Holliest of the Jolly

Christmas Eve S asked for a separation again; I said yes, and then cried a little. He went on to get lowkey angry that I didn't At LeAsT wAnT tO wOrK oN mYsElF. So we talked about that a little bit. But, bottomline: we're on schedule to separate after L and I get back from Texas.

Then I went work and when I got back at 5:30 he said he wanted to take a nap. Okay? He proceeds to go to sleep for the rest of the night. Why, you ask? Probably because the two bottles of Jameson that are hidden (?) outside behind the back door. So N and L and I stayed up and watched movies while S and M slept and.... Like, Christmas is not my favorite holiday. I like New Year's, I like the obligatory offbeat holidays, I've warmed up to Halloween a lot over the years. But you know who does like Christmas a whole bunch and probably wants to see their dad? Um - kids. I just feel shitty.

I feel shitty that this Christmas was so shitty. I feel shitty that I didn't do a better job. I feel shitty that S did such a shitty job. And guess the fuck what? After Christmas dinner my MIL fell and her husband and I caught her, basically, and S's friend, Sc, got her her walker and guess who missed the entire thing whilst in the bathroom? S. Fucking of course and fucking why?

Anyway. *sigh*

I guess I'm maddest about how his nonesense tends to affect my relationship with the kids. Should it? No. Is that mostly me being REACTIVE? YES. Note to self note to self note to self. 

This morning I was on my computer watching Dr. Who and making a list for packing. Why? Because I like to do that. I like lists. I like packing. I like those things and doing them last minute. I have to work today and I wanted to relax before I go to work a little sick and inevitably have to do floors despite being nearly fucking 40, guys. 

But no. <angry tone> "You could at least help me clean the house before you have to leave for work." </angry tone>

Cue the nonverbal anger, cue stomping around and picking up and just.... Mess. Now I am holed up in my/our room journalling because that seems necessary before I further pack for work and pull out the luggage on the bed to pack this evening.*

Just: fucking fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck. I can't fix this.

*Which I will then be criticized for; "Why is this out on the bed? Why didn't you pack it yet? I wAnTeD tO tAkE a NaP."