JDawg moved back in on Thursday. And as much as a lot of things have changed between us – the dynamic is different, he’s more affectionate and I’m trying to be, we’re talking to each other, not yelling at each other – a lot it still the same. There is still piles of things being thrown on my floor or other convenient (meaning close by) places; nap time still means relaxing time, not time to get things done and dinner dishes are still going unrinsed, lunch dishes are still at work.
But you know, that’s all stuff about him. And so I’ve been watching myself, cuz I know it’s not all a one way street and I do some rather fucking annoying stuff and I’m trying to not. Enter Mr Lady and her admission of peevishness. And fine, I’ll just put it out there – why I’m impossible to live with:
I organize everything. Then shortly later, I organize it again. Then again. And once more for good measure. I’m the only person who knows where anything has gone, but if he asks me where something is, I will give him a dirty look and say “_________, where it always is.”
No drawer or cupboard or seat can be left partly open. I will immediately notice it. In fact, my eyes will follow the progress of his 10 foot meandering through the apartment, waiting to catch him leaving something open, so that I can say, “you left the door open on the ________.” And I will make him get up to go close it.
Laundry is sorted as it becomes dirty. Into loads. But it isn’t washed right away. So, as new dirty stuff comes into the picture, it has to go somewhere, and the loads are resorted with various levels of sighs coming from my chest.
I don’t shower much. And if it’s been a coupla days, I’m not putting out, no effing way. Sometimes, the boy has to wait until I take a shower to get some action, just so that I will need a shower again…and he will have to wait again.
I will be so excited about someone coming over for drinks or dinner or whatever and then as the hour approaches, snap into bitch mode, kicking him out of the kitchen, glaring and sending mental knives at his back for not helping me clean, even though I haven’t asked him for any help.
I don’t ask for help ever. I get overwhelmed and angry and demand it.
I talk down about myself a lot. He cannot say anything the opposite of my personal diatribes, or I will have tell him he’s an idiot for his opinion. But, in my own defense, this guy does think Cyndi Lauper is hot.
Did you know I’m always right? Yeah, me too. Basically, any common ground type of subject, I tend to, in the moment, assume I know more than him. It’s egotistical and I fucking hate it when the tables are turned.
I will argue anything, anywhere, for any reason. I will argue loud, mean, spitefully and unproductively. I consider the catharsis the best aphrodisiac ever. That’s just whack, yo.
I move the furniture a lot.
I make a lot of plans that I don’t go through with, but don’t let go of, either. I mean, yes, being a SAHM to two under 3s will totally allow me to go back to school, finish my degree, go on to masters and phD studies, right?
I tell him he needs to have more confidence and believe in himself. I lecture him about self acceptance and not burning bridges. And I am the antithesis of my wisdom. Worse yet, during all of our horrible fights before, that wisdom was the first thing I’d emotionally take from him, making him feel like a loser who would never go anywhere.
I make him watch chick flicks but the moment Dune is brought up, I flatly tell him I’m uninterested.
This could keep going. Seriously, I can think of at least 10 more things right this moment. But you know guys, I mostly don’t like myself, so I’m thinking I’ll cool it on more of my faults, for now, eh?
