and when Mama's happy, anything goes!
Why yes, I am a little bit special. Sometimes it’s a good thing. Like when I’m happy. I know, realistically, that it won’t last, that there are a million things right now that ought to have me worried sick or pissed off. But if there’s something or things that seem more important and are good, I’m generally happy.
It's a lifestyle choice, apparently.
I kinda feel like shit because I’m feeling so good. Old Man is not so good. But that was (is) a huge part of the problem. He’s in a rut so deep its a canyon, at the bottom of which he just keeps wallowing in shit and digging deeper. I just feel like I spent a lot of time trying to fill the hole back up, but . . .
trying to decide on an analogy. Like, I’m trying to shovel dirt back in but I have a shovel and he’s digging with a back-hoe. Or I’m shoveling dirt into the hole but I can only work on it a couple of hours a day, because I’ve got my own shit to take care of. Yeah, that one’s better. He’s pretty much full time working on digging his misery-hole and making it shittier, and I was trying to work and kids and bills and sanity and I was losing the battle on all of it because I felt obligated to spend all the time I had trying to fix his hole.
and sobriety.
And I would get mad, rightfully I think, that he was putting me in that situation, that he just wouldn’t do anything to help himself, that he kept saying what he was going to do, what he needed to do, but never did it.
I totally understand looking at a problem that seems gargantuan and being so overwhelmed by it that you don’t think you can even face the first step. I’m very familiar with that one. But it’s not gonna go away either.
The amount of booze needed to put up with the bullshit is exceeding acceptable parameters.
I don’t know if all the little shit pissed me off so much because of the major shit, or if the little shit was really just that annoying in addition to the big problems. But holy hell, that little stuff adds up quick. I was ready to kill him if he put a bag back in the freezer with 3 chicken nuggets left in it, just because he couldn’t fit them on the pan. SRSLY??? oy.
I bet a Dalek could fry up some mean chicken nuggets.
Maybe I am not flexible enough at this point? Too set in my ways, bitchy, cautious, paranoid, whatever you wanna call it. I want to be able to live on my own schedule. Yes, it’s stupid sometimes. I stay up too late, I sleep too late, sometimes I drink too much, occasionally I drink way too much, but I am still my own fucking boss and, within reason, I should be able to do these things. Playing my own devil’s advocate, I think I was pretty fucking reasonable.
I don’t like having to depend on someone else for anything major. I get nervous if the utilities aren’t in my name. I own all my own furniture. I couldn’t rent furniture, that would drive me crazy. (rip-off anyhow.) More importantly, I can’t share furniture. I own my bed, my fridge, my couches. The dining room table & chairs are his, the TV stand and one of the TV’s are his. I’m hoping I can buy some of these things from him. If not, no giant hardships. I’m good knowing that most of the shit in this house is mine and I won’t have to start over.
a simpler time, when bludgeoning was a viable relationship tool.
Also, my kids. Me and my boys are tight. No, they didn’t (don’t) respect Old Man too much. But I think I’m being fairly objective when I say, they are generally more mature and well-behaved. They have always done more around the house, more consistently. So, yes, I’m going to side with them. And I feel like I was unfair to them more often, trying to make him feel better and give him the benefit of the doubt, and being harder on my kids than I would have been otherwise, certainly spending less time with them. So, yeah, I will be pretty fucking reasonable on the whole relationship-kids-boyfriend dynamic, but there is definitely a line. And at this point, there’s me, my kids, my cats, my books, and then there’s the line. After that, negotiable.
OOO-oooh! Hello, Dali!
So, after discussing this with myself here, no, I’m not too bitchy or demanding. I am an extremely reasonable, cooperative, agreeable house-mate and had legitimately reached my limits on a lot of shit. So, yeah, still feel much better.
And yes, I feel like shit when he calls me (a couple of times a day, at least) and especially when he starts crying, and when he says “I love you” before he hangs up. Cuz, I don’t. I don’t say it, I don’t cry, I don’t hurt. I’m good. I’m better. Feel like I’m going uphill now. Yay, Me! >^.^<
