It was 10:03 p.m. when I decided peace was boring.
My boyfriend was sitting there, blissfully unaware, scrolling through TikTok with that calm, content face that made me want to throw a pillow at him just to see what would happen.
And that’s when the thought hit:
What if I started a fight? Nothing big — just a small, emotional fire to feel alive again.
We’d had a good week. Too good, honestly. No bickering, no eye rolls, no passive-aggressive sighs over dishes. It was suspicious. Like the calm before a Category 5 hurricane, only my brain was the hurricane.
So I did what any self-respecting woman teetering on the edge of emotional chaos would do: I asked a question I already knew the answer to.
“Did you ever text your ex back about her mom’s birthday?”
He looked up, confused.
“No… why?”
Boom. The spark. I could practically hear the match strike inside my skull.
Was I mad? Not really.
Did I want to be?
…Maybe a little.
Because there’s something about a harmless spat that scratches an itch. It’s not about being right — it’s about feeling something. About interrupting the monotony of shared meals and Netflix reruns and the same old “how was your day?” routine. Sometimes love gets too calm, and calm feels a little like numb.
Of course, halfway through my fake moral outrage, I realized what I was actually mad about: absolutely nothing. Just me, my brain chemistry, and the weird need to prove that passion still exists somewhere between the laundry basket and our shared Amazon Prime account.
He didn’t take the bait anyway. He just shrugged, smiled, and said, “You okay?”
Which, naturally, made me even madder.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” I lied, with all the conviction of someone who is not fine but wants to be asked again.
He didn’t. He went back to TikTok.
Here’s the thing — I didn’t actually want to fight him. I wanted the rush of almost fighting him. The tiny adrenaline hit of imagined conflict. It’s like emotional cardio. For a minute, I felt alive, dramatic, mysterious — a woman with layers.
Then guilt kicked in.
The kind that whispers, you’re insane, why are you like this?
But honestly? I don’t think I’m alone. Everyone has those fleeting thoughts — the little pokes we imagine throwing into calm water just to see the ripples. The human brain isn’t built for perfect peace. Sometimes we need a tiny storm, even a pretend one, just to remind ourselves that we still care enough to feel something.
The next morning, I made him pancakes.
Peace restored. My internal hurricane downgraded to a light breeze.
Still, part of me laughed at how quickly that “fight” fizzled.
No damage, no tears, just a mental note that love is weird — it’s half deep comfort, half chaotic impulse. And maybe both are fine.
So, no, I didn’t start a real argument. But I did prove that my brain occasionally likes to throw emotional grenades into empty rooms just to hear the echo.
Harmless? Yes.
Dramatic? Always.
Normal? Let’s pretend it is.
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