Through tonight's haze of
fatigue and
anxiety, it's hard to believe that I will be delighting in the sights and sounds of New York City at this time next week. Tonight's rehearsal was a
bugbear, with the
stage manager uncharacteristically terse and demanding...
drunk with power. We ran the show in just under 2 hours, a mild achievement in and of itself.
I've been asking Wayne what he would like me to bring back from New York. Having gone last spring, I find that I still remember quite a few of the interesting shops around the island, and gave him a litany of the sorts of things he might enjoy. The answer, although expected, was still enough to set my teeth on edge: whatever you think I'll like, dear.
This rote response closely echoes his answer to my questions of "Where would you like to eat?" or "What movie would you like to see?" "Whatever you want, dear." Courtesy and thoughtfulness are one thing, but it gets damn tiring to always make the decisions. I have said so, numerous times. His practiced response seems to be that his upbringing/personality-shaping events have charged him with the impetus to demonstrate his remarkable doormat impersonation at the risk of losing touch with his kinder nature and transforming into the Incredible Hulk at the first display of assertiveness. (As evidenced, I suppose, by his stumbling first attempt at BDSM, in which he thought a Dom should demonstrate his control by yanking me from the couch in the middle of doing homework to go play with chains and dog collars)