Stress, Street Fighter, and Being Too Girly

So, the house is a complete disaster.

Everything we own is pulled away from the windows, into piles, shoved into cabinets and drawers, and covered in plaster dust. Anyone who knows me can attest that I am a generally messy person, but even I have my limits. This is too much for me. The very thought of cleaning is daunting. Seriously, I think it’s giving me acid reflux.

Why the state of disarray you ask? Well, Bryan’s parents got offered money from the city of Long Beach to redo all the windows. They put in new windows to replace the old ones and the city gives them 2000 bucks. Its a pretty sweet deal really, except that they had the entire summer to do it, and waited until I started my job to actually get it done.

I’m not complaining–no, that’s a downright lie. I am complaining.

I was just starting to get my shit together, beginning the organization and unpacking process, getting into my job, when WHAM! new windows. New mess, new disorder, newer stress to go on top of all of the other new stresses. I can honestly say I am not handling this well.

Bryan seems to, well, be Bryan. He quietly puts up with the mess, never complains, and makes no move to clean up at all. Really, I think I am stressing him out more than anything else. I throw things, make loud noises, swear at tables and stacks of papers, kick pillows and clothes out of my path, and generally rampage around the house.

Bryan’s outlet is street fighter. He strips to his skivvies (to avoid over-heating), sits on the floor in the living room surrounded by chairs, curtains, backpacks and pillows, pulls out his arcade stick and beats up cartoon villains. Then it’s his turn to swear, bang things, make loud noises, and vent his frustration. Usually he starts shouting about how stupid the internet is, or the tv, or the game controller, or the other player, or how uncomfortable his boxers make him, or one of a hundred other things. Of course, his street fighter playing stresses me out more, and being a girl, all I really want is to sit down and talk about it. Nothing could be more horrifying than talking, especially about feelings.

How girly of me.