For the handful of readers who actually follow this thing, I’m a real person. I’m not making this shit up, if you’ll pardon my phraseology. (Poolie will vouch for my reality – she’s met me, met my spousal unit and the youngest child and one of our myriad grandbabies.)
House scenario: no change, still waiting one way or t’nother to hear on it and crossing my fingers.
In other areas of life as I know it, exasperation rearing its ugly head in a big way, which isn’t a good thing for me. When I get in the mood I was in at o’dark thirty this morning, I go shopping. Yup, I’m a stress shopper, and stress driver. I really, really can’t afford to do random shopping with a house on the horizon, and at the price of gas I probably shouldn’t have driven off at the crack of dawn either.
Unfortunately remaining on the premises would likely have resulted in the murder and dismemberment of my spouse, so I figured a shopping-driving trip was the safer bet.
Spouse didn’t do anything drastically wrong today, other than his typical Cancerian long-term pout and the combined weight of a whole lot of cumulative bullshit. It’s not even technically a pout, for that matter (though God knows he can out-pout anyone when he’s of a mind). He literally becomes ill when faced with unwanted social situations, whether they be one-offs or long term, whereupon he curls up in his shell and goes practically catatonic for days or weeks on end. I know it’s psychosomatic and normally I dismiss and go on with my life in spite of it, but that coupled with clusterfuck of other little crap that’s been building, and I just hit my limit today and hit it hard.
I threw out an ultimatum that the spousal unit couldn’t win and I knew it.
It is also 1000% justified and G knows it, too.
I woke at 1am over this same psychological tar pit, for the fourth time this week. Never went back to sleep after. I’m not someone who deals well with sleep deprivation, which just exacerbates matters all the more.
I’m not going to play the poor-me card. I know in many ways I am blessed and I’m smart enough to appreciate it. But when somebody decides to twang my last nerve like a cheap guitar, and keeps hitting the note over and over again and I allow it, shame on me. Einstein called it: the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results. I’ve had my crazy on for a long time and I’m done with it.