The Green Eyed Monster

After her mishap I thought for certain the mistress would take a back seat in our relationship, but I thought wrong. She has been injured in such a way that will require the skills of Mr. Motorcycle himself to put her back together, in fact she’s even getting a face lift. Bitch.

When we dropped it off at the shop I thought for sure there would be no need to see it for weeks; but I thought wrong, instead Mr. Motorcycle has gone to visit her and supervise her care.

When I married this man I knew that as long as we could afford it, there would always be a hunk of iron in the garage. I knew that he was a rider at heart and, despite claiming he had given it up forever after his 1^st accident, he would always long for a sunny day and windy road. I knew he wouldn’t wear his helmet, and I knew he’d find ways to ride instead of doing other things and I knew that without it, he wouldn’t be him. But it doesn’t keep me from resenting the place his motorcycle holds in his heart.

Sometimes I feel like it really is another person, a best friend, another child, a mistress that takes him away and consumes his thoughts and directs his activities. Sometimes when he leaves for a ride I cry, terrified that he’ll never come home. When he rides I watch the clock, counting the hours until he is supposed to return, jumping with every ring of the telephone; desperate to find something to take my mind off where he’s gone and what he’s doing.

There is no common ground on this one. The facts are what they are.

If I issued an ultimatum “it’s me or the bike”, he’d choose me but he’d never forgive me for doing it - and he’d never be happy again. And if he’s not happy, neither am I. I want to happily grow old with this man; I want to watch his hair turn grey, I want to hold hands go for walks after lunch, I want to bicker about the ripeness of tomatoes, I want to see that certain glimmer in his eye, and I want him to hold me late into the night even though my skin is wrinkled.

So I try not to nag him about the helmet, I try to be interested and supportive when he talks about the bike or the ride, I attempt to understand when our vacations are planned around big rides, I wish him well as he pulls out with a smile on his face, I try desperately not to sound like the bitchy wife, and I pray for his safety with every ounce of my being.

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I’m not looking for advice with this post, and I’m really not looking for pity. What I would like to know is if other people (men & women) have a spouse/significant other whose hobby is consuming enough that you find yourself jealous of it; and how do you handle it? I know I’m not the only one.

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This is not to say that I’m perfect and hobby-free either. I’ve got more hobbies than is realistically possible to have; my hobby is starting new hobbies. This most likely is an area of frustration for Mr. Motorcycle as I take ups vast amounts of space with my various hobby starting supplies that will be fondled, organized, and then packed away as the next hobby takes center stage. I also dream up home improvement and decorating projects faster than anyone could possibly execute them. I take no responsibility for actually doing the project, I’m planning and design only – he’s my contractor and he is currently behind me about 3 Major projects. I also have furniture shopitis and should not be allowed within 100 yards of any store selling or displaying a piece of furniture, my catalogs should even be taken away. I wonder how the hell he puts up with all of this, maybe by riding his motorcycle.