Twenty-Seven

The weight of the endless days spent alone are starting to crush me again. I do well on the weekends when A is home, and we're together, and I have a purpose for being alive and out of bed and dressed. I have energy and goals and I am happy when he is with me. During the week, while I sit in the house for a mind-numbing 12-14 solitary hours, I feel cursed. Why do people wish they could stay at home all day long? I don't get that. It sucks, and daytime TV is worse than death. I've been through this before, when I was married to X and I wasn't working, and he worked on the road all week long. Then it was days and nights alone, week after week. I was in a new and strange city then, stuck in a small apartment with a very large and very needy dog. At the time, I was in my twenties and a very very different person, very meek with NO self-confidence at all. I was even petrified to drive anywhere because I didn't know where I was going in the unfamiliar town, so I stayed huddled up inside the apartment for months on end. I am not that person anymore, at least I'm not afraid of jumping in my car and just driving to wherever, I'm not afraid to turn down a wrong street or take a new road. Even if I am not going to any place in particular. But the only things I ever do when I leave the house are go shopping or go eat, and I don't need to do either. So I stay here at the house, wandering around like an empty shell waiting for A to come home and fill me up and bring me back to life. I am supposed to be at yoga right now, the classes that A is paying for me to take so I can start to feel better and have a reason to get out of the house. But I don't feel like it today, at least mentally. But I will probably lie to him and tell him I went to class, to make himself feel better about leaving me alone for so long every day. I've been with A for almost seven years now, and we used to work together for all of those years except for the last few months since we moved. I know how busy he is at work, and he made it perfectly clear to me in the beginning that he was dedicated to his career and that I had to accept that about him if I wanted to share his life. On the surface, I do, and I never complain when he has to work late or go in on the weekend, or take phone calls while we're eating dinner or on vacation, or when he has to go out of town for a whole week on business- rare, but it's happened a handful of times during our marriage. One night this week he got a call from work, the fire alarm was going off in the warehouse, right as I was putting dinner on the table. He said to start without him, he had to make a few calls, to handle the situation. I sat and ate alone while he was in his home office, and I was done eating and in the living room watching TV, before he ever got back to the table. That was like a hot knife in my heart, to sit there and eat dinner all alone, but I have to be a supportive spouse and accept moments like that. I try to see how fortunate we are, that he has a stable career and makes enough money so that I am not forced to take just any job I can find in order for us to survive. I am not forced to take any job at all. I am trying to find the good in all of this time I have on my hands, but all I can see is my loneliness and isolation here on this quiet dead end street out in the country. Every day I wake up and say I will do better, I will find something to go and do for the day, I will spend the day down in the basement sorting through unpacked boxes, I will go up to my studio and paint. I will stick to my diet, I will exercise, I will clean the house, I will call my parents or old friends. And after breakfast is finished and A leaves for work, I slump like a big fat dog turd at the table and the self-pity sets in. I don't know why, I don't know where it comes from, and I am sick as hell of feeling this way. I live a charmed life- no job, no children, no bills, no worries- and I am free to pursue whatever it is I would like. But by myself. Does it really matter if I am just sitting at home, or out roaming the city streets, if I am alone either way? Would it help to wander the aisles at Barnes & Noble or Target, if I am by myself? Am I not just as lonely, even out in public? Sometimes writing this blog helps me, when I can pound out my frustrations on the keyboard and let it all out. Sometimes writing here makes me feel even worse, because I read over all my faults and flaws and ridiculous whining when I have no reason to whine. No reason! But I do it nonetheless.

Twenty-Six

Today the unhappiness still prevails, and I can't put my finger on it. It is as elusive as ever. I am supposed to be leaving for yoga class right now, but I don't want to go today, even though my therapist told me it will help with the pain, even though A says it will help get me out of the house. I pay $25 a month for a studio, and I can go take yoga as often as I want, they have two classes a day, but I've only been once so far. I tell myself, if I skip this morning, maybe I will go this afternoon but that is doubtful. Maybe I will go tomorrow instead, that is doubtful as well. I have so many things to do with my time, and I don't do any of it. I have a painting project I started over the weekend, that I should be finished with already, but I can't make myself get up and go work on it. I have boxes down in the basement that I still haven't unpacked since we moved here in December. I have a ton of shit I should be listing on eBay and selling, but I stare at those things and instead feel numb and lethargic with the idea. The novel I started a few months ago, which I quickly cranked out 30,000 words on, just sits by idly as an icon on my desktop. All of my life, I've been so good about starting things, but never finishing them, and I don't know why. I was never like that at work, just at home. At work I was the most dependable employee there, and worked the hardest and the fastest. I used to think I "burned up" all my energy at work, so I never had anything left once I got home, my body was tired, my brain was frazzled, and I didn't feel guilty about coming home and relaxing. But now I'm not working, so what is the excuse? Why can't I find the energy or desire to do even the simple things in life? I am not talking about getting on my hands and knees and scrubbing the kitchen floor. I'm talking about fun projects like putting photos away in an album, or going through my books to sell on eBay, or even something so mindless as cross-stitching. It takes little to no effort to sit and sew, but I don't do it. I have so many sewing projects that I started, and very rare is it that I finish any of them. I lose interest, and move on to the next greatest thing, but that interest doesn't last long either. I have a garden out back, everything I planted in the spring, and my plants are loaded with vegetables and yet I can't muster the energy or even desire to go out my back door and pick the fresh tomatoes and peppers that A loves so much. Last night I served some of our homegrown tomatoes at dinner, just sliced with salt, and A acted like it was the finest caviar, he devoured them and praised them. Such a simple little thing, like picking a tomato for the man I love, and I can't even get slightly inspired to do it. We have two acres of land surrounded by woods, it's not like I want to avoid going outside because of the neighbors or anything. I have my privacy back there. Our house is three stories, the plants are on the patio on the ground level, and there is a deck above it. A worked very hard to create the patio for me, he cleaned up the land and put down rock and stepping stones, hung windchimes for me, put two chairs and a table and candles and plants out there. All for me to enjoy the outdoors in the shade. Do you think I ever go out there? Very very rarely, and I feel shame for that, for not wanting to even spend a lazy afternoon out on my own patio. I can't seem to extricate myself out of the living room long enough. There are so many things around the house that I just must attend to, like the dry cleaning mounded up in the closet- A's very expensive work clothes that I am too lazy to iron so I take out to someone else instead. The recycling is piling up in the garage, and we make every effort to separate and recycle everything, but I can't seem to make myself drive over to the recycling center to drop it all off- it's less than five miles up the road, but my mind shuts down suddenly when I look at the plastic and newspaper pouring out of their containers. What is wrong with me? Now that my pain is lessening day by day, I have made myself do more housework, but mentally I am completely checked out while I do it, I don't see anything or hear anything around me, I just go through the motions, empty inside. Why can't I find any joy or satisfaction with keeping the house clean? Why don't I do anything all day long? I watch the hours alone tick by, 12, 13, 14 hours or more on some days before A gets home. What did I do all day long? What did I accomplish? Where did that time go? I don't know, I can't answer it, the minutes just seem to slip away from me every day. I've been out of work for over seven months now, and it has flown by, and in that time I have accomplished nothing. Nothing at home, nothing outside the house. I don't know where my life is going, and I can't believe that I was meant to stay at home all day all alone. I have no purpose in life, no reason to even get out of bed in the mornings, but I do because I can't let A know that's how I feel. Some days, after he goes back to work, I go back to bed and will sleep until lunch. Those are rare days, because usually I am not sleepy and staying in bed is pointless. It only feeds my worthless feelings about myself. I make to-do lists almost every day, and I never finish them. But I have no excuses, I've got all day to myself with no distractions to keep me from finishing the laundry, or a painting, or writing my book, or harvesting veggies. I feel like a disaster, a train wreck in the purest sense, even though the physical pain is getting better I still feel like I am spiraling out of control mentally. I was not made to be a simple housewife, I hate this life, I don't know what to do with myself. I need help, I need direction. I need a new life.

Twenty-Five

In my mid-40's, am I too old to have mommy issues? I swear, mine has been driving me bonkers lately. I'm glad my parents are still alive and healthy and happily married, but I'm also glad they live about 600 miles away. Still, they have the phone and email at their disposal. My mom especially drives me insane. She is the queen of insulting, unsolicited advice, and most days I can hold the phone away from my ear while I watch TV and just let her say her piece. Other times she gets right under my skin and I feel a pinprick of pain, and I have to defend myself. Of course, whenever I say something she doesn't like, or doesn't agree with, she accuses me of being in a bad mood and how I obviously don't want to talk to her. You fucking think so?? Gee, what gave it away? But of course, she will call again, the next day, or maybe the next day. I have always hated talking on the phone, loathed it, even in high school when it was supposed to be the "norm" for teens to stay on the phone for hours. I hated it, and I can remember simply hanging up on people who would call and want to talk about BS for way too long. So, knowing this, I don't know why my mom calls me all the time, and expects that I want to chat with her on the phone, when I didn't even want to talk to my high school boyfriends or my best friend. Then she gets in a pissy mood when I don't sound overjoyed to hear from her. Truth be told, we have caller ID and when I see it is her, I usually don't answer the phone. But then sometimes she will call back again, and then when I don't answer it, the next day I have to give her an hourly report of my day as to why I wasn't "at home" when she called. My mom is not some decrepit old loon in a nursing home, calling me because she is lonely. My parents are fairly young (60's) and very active and have a beautiful home and lots of friends and travel a lot and have an extremely busy social calendar. Plus my sibling and her family all live in the same town with the folks. But, still, my parents always call me to say they are "worried" about me and just want to check in with me. Okay, I'm not ten and I'm not away at summer camp. I'm a grown woman with a wonderful husband who takes excellent care of me, we aren't in financial trouble, I'm not deathly ill, I don't have grandkids for them, and I really lead a very boring life and have nothing to say when they do call me. My parents have always treated me like I was a little kid, and one of these days I keep thinking it will stop, but it never does. My mom is the worst. When my dad calls me, he doesn't bug me too much, although he goes through the "I worry about you" crap, which I have no idea WHY he would say that or feel that way. They don't read this blog, so they don't know how unhappy I am- I put on my fake smiling, cheery face whenever I deal with anyone so they won't know. So, it sort of annoys me that my dad feels like he has to constantly check on me, when I feel like that is A's job to take care of me. My dad makes me feel like he doesn't trust A to do right by me, and that daddy has to step in, which is totally ridiculous, and completely out of line. But my mom, my god, she does nothing but criticize me about everything. She always has, and she probably doesn't realize it, and I'm too nice to say anything harsh to her. But she has always said things to chip away slowly at my self-esteem, says things that make me second guess myself, or make me feel like I've done something wrong when I haven't. For instance, I struggle with my weight, always have. If we go to visit my parents, my mom will actually fuss at me if I have a can of Coke, out loud, in front of others. I want to say, fuck you, I'm an adult I will have a god damn Coke if I want one, so shut up! But I just sit there and try to let it just roll off my back. I don't think she sees it as criticism, she will say she is "only trying to help", but I don't need that kind of help, I don't need my mommy to tell me, at 43, that I should be having water and not soda. God!!! I hate it, it makes me insane, it makes me see red, it gets my anger boiling faster than anything else on the planet. She feels like because she is my mother, she is allowed to comment on anything in my life. I like that I can have an open relationship with my parents, and tell them what's going on, but it's almost like that openness comes at a price because I'd better be prepared to get bombarded with negativity from my mother, or doubt from my father. I know back when I was in my 20's, and with X, maybe I needed them to lean on, to borrow money from, to help me out with advice or whatever. But that was 20 years ago, I am a different person, A is so totally opposite of X, and A puts me above all else in his life so he is going to take care of me. Surely my parents realize this by now. Yesterday I got a phone call from a company about 25 miles away, in another county, saying I had applied for a job there and would I come for an interview. I was confused, because I did send my application in at a few places here and there several months ago, but I didn't remember this place, this far away, this recent. I just shrugged and thought my memory was getting fuzzy lately. As I'm mentioning this to my dad on the phone, he told me that HE had sent my resume to an acquaintance over in that town, and they had probably sent it in for me. I'm like, what the fuck?? I don't really want a job right now, and I sure as hell do not want to commute 45 minutes one way to work. He didn't even ask me if this was okay, just took it upon himself to try and find me a job! I'm sure he did it out of love, but I mean, come on give me a fucking break already! This job would mean I would be gone from the house from 7am-6pm every day. No way, no way in hell do I want that. I always say, my parents kill me with their kindness, they smother me with love, and I can't tell them to back off, it would hurt their feelings. So instead, I'm the one who sucks it all up and tries to just deal with it. Yesterday, because I wasn't on my other blog all weekend long, both my parents called me in the middle of the afternoon to "check on me". I was like, are you kidding me???? I wasn't on my blog because I was out for the weekend having a nice time in the real world with A. But to them, they automatically think something must be "wrong". I wanted to shoot myself yesterday, in fact, I just told my mom I was busy with something and couldn't talk, I just couldn't take talking to her. Yes, I know I will miss them one day when they are gone, but good god they can't leave me alone for one minute it seems. My dad emails every day, sometimes several times, my mom calls almost every day, they say they just want to know I'm well and alive. I'm thinking, if I fucking die, surely A will call them and let them know! They want to come and visit next month, and I swear I don't know if I am in the mood for them right now or not. They always invite themselves, they always have, as though we are going to drop everything for them. They wanted to come a particular weekend this month, and I told them sorry, no, we already have plans with A's family out of state. They sounded pissy, said it was the only weekend that worked for them, I told them sorry we have plans. So now they've come up with another weekend next month. I was like, whatever, knowing they are going to come no matter what, I can't postpone it. And knowing them, they will want to be here for Christmas too. Maybe if I am not working by then, we can go to them, and come and go on our own terms, instead of hosting them at our house where we are stuck with them until they want to leave. I am just griping today, they have just been annoying the hell out of me lately, calling, emailing, constantly asking me if everything is okay just because I don't email them back every five minutes. Just because I'm sitting at home all day long, does not mean I have nothing to do with my time! So, I will just continue to not answer the phone when they call, then make up some excuse as to where I was when they called- like it's any of their god damn business!

Twenty-Four

I am so very sad today, for many reasons. The weather- it's dark and blustery and raining out. My husband- he is home so little that I actually talk to my chiropractor more often than A. Life- today a bird got trapped inside our garage, and it died of terror and exhaustion, and I haven't stopped crying about it all day. Isolation- my only connection to the outside world is through emails and Facebook and my other blog. A is too busy to talk to me during the day, if he does call me it is a real treat but very short, because he's always so terribly busy at work. He still likes to check in on me, though, to see how I'm feeling, but sometimes I am just stumped for something to say to him. Imagine that, a wife who can't think of anything to say to her own husband. Not like I'm 12 and this is the cute boy from school I have a crush on, and I'm tongue-tied. This is my main man, my heart, my everything, the man I have slept beside for six years now. But I am just like, yeah, okay, whatever, when we talk. Probably why he doesn't call every day. Probably why sometimes he just reads the paper in the morning at breakfast, because I don't have anything to say. I know he would listen, as he always does when I need to talk, when I need to pour my heart and my thoughts out to him. Isolation sucks, and moving to a new city isn't as easy as just going somewhere and starting up a conversation with a stranger, and suddenly pledging our undying sisterhood and loyalty to each other. Yesterday in line at a fast food place, the lady who walked in with me talked on end about the beautiful flowers planted out front. Nice chat, but I am not going to be making friends with an elderly black lady at the Chick-Fil-A over advice on planting perennials. I was polite, and thanked her for her advice, and moved on. I've always had good friends, although I don't know why people even like me. But I've also always had a job, and had 40 hours a week to connect with people. When we moved in January, I left behind super wonderful girlfriends whom I adored, and who loved me back. I have a twisted sense of humor, and I am blunt and honest, and I don't take bullshit from people and I also don't dish it out. I am not a typical girly-girl, as far as gossip and margaritas and skirts and manicures and the tanning booth. That's not me. So the women I've been friends with over the years, were ones who accepted me for who I really was, and who appreciated me for it. I've always been an oddball, and I don't care, I even enjoy the fact that I am not a bloated, boring, superficial soccer mom. So, my friends have always been the non-mainstream type. One of the good friends I left behind had been divorced well over twenty years, and likes it that way. My other good friend was as sensitive as I was crass, but we seemed to all three balance things out when we were around each other. They email, they call, they invite me to come back and visit. But it's not the same. I miss seeing faces, hearing voices, even a light touch on the arm while talking over coffee, five mornings a week and sometimes at dinner out. I know whenever I go back to work, I will make friends. At least I hope so. Everywhere I've worked, I've made at least 1-2 good girlfriends. At least at the jobs where I stayed for awhile. I was at my last job for 8 years, and I was on top of the totem pole, and one of the boss' favorites. Everyone loved me, everyone respected me, everyone depended on me, everyone looked at me for answers. It was a hard thing to give up, I would have worked there until retirement, if I could have- I had finally finally found the place I belonged and the place I loved to be. But I gave it all up because I love A more than I loved that job. He pays the bills, with his six figures, not me with my measly hourly wage. How could I tell him not to accept the big promotion in favor of me keeping my lowly office job? A depends on me too, but the things he needs from me- cleaning the house, picking up his dry cleaning, running to the bank, cooking dinner- are not things I really want to be doing for even myself, much less for the two of us. I swear to all that's holy, if I was a richer woman I would hire a personal assistant to do all that shit, that mundane but necessary crap that is required by life. A may not have made good new friends since we've moved, but he actually lived in this town once before, back in the late 1980's, so he still has friends here from back then and they get together. Guy friends, no room for the little wifey, although he invites me occasionally (I politely decline). I don't think A realizes the depths of my loneliness, the pining that I have for my old friends, and my desire to make new friends. I tried once going shopping and to lunch with his boss' wife, but she was a dull, bleached, young, skinny mom and I had absolutely nothing in common with her. It was painful to make conversation, and that was months ago and she's never called me again. Guess it was painful for her, too. I don't need to go back to work for the money, although extra income is always nice, but I need it more to socialize than anything else. But with the economy, and this little country bumpkin town, my choices are limited. And I don't want to drive 40 minutes to the "big city". A has forbid me from working a retail job, because he wants me at home at night and on weekends, our only time together. He said what little bit of money I would make, wouldn't be worth us losing our few precious hours that we have with each other every week. And we do seem to go out of town almost every weekend, and Wal-Mart is probably not going to let me have every Friday night and every weekend off. So. I sit at home, friendless, quiet, watching the clock and counting the hours, the minutes, until A gets home. Some nights it's six, some nights it's after nine. I never know. I feel as though if I stay trapped in this house much longer, I really will go fucking insane, in the true sense of the word. A nervous breakdown. Can someone have a nervous breakdown and get overly stressed out, because they have too much silent, alone time on their hands? How can I be stressed when I don't do anything or see anyone all day long? I have to wonder about that. I do get out of the house. I see the chiropractor 3-4 times a week right now, I get a massage once a week from the same lady, every Friday morning I go to my weekly support group, I go to the same dry cleaner 2-3 times a week, I even joined a gym and met with a personal trainer. But, those are not places where I'm going to make a good friend. Those are acquaintances, and there's a huge difference. I am not going to strike up a long talk on a deep subject with the old guy on the treadmill beside me, you know? A doesn't understand why I'm not "meeting" people, and I look at him like he's gone bonkers. Meet people? At the bank? At Target? What, are you kidding? He doesn't get it. He also doesn't work here in the town where we live, he heads off north towards the super big metropolis near where we live. He barely spends any time here in our new "hometown", even on the weekends we go look for entertainment elsewhere. So, he doesn't realize how damn small it is here, and how there is nothing to do, and no one to do it with. My favorite hobbies are even ones I do alone- reading, painting, writing, sewing. Even our subdivision is dead during the day, and if there are people at home they must be deep within the caves of their own houses because I don't see anyone. The house beside us has been empty for six months now, the house on the other side has two white-haired old Germans living there who barely speak English, and across the street is an empty field because no house was ever built on that lot. Behind me are many many acres of woods. I even live on a cul-de-sac at the very very back of the subdivision, how much more isolated can we get? Oh yes, did I mention we are the only subdivision out here, on this long country road? I am surrounded by pastures filled with horses and cows, and a goat farm. That is isolation, truly. Gone are the days when a new family moves in and the neighbors all come over with fresh apple pies and baskets of cookies, to introduce themselves, to have a block party or BBQ. We all have our little cocoons, and most of us stay in them, and rarely do we let anyone in from outside our already long-established circle. I know it will be a long time before I have a good friend here, someone I can meet for coffee on Saturday morning, or go shopping with at lunch, or gab with on the phone at night about what happened in the office that day. Sadly, I am craving that so much right now. I would like to say that I'm basically an antisocial person, but now that I'm alone all day long, I am more miserable than I've ever been in my entire life.

Twenty-Three

I am trying to force myself to feel better about life, since I have a light at the end of the very long, black tunnel that has been my existence in the most recent past. Another round with the therapist this week left me bruised and out of sorts again, but I know I have to go through this more intense pain in order to be rid of the old pain. Make sense? I am trying to work through it. She says that once she releases all of my contracted muscles in my leg and back, I won't need to see her again, this will not be an ongoing therapy. She will either cure me in a few more visits, or cut me loose, she is not going to suck me dry of all my hope and all A's money. I feel myself getting better with every session, but as with all things, I am impatient impatient impatient. Now that I am starting to feel better physically, I am starting to get more stressed out mentally and very frustrated. I don't want to wait another month, another six weeks, I want ALL the pain gone NOW. Only it doesn't work that way, short of some trauma that would leave me paralyzed from the waist down. I don't remember what I was like before I fell into a pit of chronic pain, and I don't think A remembers either because in our years together, the last nearly four have been with me in this state, this mood, this eternal cycle of waking up hating my life and going to bed at night hoping it will be over soon. What scares me the most is that, once I am cured of my physical ailment, will the emotional aspect of it get better as well? With the chronic pain, I have stopped going out of the house much, I do as little moving around as possible, I have given up almost every hobby that I once loved, I gained an excessive amount of weight, I've forgotten about our once hot and passionate sex life, I've gotten in the habit of ignoring my housework due to the pain, I make excuses constantly for being tired and in a pissy mood and not wanting to do things or go places. Once the pain is gone, what will be my crutch? How long will it take before I can lose the weight, initiate sex again, find a job, scrub the kitchen floors, start painting again? How much patience will A have for me then, because he has been insanely patient with me so far, because he says he understands I can't help it, I can't do certain things. Now when I snap at him, I apologize and say I'm sorry I'm just in a lot of pain today, and he is okay knowing that. Once I am pain free, what will I say when I get livid and want to throw something, or storm off and slam a door, when I want to be left alone? Last night I expected A to be gone until late, he has a standing Friday night out with a guy he's been friends with for almost 20 years. I encourage him to go, why should he stay at home like a lump on the couch just because that's what I do? Instead, he was home by 9:30 last night, and instead of being tickled pink to have him home early, I got stupidly disgruntled and not long afterwards I had picked a fight so that I could have an excuse to go on to bed. It left A very confused, and he came in our room later to ask me why I was mad at him. I sighed, kissed him on the cheek and said I wasn't mad, I was just not feeling well and I didn't mean to take it out on him. I love A so much it scares me, but I am also relieved when he is not here, when he has to work late, when he wants to go out with his buddy. I feel like I almost push him out the door sometimes, because I want to be alone, but I am miserable with desire for him the minute he leaves, and I am more lonely but more relaxed at the same time. A is actually younger, but in many ways he has always represented a father figure to me. X was SO immature, despite being older, and so irresponsible that in our 13 years together, I felt the weight and the burden of running the household and paying the bills myself. X was unemployed at least once a year, and although I did take the richer or poorer vows, somehow the fact that he actively enjoyed being unemployed SO much so he could sit at home and stay high, used to piss me off as I went off to work every day. Water under the bridge now, but I grew up in a family where my father worked two sometimes three jobs so my mom could stay home and raise the children. That was my model of a man and a father and a husband. X fell short in almost all of my expectations, which was surprising, because both of his parents were hard-working and self-made millionaires, and he apparently had not inherited any of their drive or determination, or pride. On the other hand, A was raised, poor, on a farm in the country, and he worked hard all of his childhood, he said his parents never let him have a moment of playtime in his entire life. And he is still that way now. The man easily works 60 or more hours a week, and loves it, loves his job, loves his company and everything about it, loves the mere fact that he works. And he earns every penny of his six-figure income. A holds a very high position at his company, he has about 400 employees under him, and he runs about four or more large departments. But he's good at it, which is why he has climbed the company ladder so quickly, and will continue to climb I'm sure. He has ambitious goals in mind, but if he stayed at his current position for another twenty years, I think he'd be happy too. A's whole job is comprised of making decisions all day long, of being responsible, of expecting perfection, of taking no bullshit from his guys, he's a leader and motivator and mentor. Then he comes home to me, a pathetic dinner that he usually has to help prepare and clean up after, a dirty house, litter boxes full of poop, an unmade bed, laundry sitting wrinkled in the dryer for two days, crumbs and dust bunnies all over the hardwood floors. His wife who can barely function, let alone get her ass off the couch and do all that stuff, which for anyone else would be such a simple thing. He says he doesn't care, but I also think he's a damn good liar, because he doesn't want to hurt my feelings so he says it doesn't bother him that there is cat vomit drying in the carpet of his new half-million dollar house, while his wife is sitting right there flipping mindlessly for hours through reruns on the TV. I care too, but I never can seem to will my body to get up and do it. I am revolting. And if I sicken myself that much, how can A not feel sickened at the mere sight of me as well? How?? And as much as I love A, as much as I wish I could spend every waking minute with him, I feel numbing relief when he calls to say he'll be about an hour late for dinner, because that is another hour of my night where I don't feel the burden of being his wife. When he's not here, I can't disappoint him, I can't annoy him, I can't disgust him- he doesn't ever feel those things towards me, but in my head I feel like he should, so I get myself all worked up about my behavior because he is there to bear witness to it (and yet he doesn't judge me for it). Home alone, I just don't give a shit, and no one is here to remind me that I should give a shit. But as soon as he comes through the door I suddenly see all of my flaws, I see the breakfast dishes still sitting in the sink, I remember the clean towels from the weekend that I haven't folded and put away yet, I know he will inevitably ask me how I'm feeling, what did I do that day? Not to point blame, not as in "what the fuck have you been doing all day you stupid lazy bitch?" which is what X would have said. A means it like "hi honey I'm glad to be home to you, did you do anything fun today that we can talk about at dinner?" It doesn't matter, I have nothing to tell him, and instead of saying that, I start trying to make excuses as to why I didn't finish the laundry or clean the toilets. A doesn't really want to hear all of that, he doesn't care, he just wants to come home and know that I'm okay, and he wants to hear that I'm feeling better, and he wants to know that I love him. A would gladly take me out to dinner every night, and take me away every weekend, and get me a maid, if that's what I wanted, because that's how much he dotes on me, that's how much he just wants me to be happy. But, I don't want those things, and how do I tell my husband that being with him, because he's so wonderful, is just a reminder for me about what a failure and a loser I've become. So when he says, hey, Best Friend and I want to go out and drink a few beers, play some pool, but is that okay with you sweetheart because you and I can instead go out and do something just the two of us if you want- I look at him and say, gladly, go out with Best Friend. I want to scream STAY, stay here with me, stay here and keep me company and try to make me happy, but then all I can do is just sit on the couch and zone out, and why should he have to do that too? Even tonight, when Best Friend called him, I told A to go out and have fun, A got as far as his car and while still sitting in the garage called me from his cell phone and said are you sure you don't want to go out with us, we'll have fun- I just said go, I will see you when you get home. On the inside, I was dying, to be with him, to have him be with me, but I just don't want to go or do anything and I'm not going to punish him for that. Most wives bitch because their husbands go out too much, stay gone too late, and I am the polar opposite because I feel bitterness mingled with joy whenever mine wants to go out, and I never say no, never get upset when he calls at 10 to say it'll probably be after midnight when he gets home. I don't care, the later the better, which is what my head is saying as my heart feels the loneliness. Just to get me out of the house, into the sunshine and fresh air, A took me for a ride out in the country today, with the top down in his sports car, and we had a nice lunch on a lake. And on those occasions, while I'm away from the house and alone with him, I really do feel good, back like it was when we were dating and I was happy. But as soon as we got back into the house, the first thing I did was look down at the cat hair on the carpet and start to feel like shit about myself again. Now that A is out for the night with his buddy, I can relax and go back to not caring anymore about anything. Because whenever A is around, all I do is care about him and about our life, when in reality I want an excuse not to feel anything at all. Not even love. Being around A makes me feel more, and I just don't want to.