endeavors. but he does not seem open to this option either.

so you won't even let me pay you back?

no.

he was getting angry. i don't often encounter my husband's wrath. but i'd stir it up for this. i am not giving this up without a fight. it matters that much to me.

and if i pursue it. get my way. will the price be exacted in my marriage? will it be rockier than it has been of late? is that even possible? would i be willing to make that sacrifice? and my daughter who weeps when i go away for four days, how much weeping would result from my pushing this?

part of my dilemma is the powerlessness of it. i have no power in this situation. no equal vote, no rights it feels. and that troubles me. perhaps more than anything.

issues of submission often involve laying down one's preference. but i don't feel like my preference is even being considered beyond the dollars and cents of it.

do i press on? do i go anyway? do i submit? how does that look and what does it mean?

as always, i don't know.
but shall soon find out.