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I snapped at my husband yesterday. electricity water analogy animation I called him a horrible thing I’ve never called him before, not even in the midst of our usual irreverent banter, which is probably what made it so horrible. He looked at me with narrowed eyes, flicked his fingers at my chest—and he never does that, he is so deeply conscious of his strength and power—and said, ‘Who the fuck this is be’?

I…went sort of cold and blank. I do this when I’m very upset, which is why I try not to be very upset, as it often startles or scares the person I’m arguing with. Marc knows me well enough, of course, to have seen this before, and he left the room, gave me my space, made me herbal tea, and brought me my pet duck to hold. year 6 electricity assessment As I came back to myself, all sniffles and apologies—because I’d snapped at him, because I’d brought him to his own small violence, because my catatonia had stolen his chance to be rightful angry with me—he was able to tell me how he felt.

There are a few reasons. Red flags, really, in retrospect. There was the whole sordid beginning with London’s theatre scene not feeling especially welcoming. There was the fact that rehearsals revealed a rather fraught cast dynamic built on ego and poor method acting, as opposed to the familial feel I enjoyed at The Toronto. u gas cedar hill mo There was the shambles of previews, where magazines came out of the woodwork to critique me as too queer, or not queer enough, or too much of a star, or not enough of an investment, or too Jewish, or too whathaveyou.

Then there was my back-to-the-wall, fight or flight, lashing out about it. All sneers, and anger, and a full throttle plunge into the sort of impulsive, murderous darkness that my director wanted out of me. I was a man in fragments, trying to manage the odd rehearsal schedule involving leaps in time zones, and shifts in and out of day and night, criminal and husband.

Marc and I became fathers for the third and fourth time on the second day of the show, and I had to wash my face, don a suit, break the news, spend the night with my newly grown family, and then leave. I had to leave. And go perform a role I was only half-heartedly in to begin with, which was making me angrier by the day, and more petulant, and more broken.

Finzy needs us, poor lad. electricity projects in pakistan He’s sweet and scared and joyful and anxious. He wears headphones half the time to block out extraneous noise (one sympathises), he throws things when he can’t find words, he cries as often as he laughs, and he’s leaps and bounds from where we started, but he requires so much more love and comfort and sincerity and depth from us, which I simply cannot give if I’m splintering myself into pieces for the sake of a show in an unwelcoming city.

J…well, he told me in his own way, from the very beginning, that he didn’t think this was all a very good idea when he asked me, as kindly as he could, why I wanted to be in a show he couldn’t see. I told him it was for fun, that adults need to have fun, too. Which is true. But for Chrissake, I take him to drag shows. electricity words He was an honourary cast member at Moulin Rouge. He trods the runway at our fashion shows. He plays under my desk at the office. Hell, he goes to half our parties, and just falls asleep on us at a remarkably consistent 9 pm cutoff while we continue to do business and sip champagne. But this, I didn’t want him to be a part of?