A Case of The Angries

My husband and I are pissed.
At everything.
Usually- at each other.

It sucks.

Don't get me wrong.

We've had our fights over the years and some have been doozies, necessary ones even, but this is different.

It's daily snipes, annoyances, and small rages that blow over quickly, but but happen all. the. time., leaving us both feeling badly.

The worst part?
The fights are often about nothing.

We both feel angry and stressed and worried and trapped.

Not with/in our marriage, but in our situation.

Which isn't anything new, but the weight is catching up with us in a big, squabbly way...

He's angry that he doesn't have a job.
I'm angry he doesn't have a job.

We're angry that he's applying for jobs daily, but with every app he puts in-- there are literally 200-300 people applying right along with him.

("helpful" new feature on CareerBuilder)

We're angry that instead of moving forward, we're falling behind again, never having moved AHEAD in the first place.

We're angry that our pregnancy can't just be joyful and exciting, because we're too scared shitless about the future...

There's a lot of anger.
That's mostly fear.

We are trying desperately to hold on to gratitude and hope, but the anger-fear is bubbling over.

There are plucky optimistic days, but they're dwindling.

So we find ourselves cagey and irritable, unable to stop ourselves...

Exploding over little things, because there's not a lot of control over the big things.

Maybe it's normal.
To feel this way for awhile.

Perhaps we'll ride the this period of discontent out, and end up with a calmer perspective?

In the meantime, we just have to try and not kill one another.

Because you always hurt the ones you love.

And I really lurrrrve my husband.
I know the feeling is mutual.
SUHWOOON.

Jaaaaay! Ohhhhh! Beeeeeeeee!

Huz got the job!
I'm so excited, you'd think I got the job or something...psssht!

He starts on the 19th.

To celebrate, we had lunch at Jack in the Box.
(I know, living the dreeeeaaaam.....)

We're both nervous though, as this is a very different position for him, as it is ALL sales.
He's had sales jobs before, but this takes it to a different level.

We were kinda skeptical about sales jobs in the beginning, because we've both experienced the seedier side of sales, and the hell that is working for commission-only....shudder...


BUT, this company is reputable, established and is NOT comm-only.

Pay is salaried plus commission, so we can live with that.
Also? The base pay is more than he was making before and they offer benefits.
Yippee!

He gets a gas stipend, work laptop/phone (a smart one, even!) too!. 
Faaaaancy.

He'll be working much longer hours than he was before, like 60 hrs a week (but as we all know, it's hard to get anywhere career-wise working only 40)  and for the first 30 to 90 days he'll have to commute from Rancho to Burbank every day....kinda gross, right?

But, hey! It's a paycheck! A glorious, steady paycheck!

Still, it'll be a tough transition. For all of us.
Especially with Huz having been home for the last 4 months.

We will adjust though (like you do), and be fine, I'm sure.
 Please keep us in your thoughts as we do all this easy-breezy adjusting though, kay? Thanks!

We are over-the-freaking-moon...
Hopeful that maybe this will be the start of some good things for our family.
We could really use some good things...

HUGE THANKS to all of you who've cheered us on, sent us job links, and were generally awesome in our lives! It means a lot, and your support is invaluable!

Much love!

I didn't catch the worm necessarily, but...

I caught something.

My stomach has been killing me since Saturday.

This has made for a less-than-productive week so far....

Last week, though?

Was pretty great.

The self-imposed schedule worked out in all its type-A splendor.

I got up early, I showered, I. got. shit. DONE.

Getting up that early kicked my ass, but it was kinda worth it just to feel so accomplished at the end of the day ANNNNND be dressed!

I felt like a whole new world was being opened up to me!

Then Saturday's gut-rot hit, and I started to fall sorely behind.


Crap! Can't lose this momentum already....

Today, I was determined to get back on schedule!! If I publish this post, I will be. Squee! (it's the little things)


However, My husband is determined to thwart my new early-rising lifestyle change....

He doesn't want me to get up at the Dawn of Man.
He wants me to sleep as much as possible.
My health, my CFS, blah, blah, blah....

He's loving, and sweet, and concerned, but he is also annoying.
He turns my alarm off!

I have tried to explain the method to my madness, but he says that I am just being stubborn.
I say that I'm just trying to stay SANE.

He may not care about squalor and mountain ranges of laundry, but I do!

And while he is an amazing husband in many respects, his organizational/housekeeping skills are not among the top ten....or twenty, really....

Sigh.

We need to find a compromise, or our son needs to take daily  4 hour naps.

Not sure either will happen.

I need to go to bed.

That Dawn of Man approaches far more quickly than one might think.
If my alarm stays on, that is.

This 3 Hour Tour is running longer than I thought...

I first met my husband on his 24th ( NOT 25 as previously written. I ALWAYS think we were 25...) birthday, in the Spring of 2005--

Didn't like him very much.

My friend had dragged my to this karaoke bar to because she wanted to say hi to a friend of hers who was celebrating his birthday.

I did not know this friend.
I did not want to go out.
I did not look cute.
I was over bars.

But, she was not the kind of friend who heard the word "no".
So she showed up at my apartment and dragged me out anyway.

I meet this guy.
I am not impressed.
He insults my righteously awesome Cats (as in the Musical) tee shirt.
And? He wear khakis.
Really? Khakis?
I do not DO khakis, folks.


But I keep running into this guy...he's cute, but sorta obnoxious. I can tell it's because he's kinda nervously awkward, and just wants to be funny, which is kinda charming, but there's a lot of bullshit in his presentation and I'm not sold.

Besides, he has no tattoos.
I love tattoos.

And? In addition to khakis?
He wears sweater vests.
Sweater vests? HONESTLY?
Prep-tastic. I don't DO preppy.


By Summer-
We're sorta buddies.  There's a little flirting, like the kind between all men and women in a social setting, but it's not with intent-We are not each other's type and I'm not sure I'm over the guy I had been dating previously.

[I should be, because he's a asshat who keeps flipping between me and this other chick (who he eventually married), but I'm being all wifflewaffle-girly about it....]

But also?
I keep hearing a lot of shit about Kaptain Khakis:
This girl, and that girl, and THAT girl and so on....

I'm not so much for manwhoring, but at the same time?
We're all adults.  If he's sleeping with several women, that's his business.
I'm not his girlfriend, so what's it to me?

But it does kinda bother me.
Casual sex?
I don't DO Casual.

It's now late August-
Hanging out at the Karaoke bar I was once dragged to, but now frequent...
He  and I are sitting at a table, talking. Drinking. Laughing.
All of the sudden, the bar is closing. How did that happen?

My friend, who I came with, wants to go somewhere else.
But I want to go home.
He offers to drive me home.
I don't take rides from men.
But, for whatever reason, I agree...

We sat in front of my apartment talking for a long time.
I like him.  He's funny and sweet.
Best of all? He's intelligent.
All bravado is gone and it's just him.

He asks to come in and use the bathroom.
It's late.
I do not invite men in.
But, for whatever reason, I agree...

(my roommates were home, and they would have killed him if need be)

He's saying goodbye.
Promising repeats of tonight.
Maybe we're actually friends now...
Weird.

All of the sudden, he is kissing me.
I was not prepared.
He is all khaki'd and casual.
I am soooo NOT.

But he ends up staying the night anyway.
 Shit.
[Found out? Has Tattoos.]

I am mortified.

I am NOT that kinda lady.

But there are some things you can't undo....

I convince myself that maybe I SHOULD be all Casual.

I can be casual. Psssht. 

So we agree to start seeing each other.  Casually.
I am all over this, because I am SO over being the devoted girlfriend who gets shat upon.


Easy, breezy! That's me.

Except it's not.
I get attached.  I care. It's hard for me to let people in, so when I do?
It ain't fucking casual.

 By late October, I break it off.
You know, before it gets complicated....ahem.
I tell him that casual doesn't work for me.
He's all hurt/pissy about it, but not enough to get serious.
Fine.
I'm out.
We can still be friends....


We're not. 
He avoids me.
I stay out of his way.
He eventually confronts me.
But nothing changes.
He doesn't want serious.
No problem.
Friends it is!
But not really.

New Year's Eve comes and we end up at the same party. Great.

There is partying and drunkeness and making out.
With his friend.
This was not purposeful. He was my friend too. He made me laugh.
It was New Years Eve.
So we made out.
Happy New Year!!!

[Spoiler Alert! That friend? Was a groomsman at our wedding.  We adore him.  He still makes me laugh, but there is no more making out.  That would be frowned upon.  We rarely see him, and that's a bummer.]

The next day?

When he showed up at my apartment, wanting to know what the HELL was going on between me and  ___________?

I was a tad surprised.  By a tad? I mean quite.

Where's your khaki'd casualness NOW, sir?

There was nothing casual about the ensuing conversation....
Even so, I did not believe him.
I sent him away.  I did not trust his intentions.
But he was persistent.
And we ended up a couple.

We were in love.  Intensely.  It was kinda gross.
We start talking about futures.
Walks of the aisle sort.
We shared a closet and a medicine cabinet and a bed.
We shared everything.
We felt like home.


For almost year, it was perfect.

It was a holiday weekend.
I desperately needed the time to relax.
My family was going through a clusterfuck of out-of-CONTROL problems that I apparently was supposed to fix, my professional life was going up in flames, as I was being denied the rights to my own work, I was broke, oh, right...I was pregnant.

I hadn't told him yet.
I was waiting for the weekend....

There was a fight.
He was picking it on purpose, I could see.
But I didn't want to fight....not on this, of all weekends.
But he kept pushing.

Then there was packing of stuff.
I didn't understand.
He didn't either, I could tell.
Then there was apologies and driving away.
I was devastated.
I never told him about the secret I was carrying...

I'm just not that kinda lady.

I miscarried the next week.
I was heartbroken on all levels.
There were no clear explanations, no resolutions.
Just confusion and hurt.
That turned to anger and resentment on both sides.
We decided to close the door, and never look back.
(as best we could)

For almost year, it was over.

He was dating someone else.
I was moving far away. 
We were moving on.
Starting over.
We were never going to be a permanent Us.

Then the phone rang. 
He wants to talk.
I do not want to listen.
He keeps calling.
I am not willing.
I am afraid of being open.....


He comes over.
He explains.  Explanations that might be too late. 
There is crying.  His tears and mine.
He gets on his knee.
Asks the question.

I send him away.
He doesn't know what he's asking.
This is dangerous and I am terrified.
He is humble. But, adamant.  Resolute.
He will not give up.
For many reasons, I say Yes.

There is a walk...of the aisle sort.
Oaths made. 
Rings exchanged.
Hardships endured. 
Hurts forgiven.
Promises kept.


A lot has happened to us and for us since then.
We are not the same people who met at a bar.
Or walked down the aisle.
We do not have the same love as we did then.


It is even deeper.


Today is our 3-year wedding anniversary.


I feel like it's been 10 years...
(I said that to my husband this morning and he threw something at me...)

 I don't mean that in a a negative-shackles/chainy kinda way, I just mean:


It feels like we've always been together.


 That togetherness has not always been easy.  Or so much together, as you have read.

But looking at the life we are building and the son we are raising? 


I know it's right.
  


I love you, Querido.
Thank you for choosing us over anything else every day.
I hope we make that same choice forever. 

You don't appreciate my APPRECIATING!

Marriage?

It's hard.


[Aren't you so happy that I guide you through these earth-shattering epiphanies?]

It frightens me because I'm constantly struck with how many people just don't realize that.

And that even though I do, I'm still taken aback sometimes...

The Spouse Unit and I have been arguing a lot lately.
Not in the "We're heading for divorce" kinda way, but just a ton of annoyed/irritated bickering.

Which gets real old, real fast and leads to more fully-fleshed angries.

Yesterday morning?
I said something that I thought was helpful.
He snapped.
I snapped back.
Here.We.Go.AGAIN.

Seriously???
I had HAD it.

I didn't talk to him all day.
(We usually text/talk throughout the day)

I needed to calm down and organize my thoughts.

Why are we so freakin' crabby?
What is HIS problem?
What is MY problem?
WHAT IS HIS PROBLEM???

So I fumed all day.

I decided, finally, that I was feeling

Unappreciated. Disrespected.
 And also?
Like The Bad Guy.
All the time.

This really made me sad.

I work really hard at our lives.  At our marriage.  At raising our son.
My main goal in life?
To ensure that my husband and son are well-cared for and happy.
That our family is happy.
That is what makes ME happy.

So the fact that I was feeling like my Husband might be seeing me as the "Harpy Wife?"

HUGE BUMMER.
and I was pissed.

I am a fantastical wife, damn it!
What the HELL does he want from me?
I couldn't be more awesome, and he couldn't be more Lucky!
I am all sorts of appreciative of his hard work, how can he not appreciate me, appreciating that?

[...and Cue Spiral...]


Ahem.

We put O to bed.  I pulled the We Need to Talk card.
Which he hates.  All men hate it.  I'm aware.

But we really did need to talk.

After not getting anywhere for a while, we finally realized that we were both struggling in our roles.

As a Wife/Mother/Adult and Husband/Father/Adult

Specifically--how those roles were reflected to and on one another as a couple.

Make sense?  Hopefully.

We also figured out that while we both thought we we being all appreciative, helpful and respectful to the other?

It wasn't being received that way, a lot of the time.

This sorta scared us.

Ummm, holy shit. 
Communication in our marriage is TERRIBLE. We.ARE.DOOOOMED.


But notsomuch, really.

We just needed to have a couple reality checks and get back on track.
In addition (and probably most importantly), we needed to be frank about some outside factors affecting our attitudes, which would directly affect our "hearing."....

Frankly?

Living on a shoe-stringy budget (and all the stress that goes with it) is hard on your marriage


Living with Chronic pain (and the frustration and helplessness on both sides) is hard on your marriage.

Living without medication (ADD for him, Depression for me) is hard on your marriage.

Living with your in-laws (however awesome they may be and however grateful you ARE) is hard on your marriage.  

Trying to be a new parent in that environment? You guessed it! Haaaard on the marriage.


We will make it out of, and past these obstacles eventually, but it's going to be awhile. 
We are working, we are trying, we are hoping, we are waiting.
Waiting for the tides to turn in our favor.




The wait weighs on us both, heavily.  
The wait and the worry burdens our hearts.
Mostly out of concern for the other. And our son.
But those burdens can chafe once in awhile, and I don't know about you?

But,
chafing makes me cuh-rank-eeee.


I think the same can be said for my Darling Husband.


Yep.

If He's Samson and HE'S Delilah, who am I??

Remember when I wrote this post about getting O's hair cut?

I'm fairly certain that by reading that post, it would become CLEAR to you
(or anyone who's literate)
that  I am not ready to part with my son's locks.

My Dearest Spouse?
Didn't get the fucking memo.

He has been on my ass about cutting his hair since O turned 1.  Even before.

It has been a weekly argument.
That always ends in tears.
Mine.

The last time we had the argument, I told him:

I am not ready.  I love his hair.  LOVE.  I am not ready to cut it.  AT ALL.  I know it's long and shaggy, but I ADORE it that way.  It's not hurting anybody!  Leave me be.  I will let you know when I am emotionally composed enough to cut.

Maybe that is  over the top, but I could give a shit.  

And why the fuck this was such an issue for my husband I'll never know.  He's not a rigid guy about hair or dress etc., usually...

The whole thing was really pissing me off.

Then this weekend rolls around, and I had anticipated staying in.
O was sick, and we had already canceled all of our weekend plans, so as not to infect anyone else.

Movies, and Comfies, and Snuggling! Yay!

People?

Instead?

Sobbing and Fighting and Shearing, is what I got.


Husband announces to me, late Saturday afternoon, that we are taking O to get his hair cut.

Ummm, no we are fucking not. The baby is not feeling well. We are.NOT.

Husband says:  Yes we are! And we're bringing my mom!

Are you shitting me?

He is not, friends.  He is serious.

We fight.  It is obvious to anyone with a pulse, that I am not happy.
And he's using his innocent mother as a human shield?
Poor form, Husby. POOR.

I do NOT want this.  I do not agree to this.

 But, I feel badgered to death, I am tired of arguing.  It is obvious, that on this point, my usually sweet partner has a mental block to hearing me on this issue.

So we will go. For Fuck's Sake, we will go.

But this is just a TRIM.  As in his bangs.
So that they are out of his eyes.
(as that seems to be the monumental force behind this movement)

Fine.

I was promised that THAT would be all.

His curls or wispies would not be harmed.

Outright LIES, readers. LIIIIIIIES.

We get to the hair place....
It's brightly colored and has rocket ships.
WooFuckingHoo.

Do you know what I see?

A bunch of little ones getting sheared and sobbing.

I try not to meltdown.
My husband is trying to cajole me.
It will not work.  Do not kid yourself Senor.
I again, make him promise a trim...

It's our turn.

She straps him into his rocket.
The tears start to well...
She puts the smock on.
Tears are rolling...
She asks what we want.
I am sobbing.

Yes, I really was sobbing.  As I may have mentioned? 
I FUCKING LOVE HIS HAIR.
DO NOT TOUCH IT.

I couldn't form a sentence....other than to say: I don't want to cut it.


Instead of stopping right then and there? Which is what I would have done?

She asks my husband what he wants.
Really?!!


Instead of saying:

Just a bang trim, Thanks!

He starts talking about the back and sides.
They agree on a cut similar to a boy that just left.
With barely any hair.


WHAT THE LIVING FUCK?

I can't even say anything because I am so irate. Oh, and sobbing. Lest we forget that gorgeous piece of public humiliation....

I try to croak out that I just want his bangs cut....please don't touch the rest, but she is already busy snipping away.

That traitorous bastard I married?
He's happily snapping pictures.

I am still sobbing AND trying to blow bubbles to keep O calm.
[BTW, sobbing and blowing, in any arena? Doesn't mix. A helpful hint from me to you.]


The cut is done.

It's awful. 
It's very Slingblade-meets-Toddler bowl cut, with a mullet starter kit in the back. 
(only worse.)


I look at him and just cry more.


My husband now realizes that the has made a grave mistake.

I can see it on his face.

This allows me to make the transition from heartbroken to livid.
I was already at my boiling point before we got there and this sent me over the edge....

My MIL takes the baby so we can get some food.
I am a big believer in not fighting in public.
Honestly.
BUT.
We sit down to eat and I just LOSE MY SHIT.

Have you ever seen the couple at a restaurant who are fighting-- but quietly, through clenched teeth?
The harsh whispered screams?
We are that couple.

I am angry and heartbroken.  I do not appreciate having my feelings in the matter totally disrespected.  I am hurt/embarrassed that he just stood there while I sobbed.  And?  He let them butcher our son's beautiful hair.

He apologizes.
But he thinks I'm overreacting.
I can tell he thinks I'll get used to it...

We go home.

I am angry and hurt and silent.
Looking at the baby makes me cry.

I know that Husband feels awful, but I need time to process.
I tell him that I accept his apology, but that he needs to give me space.

But he won't.

He HATES when I am angry at him.  It makes him want to crawl out of his skin.
While I understand, I try to explain that I am thoroughly hurt and angry on several levels...this is going to take more than a minute to subside....

Explaining and justifying on both sides turns to more fighting.
My temper is no longer in check.

I go take a long shower. With the door locked.

I get out a calmer me.
He is a more honestly apologetic him.
He finally sees what this was for me.

And he admits that he thinks O's hair cut is as AWFUL as I do, and that it was mistake to rush his first hair cut.

We kiss and make up....sorta.

I warn him that I am still not 100% over it.

Next morning?
It still makes me weepy to look at the baby's head.

Husband is desperate to save this somehow.
He decides that he will use the clippers to cut O's hair so that it is 1nch in length all over, evening it out.



You may be yelling at my obviously crazy husband:

BITCH, DON'T GO IN THERE!! You're gonna get killed!!

But you know what?


I LOVE IT.

I'm still mourning his curls and wispies, but his new 1950's-style little man 'do makes me smile....
[and forgive that traitorous bastard husband of mine....a little bit more.  Hey, it's a process.]

Still?

Heartbroken.
His hair was awesome.

Spouseface owes me BIG TIME for our anniversary and my birthday.

BIG.
Ha!

Hear ye, Hear ye:

My husband would like it known that he is not a completely insensitive jackass.

He feels as though my Valentine's Post was rather slanderous.

[When I pointed out that it wasn't untrue, he made his sad face....poor man.]

He blamed it all on a tragic miscommunication, and vowed to make it up to me....

His first attempt, the day after V-Day, well, it didn't work out as he'd hoped...


He, sweetly, brought me home a heart-shaped box of candy, a box of jellybellys, and a silly singing monkey*...


All super valentinesy.  Yay!!!

Except I hate boxed candy.
And Jellybeans.
He has been told this before. Often.


He forgets things. Often.

Hello!! He was focused on the Valentine's Day theme....
Made perfect sense.

I just had to laugh.  It was too funny not to laugh.
Husby just made his sad face again.
Poor, sad, spouseface.


He was going to make it up to me, damn it!
What did I want?



What did I want?????



SPRINKLES CUPCAKES.
(which I had mentioned several times BEFORE Valentines Day...ahem.)


Ohhhhhhh yes.

So.very.Deeeelish....

OH! And lunch at my favorite Mexican joint that we never go to because it's 40 minutes away.

Ummmmm, what could be better?!

Nothing.  



So last Saturday?  
That's what I got. 
Cupcakes and CheesyMexicanBuenoness....
 YUM. 

It was a great day. For the whole Family! 
(O had a quesadilla and got beans in his hair, hooray!) 

Husband is all redeemed and stuff.  He is a peach of a man.


But really?
If we're honest about the situation?
This was all my fault.

So sayeth my loving husband:

If you had just dictated to me what you wanted, then I would have gotten it, and everyone would've been happy.  I need you to help me help YOU be happy. Just ask and you shall receive...oh, and write it down, 'kayThanks.**


Sigh.

Dictation it is!

My birthday is next month....
You better believe there is going to be a list!

I'm going to start that list as of....
now.

When it's done, I will post it here.

It will be Written AND Public.


I shall be blameless and well-gifted.


Ha.





[Just so you don't think he's all neglected, he got some pretty awesome gifties, FYI]















*Okay, the monkey?  He has these huge cartoony Frank eyes and sings the L.O.V.E Song.  Tre Creepy....
O loves it!


**He really would give me just about anything I want...if he could just remember what it was....writing down and blatant hints that aren't really hints but flat-out requests + reminders are key in our marriage.  I need to let go of the surprise option....see?  It really IS my fault!  Shhh.  Don't tell him....

Why ya gotta do me like that, Valentine's Day?

I'm sorta sappy, and huggy and lovey and stuff.

I adore a good Real-Life love story, I cry at weddings, etc.

It would follow that Valentine's Day would be one of my favorite holidays...

But Valentine's Day can kiss my ass.

It pretty much, without fail, always lets me down.

And it ain't my expectations, I can tell you that much.

I know we've never had any money, so all I really want is a token, a small romantic gesture.

A little bouquet of flowers (from like TJ's, not a doz. roses)...
Maybe a little love note?
Perhaps heart-shaped cookie?
A mix tape?
Or, dinner at our favorite burger hole, but we have to get all dressed up?
A Romantic Movie?
Something that he put some thought into.

SOMETHING!

Sigh.
But, there's always a road block to my romantical hopes.
My husband.

He is loving and affectionate and wonderful, but he's not romantic.

Our first Valentine's Day together, He bought me a comic book (he also didn't make reservations anywhere, nor were there any flowers or cards to speak of).  I like comic books, but I'm not an avid fan, so I was pretty sure that was his way of telling me he wanted to just be friends....nope, he's just not the romantic sort....

Sigh...

Part of the problem are his delusions of grandeur.
I think he feels like if it doesn't involve diamonds and tropical getaways, it's just not worth doing.
Which in it's own way, is romantic, albeit it completely neurotic.

I will say, this year, was not TOTALLY his fault.

I got sick on Friday, and continued to get worse through the weekend. By yesterday, I was running a fever and could barely breathe.

[Also? On Sunday? My iTouch was accidentally  drowned. Completely.Shitty.Weekend]

So off to the doctor, I went.  Exam, Steroid shot-in-the-ass, xrays and $500 later, I'm sent home with a massive respiratory infection and a prescription.

Really? FML.

(Today, I have a follow up that's probably going to cost me around $200.)

Not feeling the love.

So I call my dear, sweet, husband to tell him what's going on, and also to tell him how much I love him, and he's my favorite Valentine, etc.  Apologize that I couldn't get him a card...which he's understanding about because I'm so ill.  And Frankly? He doesn't really care.  He's a dude.

So on his way home he calls and asks if he can bring me anything home.
When I'm sick, I want Cheezits and Gatorade.  I just do.
So he assures me that he will pick it up and be on his way....



Here's where I should know better. 
He'll come home and hand me Cheezits and Gatorade.
He'll give me a kiss and say how sorry he is that I feel like crap.

But he will not surprise me a card, or flowers, or a Valentine's cookie. No matter how much I hope he will.

Sigh.

He would if I asked him too, but where's the romaticalness in that?

That's RIGHT. There is NONE.


SIGH.

But I know he loves me.  With all his heart.  And?  I did get my Cheezits.

Some girls get candlelight, some get snack crackers.
Love takes all kinds, I guess.



I love you Querido.




I hope you all felt the love this Valentine's Day...in your own "special" way.

XOXOX!

CJ

I'll leave the light on for ya...but it ain't red.

My IL's house had to be fumigated for the 3 days because of termites, so we all stayed in a hotel...

My husband was excited for getaway, hotel style carnality...

He was obviously delusional.

In-laws in  the adjoining room? 14-month-old snoring in a portacrib next to the bed? Exhaustion from packing up the house for said fumigation?

Not so sexy...

And a business/commuter hotel room? With ants in the bathroom?

Not so vacationy.

Sorry, Querido.
The baby's sound machine set on "ocean waves" was not an equitable compromise to a beach-side B&B....

But I totally appreciate your imagination and creativity in the matter.

Just not enough to risk an ER visit (and awkward convo with your parents) so we can have sex hastily in the shower. And no, the handicapped-accessible  bars in the shower did not make it kinkier. Or safer, for that matter.

I love you though.

Really!

Quarantine has been Breached...

There are times that I feel emotionally compromised.

[More like most of the time, but I like to carry on as as though I'm all stable and Maslow-y.]


Now is definitely one of those times.  There's a shitload of factors contributing to my current state, both immediate and historical, but I find myself incapable of forming those factors into coherency right now.

[an attempt from an earlier post]

I hate this shit.  It makes me feel lost and and weak and out-of-control, and as a HUGE control-freak, this is more that a teensy issue.

It makes me feel whiny and trivial.

I carry a lot of of sadness and grief within me.  A lot of pain.  I've been through a lot of horrific shit.
I've been decried as liar, and  and pretty much all of my history has been denied, but it's the truth.  A whole lotta ugly, ugly, complicated truth.

As true as it may be, I feel like a cliche.  A ridiculous, Lifetime-Movie-variety whelpish, sad-girl.

Gross.


But I am a sad girl.  A deeply fucking sad girl/woman/human.  And frankly, I lose the capacity to handle it properly on certain days.

It PAINS me to admit that.  And if we're honest with ourselves?  It pains most people to hear it.  They don't want sorrow and pain and scars that won't close.

They want healing and positivity and triumph and smiles.

You and me both, world. As such?

I acknowledge it occasionally, and sometimes put my self-awareness hat on, and of COURSE I went to therapy (I mean, obviously) for it, but for the most part?

I just try to keep that shit in quarantine, away from the rest of my metal processes and emotions....

Because it scares the fuck out of me.  It's never-ending.  It has a profundity that even I can't fathom, and intensity that I cannot control.

Yep, I know what you are thinking: "Gosh, it sounds like you may have depression!"  I do!  The clinical kind, even!  Fun!


In order to compensate for the sads, I tend to turn to anger.  Mostly at myself for not being able to cope, sometimes-more often than I ever wanted- at my husband for being terrified/powerless at the depth of it all, and at the "world" I live in for not often giving the struggle any real validity.

Anger is less daunting for me.  I'm familiar with anger- it's strangely comforting because at least I've had practice at it...mostly with in being hurled and spit in my direction, but you get the gist...anger and I are on a first name basis.

I can control it. [Right?]
It doesn't run away with my sanity as sadness is so prone to do.  I am not to well-versed in sadness.  Not in any healthy way.  Sadness was not allowed in the environment that I grew up in.

It was mocked and the cause for wrath.  No one had the right or reason to be sad except for my Mother.  Her sadness was the only genuine and respected sadness.  She was the only one whose sadness was warranted and needed to be cared for.

[That was pretty much the Gold Standard for all of her emotions, btw.]

The rest of the world was selfish, putting on, grasping for attention, or being overly dramatic.

Sadness cost too damned much, so I learned "not" to be.  Anger was safer. It was easier.  I could internalize that shit and externalize a scowl with the best of 'em....it took me a long time to learn it, but once I did, Oh, boy!  Did I have the world fooled!

Pssshhh.

Look at me! I'm together! I am a rock. No one is going to break me again! Fuck being sad!  Sadness is for quitters! I am beyond my childhood, my abuses, my scars, my traumas, my brain chemistry [Hello?]. I am so completely above that now! I am now well-rounded because I know that!

Oh, Depression, you have such the sardonic sense of humor.....

Therapy, Medication, Religion, Education, True Love, Motherhood--Nothing has cured it.  All, at one time or another have eased it, some continually, some superficially, some earnestly, but nothing has wholly absorbed it.

I know that it will never be.  That it will ebb and flow through my life forever.

In the stillness of 2am, on more nights than I care to count, I fear that someday I will  be flooded and completely taken over by it.

Not in a suicidal way (though I'd be a liar if I said it didn't bring me dangerously close to the dizzying edge more than once in my youth), because suicide is selfish bullshit that leaves your friends/family holding your bag of pain and confusion while trying to deal with their OWN, [so put the phone down] but in that way that depression works best-

APATHY.

When it's done drowning you in sorrow, it just takes everything else.  You don't care-no, it's not that you don't care, or won't care, it's that you can't care.  It takes away your ability to feel anything but the hollowness of nothing.  I have been there for brief (and some not so brief) periods of my life, and it is not pretty.

Being a mother has made depression all the more terrifying for me.  I don't want it to affect my son, and I fight like hell to shield him from it, but it would be naive of me to think that I can keep it from touching him at all.  It frustrates me as a wife because I am a caretaker, and all I want to do is be the pillar of strength and comfort in my husband's life, and that role is robbed from me during bouts...

That makes me feel like a failure.  Which is all part of the tapes running in my head, and the powerful hold of depression in the first fucking place, which I know from a logical pov, but it feels true emotionally.

Failure.

Such an insidious word.  It carries so much power.  It is personified as the Boogey Man in my closet, under my bed.

And tonight?

Well tonight,  it is all I can see.



Depression is a cunning bastard.
Nighttime is when he sidles up the closest.  Strokes my fears and breathes the past into my present.

Some nights we dance more than others, but he's always on my card*...

Haunting the Dancehall

In a symphony of things you cannot change
but will not forgive
Rage builds slowly, toward a crescendo in Hate.

(The Chorus Begins)


Anger croons about the smallest of injustices
waltzing with the skeletons in your closet
They sway, taunting, down a macabre lane of memories
fleshing out your demons, giving substance to their grip-
so begins their deceitful dance

Watch, as the dead whirl around the floor…

1 and,
2 and,
3 and,
4.

Mistrust is rhythmic, lulling you into a fury
and as you accept a spectral invitation to the ball,
you forget that the dead can dance Forever…


1 and,
2 and,
3 and,
4.

Listen, as the band keeps playing the same
old
familiar
song.



















*For those of you who have never been ravaged by a depressive disorder, here's a tidbit to note:


Depressed people are always depressed. Always. It's just a question of to what degree.


I've spent many of my years with it turned up to ELEVEN.


Because as I intro'd with:


I am emotionally compromised the fuck up.

For my Hubbadens. (He never checks his email, but checks my blog)

Dear Husband,

I know today was a really hard day.
I know your job is sucking out your soul.
I know that living with your parents has been a major blow to well, everything.
I know that you can't sleep at night because you worry about how we're ever going to make it.
I know you feel like we're stuck in a hole, always a dollar short.
I know that you dream of a house (hell, an apartment), a new car, a dog, another baby.
I know that you desperately need things to change.
I know you just want to provide.

I hope that you also know how grateful I am to have you as a husband. You take amazing care of me and of your son.

Even though it feels like all of your effort is for naught, remember, it's that effort that keeps our little family afloat. Every day that you get-up-and-do-it-all over-again is one more step closer to where we want to be. Yes, it's going much slower than we anticipated, but we are getting there, I promise!

I realize that can be hard to see as we agonize over every dime, sigh in defeat as we run the numbers AGAIN, only to see that it STILL isn't feasible to move out, and wrack ourselves with guilt any time we spend money on something that isn't "necessary".

Even with that being said, we have made progress, and by trudging through shit everyday, you were at the forefront of that happening.

The past few years have thoroughly kicked our asses, and that blows, but like I said in your b-day card yesterday: Your pre-thirties are going to be BAD ASS. :)


I'm so proud of you. I love you very, very much.

Always,

Wife

29 Albums about 29 years.

My husband has decided as of last night, that he needs to know more about the music I like.

I'm not really sure what spurred this on after 5 years, but hey, it's a sweet gesture...

(Although, I know him like the back of my hand and I'm pretty sure that part of what's driving this is the desire to finally best me in music trivia.)

See, Hubbs and I don't really like the same time of music. Nor do we treat music the same way.

I think that music is crucial to my daily life, and must be on at (almost) all times.

He sorta treats it like white noise.

If it's there, okay, but he won't make the effort to turn it on.

But I digress....

His little research project got me thinking:

What is the music that has meant the most to me? Hmmm....

You know what this means, right?

It's time for a LIST.

(I kinda heart lists)

The 29 (1 for each year I've been alive) Albums that have been a huge part of me:

(I'm not going to go chronologically or explain them, because O only naps for so long.)

So, in no particular order and off the top of my head-

1. My Aim is True-Elvis Costello
2. Los Angeles-X
3. Astral Weeks-Van Morrison
4. What's the 411?-Mary J. Blige
5. Rage Against the Machine-Rage Against the Machine
6. Amplified Heart- Everything But the Girl
7. Dreamboat Annie-Heart
8. More Adventurous-Rilo Kiley
9. When the Pawn...-Fiona Apple
10. The Bends-Radiohead
11. Horses-Patti Smith
12. Ten-Pearl Jam
13. The Blue Album-Weezer
14. Stranger Than Fiction-Bad Religion
15. Disintegration-The Cure
16. London Calling-The Clash
17. MTV Unplugged in New York-Nirvana
18. At Last!-Etta James
19. The Boatman's Call-Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds
20. Purple-Stone Temple Pilots
21. Begin to Hope-Regina Spektor
22. At the Close of a Century-Stevie Wonder
23. Bloodletting-Concrete Blonde
24. Puple Rain-Prince
25. Lust for Life-Iggy Pop
26. What's the Story Morning Glory?-Oasis
27. Acoustic-Bayside
28. Electric Warrior-T. Rex
29. Fever to Tell-Yeah Yeah Yeahs

+ 1 to grow on: Grace-Jeff Buckley


There's so much more, and on a different day, I could probably give a different list, but there you have it!

Attack of the Nagging Hausfrau.

Okay, so I am so BEYOND irritated right now, but I'm torn as to who I should be more irritated with: myself, or my husband.

Having moved in with his parents, we live in a very small space as compared to what we had before (a 2bd/2ba entire apt).

We now have:
Two bedrooms which are connected by a jack n' jill bathroom being used as our "apt.".

In that space, we have a small living room/office area, and then a bedroom area. Now, we are trying to negotiate how to fit our son into all of that as well.

This is a hard task. It's made harder by the fact that my darling spouse is a SLOB.

Trails everywhere he freakin' goes. Clothes strewn wherever he happens to take them off, crochet paraphernalia (yes, he crochets) here and there, whatever magazines or book he decides to flip through, dishes, shoes, etc.

Basically anything he touches/uses in his daily life gets scattered through our little abode.

It drives me FUCKING nuts. Partly because I am, in fact, a Type Aer who has inherited her mother's reverence for cleanliness (although not nearly as psychotic), but MOSTLY it's because a small space immediately becomes unlivable if it's not kept clean and organized.

And I have TRIED. I've let a lot of things go in the 2.5 years that we've cohabitated, and I've done my damnedest to try and give everything a place, so it's easy keep stuff picked up.

This does not register with him.

The thing is, I feel bad for getting mad at him about it. When we both worked, I didn't feel bad, but now that he's the only one working, I feel like the LEAST I can do is the housework. So now, I DO feel bad, because I feel like I'm not pulling my weight.

This feeling is not as a result of him either. He doesn't care if I clean or not. He's fine with the mess and overflowing baskets of laundry. I'm the one having the nervous breakdown about it.

Before I got pregnant, This wasn't that big of an issue. For the most part, even though I got annoyed from time to time, I did all of the cleaning/laundry, and that was that. But now, it's a different story.

I'm so tired. All the time! It seems like the messes are creeping up on me more and more frequently now. Oh, and the laundry. Good LORDY LOVIN', the laundry. There's always been a lot of it, because my husband is sweaty and changes at least twice in a day, but lately, it's just overwhelming. I can get it sorted, washed and dried, but by the time I get to the putting away/hanging up portion of the program, things fall apart.

I just don't have any energy or focus, which is worse than the fatigue.

So we end up with baskets of laundry lined up on our window seat or next to the bed, which end up being rifled through by the Hubster, and thus strewn throughout creation.


And a day like today will come, a day that is hot, one in which I am tired and headachy, where I look around our space and its piles of mess/laundry and try to imagine our son and all of his stuff coexisting with it all, only to realize that it's going to get SO MUCH WORSE.

--this is when I CRACK.

Yelling is imminent. My poor clueless spouse will walk in the door any minute now, and I will unleash a torrential bitchfest upon him.

But I don't want to. He works hard, and I SOOOO appreciate that. He doesn't care if I do nothing but sit on my ass and eat bonbons...

So what right do I have to chew him out for not putting away his crap?

But at the SAME TIME, shouldn't he put away at least some of it?

Sometimes as he sits there, after work, playing his Xbox, amid piles of laundry as I once again gather up his dishes, I briefly visualize strangling him with the controller cord and throwing the machine out the window....

Other times as he sits there, after work, detailing the mind-numbing day he had, amid the piles of bills he's trying so hard to pay, I'm so thankful that he's willing to do it and come home so happy to be with me every day.

Does any of this make any sense?

I think I just needed to vent.