Life. One bite at a time.

I got some things done yesterday. Nothing grand, but progress. It is my hope that the problem rental will be completely patched up, paid for and receipts filed by Friday of this coming week. I made a little bit of progress on my personal organization, too. Again, nothing grand, but progress. I guess I just keep going and hope for the best?

You know what disturbs me? Homemaking skills and accounting skills live in two very separate areas of my brain. I know it wouldn't phase 'normal' people to clean the kitchen and then balance the checkbook, but I guess I just can't do it like that. There isn't much fluidity. I'm stuck between these two places right now and I've been thrown for a loop by it. I need to be in the 'accounting room' of my brain for a bit so I can pay the bills and update and stabilize the bookkeeping. I guess if I need faster progress, I will have to kick down the door to the accounting room and then rebuild my kitchen when I'm done.

Yes, I said "rebuild" - I love my husband and kids, but they are really a pack of slobs and I know what they do when I don't have access to 'homemaking mode'. And for the life of me, I cannot understand what is so hard about scraping your own goddamn dish after you eat and then carting the motherfucker to the sink and giving it a quick rinse-off. Ditto to putting your clothes in the hamper and hanging your wet towels. Even I can do these things -- even from a dissociated wasteland most of the time! To tell the truth, this kind of slobbery pisses me off. They will never understand what it costs me to come out of some other room, kick down the door to 'homemaker land' and clean up after their lazy asses and then feel guilty for collapsing in exhaustion from a couple of days of working like a maniac to fix all the shit they did while I was gone. No, I don't lash out at the children, but it effects my marriage. He can't wash dishes OR balance a fucking checkbook? I know he works, but Jesus, who's the cripple here, eh? I used to work, too. I made enough money to let him stay home and care for the children, but that brought my whole world crashing down around me because he can't clean anything. Goodbye career, hello immersion in trauma. Thanks, honey. I love you, but I have often wondered if I will ever overcome this aspect of our marriage. You know what? You need to either bring home what I used to net in commissions and fees before you felled me with your slovenliness, or you need to learn how to keep house. Maybe a bit of both or some kind of compromise? But no, I can't talk to you about that lest you have a fucking tantrum. What a shame. It really is a shame, because you are a very nice man in your heart. We are not born with all of the skills that we need. No one is. Yet you freak if we speak of it. Like I said - a shame. I'm tired and I sometimes can't keep the rage under the rug when I get like this. You made your fucking bed. Now what are you gonna do about it? I know you won't talk about it, so I suggest you roll up your sleeves and grab a fucking mop. Sorry, I don't buy into the fantasy that your dick gets in the way when you wish to sling a mop. I'm just not that fucking stupid. And don't you DARE ask me what's for dinner. I can't think of things like that when I'm in the accounting room. The number for Domino's is on the fridge. You CAN still READ, right?