I’m tired. Dog tired.
I have the unfortunate condition of being a very light sleeper. Every time the Belgian coughs or blows his nose or gets up to go to the bathroom (every night) I wake up. It wouldn’t be so bad if I could sleep until noon like he does, but my wake-up call is between 5:00 – 5:30 a.m.
(I never realized how lucky I was that my ex would pass out on the couch most nights with his glass of scotch and his porn tapes.)
Yesterday, he seemed to be feeling a bit better, and he wanted to know what he could do to help me around here. I thought that was so nice, because I was beginning to feel like the maid with another sick kid, and my resentment was building to the explosive point.
I told him he could unload the dishwasher for me in the mornings, if I haven’t already done it, and help take out the trash and run it over to the dumpster behind the house. I was thinking it would be really nice of him to clean up the dishes after I cook every night, like I do sometimes at his place when he cooks for me, but I figured I was pressing my luck to ask. He didn’t seem to like the activities I suggested anyway. He says he’s looking for some heavy-lifting projects. Too bad I don’t have any.
I told him he could come to the gym to work out with me, but he thinks that’s not a good idea because he’s sick.
I think I’m too selfish and controlling to ever live with anyone again.
Besides, the channel surfing just about sends me to the moon. Guys, what the hell is up with that?
He is the first guy I’ve encountered who leaves the toilet seat up. I don’t get that. And I don’t get the women who complain that they “fall in” in the middle of the night, implying it’s okay to leave the lid up, just not the seat. Close the damn lid! I don’t want to see the inner workings of the toilet. If you close the lid, the seat thing is not an issue.
And sometimes, I just can’t resist pointing out nagging inconsistencies in behavior, like when he claims he’s never tempted by desserts and poo-poos sugar foods, but last night when I caught him sneaking some m&ms, he said occasionally he induldges, and I said, oh yes, like every morning when you dump spoonfuls of sugar into your 2-3 cups of tea. Same difference. (That usually doesn’t go over very well when I do that.)
I am acting more loving and polite this year, though, hard as it is. I’m not giving in to every nasty retort in my head or every resentment I feel. Not that those things aren’t valid – I just think I need to process them on my own, not spew at him.
I’ve been having lots of fleeting thoughts and ideas about other issues that are connected to this, like the fact that I have the sex drive of a dead fish right now. It’s interesting stuff, and, I think, worth some exploration. But right now, I’m going to get ready for my favorite dance aerobics class at the gym.