As in sign me up for Mars because I am exhausted and am out of energy for anything that resembles trying. Complete and utter bitch-fest ahead.

I've been trying to have something resembling normal, getting to bed by two am, up by 11 and actually doing things that resemble decent work in between. Hell, I've even been fielding client calls pretty well. To the point where The Nerdy Mr forgets that I am or have reason to be upset. Like, if I say I'm feeling crappy, I then have to field a wealth of commentary of how good I seem to be doing, and if I say that doesn't help, I then get a shit ton of defensive comments about how, "Well I can't tell you're upset, so what do you want from me?"

To not answer every commentary on how really horrible I feel with this bullshit. That's what I fucking want.

I could deal with it maybe better if he wasn't in a place where he doesn't do anything unless he's asked to do it. And sometimes not even then. And sometimes when I try to point this out, I have to deal with a shit-ton of semantic bullshit about how I didn't really ask him to do it, I just asked if a thing was possible. So that's just fucking great, that doesn't leave me feeling like you expect me to feed you, dress you, put you to bed, and wake you up like you're a fucking child at all. Thanks for that fucking contribution to the daily grind.

Everybody in the fucking household, myself included at times, is basically behaving like a 16 year old girl. Which means I can count on nothing getting done, unless I do it. Like the fucking dishes. Even before the dishwasher broke (and I was the one who washed most of the nasty unwashed load that sat in the busted dishwasher for a week while we all tried to get the dishwasher to work), there were always fucking dishes in the sink. I did all the dishes one day, and now every time I go into the kitchen, nobody bothered to put the dishes I washed away, half the time there's fucking food crumbs all over them, because whoever made food could not even be bothered to push the dishes to one side, they just made their food on top of all the clean dishes. Who washes them? Pretty much me. I spend over an hour every day (that hour I used to use for writing and clearing my head) washing dishes by hand, knowing there's a 50/50 chance that I'll have to wash them again, because by the time I make my way through 5 people's dishes from the fucking day before (and I've taken to eating shit off paper towels when I can get away with it just to not have to wash my own dishes) I flat out don't have the energy to dry and put them away. I thought about leaving them to dry in the not-functional dishwasher, but there's a gross mildew smell that I'm avoiding cleaning out of there— there are 4 other people in the house. Not every gross task has to fucking default to me.

And give me one more dumb ass comment about how well I'm doing for cleaning up after your ass and I will fucking flay you. Because I'm not doing well. I can either handle all this house shit or work, and frankly I need to let all these people stop distracting me from work, because this is getting really scary with the finances. Like to the point where I'm considering skipping Christmas and shit would still be incredibly tight. Like to the point where I'm worried about $500 for rent, a level of financial worry that I haven't had to deal with for more than five years. I'm going to have to borrow money, and I hate borrowing money. I'm fucking ashamed to ask because people think there's somehow a ton of money left over from my brother's piddly (and still miraculous by virtue of it's existence) life insurance. I like getting paid for the work that I work very hard to get paid at. But, no take my time all up, yank me out of phone meetings with potential clients, and distract me from getting done what I need to do for the purpose of your rants and passive-aggressiveness. Please bust into the bedroom to keep telling me how much I fucking take from you and flip your shit if someone walks into rooms you leave the door open to. Please keep borrowing things I need for work and don't give them back. Please keep sneaking into my shit to take my last fucking cigarette and not saying anything about it.

Advertisement

I tried to go out and have a good time with a friend last night and it almost worked, but like halfway through the evening I had to listen to how horrible it was after her aunt died and how nobody thought to send any food. I didn't make much traction in trying to explain that I think that's just normal these days to not send anything. I mean, one friend sent flowers to the house, there were a few arrangements at the funeral home from family, and we got a couple of hundred bucks from family— which pretty much went directly into the repast, and have had a few invitations to dinner. But it's not like anyone came by with food or anything. So, I at least prefer to think that bringing food is a thing people do anymore as opposed to my support network being not as supportive as you'd think.

I think this is the end of the rant for now. I want to cry, but I'm still at the point where I physically can't. So, I think I'm just going to search for a dark corner where I can hide for a while and not be screamed at or have to hear people wonder where I am loudly as they put their dirty dishes in the sink.

I quit. Ask me for nothing. I have nothing to give today.