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The weekend was 100% entirely terrible.  This is quite possible the very most burnt out I have ever felt in my entire life.  I’m over in the other building today until 3 and I’m entirely happy about this.  I can take as many smoke breaks as I need, I don’t have to worry about anyone looking over my shoulder, and when I finally break down and cry I’ll be able to do it in private.

Last week I told Josh that he should start at least looking at his homework on Wednesday while I was at school.  I told him I’d be happy to help later, but he needed to at least read the stuff and get familiar with what had to happen.  According to Mom he spent the entire night in front of the television.  Thursday I told him we should look at it – he was too tired.  Friday he had something due so we spent an entire 15 minutes doing the single thing that was due.  There was more stuff that should have been read and a worksheet he needed to complete.  Again, too tired.

Saturday he had to work from 6:30 – 11.  I picked the brat up.  We went and had lunch and when we got home I started in on my homework.  We all sat at the table.  I did my thing and they played with their tablets.  It only took me about an hour.  When I was done I suggested to Josh that we start his since we had everything setup and there was ample time before dinner.  Not interested.

We spent the evening watching television.  He and I went to bed around 10.  Mom and the brat woke me up at 8:30 to start making breakfast.  Josh wasn’t moving.  I sent the brat down to try and rouse him.  She came back up and told us that Josh had said he’d rather sleep than eat.  On Father’s Day he says this to his own daughter.  So we made breakfast.  About halfway through the cooking he appeared, grumpy as hell.

After breakfast he finally decided it would be a good idea to do his homework.  This left me to do all of the chores plus help him and the brat was left to entertain herself.  There were maybe 20 questions on the worksheet, all of the answers were very easily found in the things he was supposed to have read, and yet I had to help him with every single one.  He didn’t even finish.

After lunch I went out to the back porch to smoke and get away from him.  The brat came out and asked me if Josh was mad at her.  She didn’t understand why he had to do his homework while she was there.  I did my best to reassure her that it was nothing personal and that her dad just isn’t very good at this kind of school.  I promised her it wouldn’t happen again.

I went with to take her home thinking that perhaps he and I could have some time to talk on the ride home.  He said maybe 10 words to me and when I tried to talk to him it was like talking to the cat.  I gave up and we rode the rest of the way in silence.  When we got home I tried to get him to tell me why he’d been such a rotten bastard all day.  According to him, he had been acting just fine and the problem lay entirely with me.  As usual.

I suggested that perhaps we have sex to fix the mood issue.  I also asked him to be just a little aggressive with me.  I told him I had really enjoyed that the one time he did it and that I was really looking forward to it again.  He told me he wasn’t in that kind of mood.  I tried to explain to him what I was feeling and he cut me off mid sentence – “I’m just not in that mood today, alright?”

I snapped.

“If our sex life wasn’t so fucking boring I wouldn’t feel like I had to ask for anything.”


He got up, got dressed, and left.  He didn’t take his cell phone with him or anything else.  Didn’t say where he was going or when he’d be back.  He just fucking left.

I have to tell you kids, I am 100% proud of how I handled this.  I went and smoked a cigarette.  I came back inside and verified that he didn’t have his phone.  I grabbed my phone.  I refilled my tea.  I took 2 of the anxiety pills shrinky-poo gave me.  Smoked another cigarette.  Watched a few minutes of stupid television.  Smoked a 3rd cigarette when I saw him pull up the street.  I needed that last one to figure out how I was going to handle talking to him.

I did nothing stupid or destructive.  I pulled out every single DBT skill that seemed appropriate and worked that shit as best I could.

I went back in and we talked.  It got the tiniest bit heated, but not bad.  By that point I had realized that the reason he left was actually to keep it from getting bad.  We have been know to get volatile with each other.  He was doing the safe and effective thing for him while I was at home doing the safe and effective thing for me.  We got to the point where talked rationally and explained things to each other.  And then we made up as we always do after that kind of fight.

So, by 8pm, life was good again.  We had managed to have sex that was definitely not boring, we were talking appropriately, and things were looking up.

We sat on the couch and finished his homework together.  I told him again that he’ll need to work on doing some of the prep stuff while I’m gone on Wednesdays so that we don’t have another weekend like that.  He agreed and said he’ll do better this week.

This morning I woke up to that fucking dick song alarm again.  In addition now there is a second alarm that squawks “ain’t nobody got time fo dat!”  One is bad, two is crazy making.  I asked him, politely, to please change the alarms.  This is at least the 10th time I’ve asked him.  He seemed peeved.

I went in and looked for something to drink.  There was a sandwich in the fridge for him – that I didn’t make.  This would be fine except that last night I offered several times to make one for him and he declined.  So that made me think I’m not good enough to make his sandwiches anymore.  I tried saying something to him about it and he got grumpier.  By the time he left for work we were essentially not speaking again.

And then he gets to work and tells me he loves me and this is going to be a great week.

I’ve finally resorted to putting him in time out.  The last text I sent him said “this is me driving off.”  I can’t even be sure he gets that since he’s sent me 3 texts since then.  I’m tired of having the same fights with him.  I’m tired of always being the one to get blamed for being in a bad mood when clearly he had bad days, too.  I’m really fucking tired of never getting credit for being right even when I clearly am.

There’s a part of me that’s thinking it would have been a whole lot easier if he’d have just gone to the bar last night, gotten himself good and drunk, and killed himself in a car wreck on the way home.