The Weeks of No Fighting

My writing and life partner, whom I refer to simply as My Beautiful German Frolein, and I made a pact when I returned from the US last week: not to fight the two weeks I had in Berlin before leaving for Krakow.

Amazingly, we have succeeded up till now.

It hasn't been easy. I could tell – yesterday, once; today, twice – that it was boiling up inside her. Not anger, just the will to fight. A hankering for it. This hot desire to show me who's boss, to show me in no uncertain terms that I'm a stupid useless man, an inferior product of evolution, and a pain in the ass to boot.

I felt it too. I wanted to show he how much trouble she is and what I have to go through to endure her presence. I don’t know where it comes from, but it comes, it pushes, it pulls, it eggs us on.

But we fought it. Didn’t happen. We pushed it down, repressed it, with a nearly heroic act of sheer will.

Now I wonder if that's healthy.


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