I vowed to not blog today… SWORE that I would refrain from tapping out some gi-normous post about shit that no one cares about. I’ve been doing a terrible job as a blogger, lately… my posts have zero substance and seem to keep circulating on my life and emotional breakdowns of late as I sit exhausted, condemning this horrid child inside of me who refuses to get the hell out. This post will be no different. I hope at some point, to leave my house long enough to actually get something to write about other than my weird ass kids or my dysfunctional marriage, my naughty cats, my bodily functions and shit I see on t.v.
At some point, I will leave my house long enough to have something more valuable to post instead of sitting here giggling like a maniac as I photoshop bare assed pictures of my family into Google images of famous landmarks.
It is just so hard to get up all those stairs and so I don’t leave.
I hate the weekends in the Blogosphere because everyone else seems to have a life and isn’t around to give me shit to read. With the exception of me and Miss Bee, everyone disappears. Then, I write tons of blogs that don’t get read because I write too much and my posts are always too fucking long for people to get through. So, on Monday, either they are overwhelmed or they don’t see the zillion weekend posts. But, I continue to do it because my mind is racing lately and I need an outlet.
I doubt that today is going to be a very good day in my house.
Last night, Dean and I had a HUGE fight that resulted in him sleeping on the couch and me locking myself in the bedroom. I had no intention of emerging this morning, in fact, as I lie seething in my bed last night, I actually contemplated bringing my laptop and my coffee maker into my bedroom so that I would have no reason to come out this morning.
Our fight was weird. Usually after a fight, I feel super bad because I know that I was being irrational and maybe this time, I was being irrational, but I’m still pissed.
Our fight was about responsibilities and sticking by your commitments, doing what you say you are going to do.
This is the deal:
For the last couple of months or so, Dean has been doing that thing where he says very sweet things like,
“Sit down, honey…. I’ll get that.”
“No, babe… you don’t need to be doing all the cleaning. You’re huge and pregnant and uncomfortable and exhausted and this is the time when I need to step up and take over. Go sit down and relax and I’ll do this.”
All very sweet and I love to hear it.
Then, he doesn’t do it. He says he’s having a hard time getting motivated. So, as a result, the house is TRASHED. Like…. really trashed. Disgustingly trashed. Every single room.
And then, I’m not sure what to say to him about it without looking like an asshole. After all, I’M not cleaning it so why should I bitch at him to do it? So, I say nothing and it gets even more trashed and I start to become physically uncomfortable just being in this house.
My problem is this: If you have no intention to do it, then don’t tell me that you’re going to. Especially because “It’s my time to step up and take care of it.” Instead of saying that shit to me, don’t say anything and I will get off my fat ass and try to do as much as possible. Instead, I’m put in a weird position where Dean has offered something very nice and if he sees me cleaning, he tells me to go sit down.
So, it’s been like this for a while now and then last night, he was just being really foul to me and the kids and screaming at people and throwing shit around and so I finally got up and told him to just go somewhere and that I would get the kids in bed because I’d rather do it than know that he hates everyone in the house and that we inconvenience him and make him miserable. Really, I just wanted him to stop making the kids cry.
This turns into an argument and he is being snippy and sarcastic and, basically, an asshole and so I finally just say, “You know what, Dean? I got this. I got alllll of it. Don’t you worry. I’ll get the kids and then I’ll clean up the house because, god knows, you’ll really be a man of your word.”
So he says, “Oh… so this is what, a battle of wills now?”
This causes me to explode and go off on him. I regurgitate this whole big rant at him, “Oh, no…. you just like to go on and on being the sweet, helpful, compassionate husband who is here when I need him and you talk a really good game but then you can’t handle it. You can’t deal with the kids or the house… just tell me that you have no intention of doing anything and I’ll do it!”
So, he’s all like, “Yes… everything is my fault, huh?” and I reply, “Yep. It sure fucking is.”
So, I get the kids in bed and Dean is now putting on shoes and I know he is planning on leaving because this is what he does. He hauls ass when we argue. Before he has a chance to haul ass, I grab my shit and go to bed. Olivia comes in and we watch some t.v. together and fall asleep.
This morning, we all get up and Dean, who has slept on the couch last night, goes to the bedroom and goes back to sleep. Fine. Whatever. Do what you want. I will use this time to not scream at the kids every time they move and I will try to use this time to do the housework.
I want to go into labor. I want to leave. I want a minute where everything is not miserable, where I’m not tired and overwhelmed and trying to compose myself with these horrid children. I want to escape the mess in this house and get a chance to breath. If I go into labor, then I’ll be in the hospital for a day or two and it will be wonderful. It will be quiet. I will be sore and in pain and awake every hour on the hour to feed a baby, but it will be better than here.
I’m sick of the yelling, from the kids and from Dean. I’m sick of the chaos. I’m sick of feeling hot and dizzy and sore and achy and heavy and nauseated and contracting and exhausted and I’m sick of these goddamned people in this house.
Sick, sick, sick of it. They can all go to hell.
And yes, even Dean can go straight to hell. Yes, he works, but I no longer care. I spend allll day listening to these kids scream and act nuts and have to calmly deal with it. I do the fucking frustrating homework and the projects and listen to them all bitch all day as nothing is good enough. It takes me all day to finally have had enough and to want to crack their skulls together and Dean lasts about five minutes before he is screaming at them and flipping out and everything is miserable.
I want to go to work. I want to do meaningless tasks all day and then go home and look forward to spending time with my family. I want to miss them during the day. I want to be around other adults all day and not small children who fight and scream and destroy things. My job doesn’t end at 5:00. Instead, it gets worse and I get to add a screaming asshole to the mix of other screaming assholes and pandemonium breaks out.
It is not working and I’m tired of fighting with kids to do the right thing and be responsible and I’m tired of fighting with Dean about everything else, especially his stupid ass promises.
It’s to the point where I sort of don’t want him at the birth of this child because I know he is going to drive me crazy. I’m thinking of just doing it alone where it is just me and baby and I don’t have to be aggravated by anyone else. I don’t even care at this point if it’s fucked up to keep him out. I just want a little time in a clean environment with none of these assholes near me. I want the silence and the nurses who actually give a shit. I don’t want to sit there wishing everything was going differently. I just want to go in and not come back out to this piece of shit house and this fucking madness that surrounds me.
I am so fed up that last night, I just went to bed knowing that I should take my medicine but decided not to. I’m going to need to be obsessive if this house is going to get clean.
Someone save me from this place.