I am. So tired. Of being yelled at. Accused of being manipulative.
Physically tired.
I didn’t buy a rubber sheet the last two times you asked because they don’t really make rubber sheets anymore. It’s waterproof mattress protectors now, it’s not 1982. And, as a matter of fact, I did buy an extra one of those one of the last times I went to the store. They were both getting laundered last night. I’m the only one who does laundry or dishes or cleans. But you don’t care about that.
But you don’t care about that.
But you. Don’t seem. To.
I think I'm...done? I've hit my limit? This just isn't a good match? I'm well aware I'm not really intelligent. Not really.
I'm average, I get it. But I do deserve for my partner to not say things like, "If I weren't here, you'd live like an animal." Bruh. I'm not the one leaving cigarette packages around. Dropping my clothes everywhere. Sticking nicotine pouches on every flat surface. And leaving my child's lunchboxes and containers in their truck for WEEKS AT A TIME. And punching holes in the bedroom wall a year ago that you have no intention of fixing, evidently?
I don't really mean for this to turn into a rant about my partner each and every time. But this is kind of what dominates my thoughts, ends up with me dysregulating, not doing homework, being, again, fucking tired.
I don't see a way forward in any direction. And, hey - there's a lot of great stuff in my life!
One of my rant-ey thoughts earlier tonight was, "Wow there's a lot of good stuff going on in your [partner's] life. You're missing it, though." Sometimes literally, sometimes figuratively.
Can't really really help that I'm the hot mess I am. Chipping away at it, though! Doesn't happen overnight, don't appreciate the effort not being recognized or affirmed! Some if not many-to-most concerns - I validate them! Yes, I'm not all that! No, not fun that I can't seem to keep a clean house or car, remember the things you say and become physically uncomfortable if I do not have An IRL Quest going on. There are many memes going around that state some version of "If you're a priority they make you a priority and remember what you say and you feel it." and, okay. That feels shitty. I know. I know. I know. But I'm not trying to be shitty. I am trying to stack my Maslow's hierarchy any way I can and in the moment priorities may shift. Maybe I got in the weeds on laundry, agreed to have friends over until midnight, didn't expect you to pass out in in The Child's bed, had her go potty before lying down (which usually does the trick but - she's FOUR, man. The 10-year-old still has potty accidents at night at times which really seems to trigger you, but maybe THERAPY, perhaps because urine is a normal bodily function not sterile, lots of ammonia but still a Thing That Happens, so write that down) and Jesus Christ just sometimes things do not work out.
And the floors? Bitch, I do not care about your floor feelings. You're right about that. However, I do not remember you asking me to wait on the floors until you got back from Kodiak. If you did, it was overridden by the feelings I got when Leel's friend's very nice family dropped by unexpectedly one day and the house was a wreck and the carpets looked like hot trash and I just wanted to fucking cry because their house is so clean and I just fucking can't. Not with all the shit I have going on.
No fucking wonder it's hard to connect with anyone on a friendship level, all the insecurity washing around.
But what would this really look like, ideally, to you, a (as far as I know) cis-het man? Your wife working 40-42 hours a week. Being the primary parent. In school to the tune of probably another 20 hours a week. What do you think this would reasonably look like? [sigh]
Today is gone. Today was fun. Tomorrow is another one.
...it's Dr. Seuss month. I had to.
No comments:
Post a Comment