Just let me go for a little while.

Way more than I bargained for.

I'm trying to get him to make up for it by asking him to do dishes more, or cook, or something, but honestly, it doesn't add up. I feel bad asking him to get up in the middle of the night with her, instead of me. I feel bad sending him into her room when she wakes up, to change a diaper first thing in the morning, and the thing is, I shouldn't. I feel like I'm asking him to pull more than his weight, but.. shouldn't he? Two-thirds of this relationship is Wayne and Kailey, and on top of starting to resent the expectation that I'll play mom, I feel like I'm having a hard time figuring out where the boundary lies between what I deserve and how much is too much. In a situation like this, what am I expected to do? Is it wrong that I don't want to be the one getting up at night for someone else's child? Is it wrong that I fall back on that reason so often when I don't want to do something?

There's a reason I've been careful, and it's because I don't want kids yet. Already, I can't watch a movie without pausing a hundred times to hug Elmo, or refill a bottle, or something. It's irritating, and I don't know how annoyed I'm "allowed" to be.

She's cute, and I like her alot, but I don't want to take on full mommy-duties because I'm not. her. mom.

If I could at least get the influence that a mother (or step-mother) would get, I'd probably be better off. But I can't make any choices about what's best for her, I can't say yes or no about those (fucking!) Dora movies (Dora the explorer is E.Vil.). I can't say, "No, Grammy, she can't have McDonald's because it's bad for her." That's because Grammy is a "blood" relative, and that, for some reason, matters. Grammy wants to "spoil baby", so Wayne and I have to deal with the tempter-tantrums and hunger-strikes that come from Nana giving "baby" whatever she wants.

I'm just tired of sacrificing my free time, weekend or not. (Seriously, Wayne said, "I'll bring her home tomorrow night. I don't feel like driving." I said, "Who did you expect to watch her?" *Blank stare.* Seriously.)

I want to scream.

Just... whatever.

Tonight is Dr. Hyde's night. It's become a sick routine, coping with this phenomenon. It is inevitable that on a weekend night we will stay out later than we had planned, and while I come home with dreamy visions of a shower and bed, Wayne, my darling friend, steps through the door and changes from himself into Dr. Hyde, and goes berzerk. Something about the way the light hits dust motes along the television screen, something about the shadows cast by a small fortress of dishes in need of washing triggers this change, and prods this sense of urgency, this feral desire to clean.

And so, I blog.

Can I help clean? No, I'm in the way. Besides, he wants to rearrange the sock drawer to make room for a knee brace and wraps for his boxing gloves. (Nevermind that he hasn't boxed in well over six months- he might again, someday!)

Should I do the dishes? No, I did them last time. Just step back, because he wants to do them on his way into the laundry room. Does he want me to gather the laundry, at least? No, because he hasn't decided yet which load takes precedence: the one with his work pants, or the one with his work shirts. It is a last moment decision made in the laundry room as his fingers twirl the knob from "hot/cold" to "cold/cold". I can only assume he glances out the window above the sink as he does the dishes and mentally applies the positions of the stars to some astronomical laundry chart only he is familiar with.

What should I do? Just sit there, and relax. You bought dinner, just sit somewhere. No, not there, he needs that couch to re-sort the records. Would he like me to alphabetize them? Sure, sure, if I can alphabetize them after I group them in categories including "Country" "Rock" "Oldies", etc., and then sub-group them into "Good", "Ok", "Bad", and "To Be Heard", with another group of "Might Eventually Hear OR Throw Out". Ok, well, maybe that's something he should do when he has time.

My favorite thing to hear is, "Why don't you just write something while I'm doing this? I'll be done in no time." So, I'll settle down with a notebook or laptop, or sometimes at the desk (if it isn't overrun with mail that he wants to sort into "Necessary" "Unimportant" and "Might Be Trash") and begin to write. Generally, I am interruped by his voice, faintly calling through the clouds of dust as he turns the dogs' beds, "Do you have a specific place for those post-it notes?" The ones on my desk? I innocently ask. "Yes." "Well, dear, I thought I would keep them.. on my desk. Is that ok?" A sigh. "Fine." Can I help, really? "Nooo, no. Don't touch that, please, just... sit down."

"Honey?" I hear.
"Yes, dear?"
"Do you mind if I move the records?"
"Is there something wrong with keeping them by the record-player?"
"Well, I just thought they would look nice over here." (Points to the farthest point in the room away from the player.)
"Whatever you want, dear. They're yours."
"You're the best."
"I know."

A cleaning freak. I can't say it's a bad thing, though. All I have to do is make sure I'm completely immobile for an hour and a half, and fish my belongings out of the strange places he finds to stow them, and we're both happy for another week.

(Seriously, just because Post-Its fit in the printer beside the paper doesn't mean that's the best place for them.)

Ahhh... love.

We're getting there

Kailey has updated my alias for the week. I've gone from being "Uuuuuunnnh" to being "Mimi" and this week she's almost to "Megan", but she pronounces it more like "bacon." So close, and yet.. "Bacon."

Th-th-th-th-th-th-th-th-that's all, folks!

The depression is back with a vengeance. It was better for awhile, except for one week awhile back. But now, whether it's due to the season (winter always hurts a little) or because of what's been going on around home, I've been having a hard time keeping chipper.

If any of you don't know what it feels like to be "clinically depressed" (a term I used almost-mockingly. I believe what I feel, it happens to match up with a Dr's note. Whatever.) the best way I can describe it is this: Think of how fragile your emotions become after a week or so of late nights. Add to that the moodswings of PMS, and add to that the panic that you might have when you realize you made a huge mistake at work. So, now that you have this lovely compound, you can pick and choose the toppings. You can either have insomnia, paranoia, or hmmm... body image issues.

I'm not trying to complain or garner pity, I just want you to know how it feels. I just want to be normal again and not have to reassure random people (like that guy at the mall) that, "No, I'm ok, really. I don't know what the matter is." I honestly don't, and I want it to go away. I don't want to have to pay for it, or try and take pills on a schedule, or.. god, even go to work. I don't want to do anything but be able to lighten up a little.

Some unPC humor:

Why does Hellen Keller play the piano with only one hand?
***Cause she sings with the other one!

How does Hellen Keller drive?
*** One hand on the wheel, one on the yellow line!

What drove Hellen Keller insane?
*** She tried to read a stucco wall.


That's all for tonight!

Alphabet Soup
Borrowed a survey from Deanna (cause it's not a meme without the meme code, which is for livejournal), just to pass some time. Skip it.

A - Accent: I've been told it's the TV-watching-yankee nonaccent.
B - Breakfast Item: This morning was bacon, egg & cheese on a bagel with a tropicana coolatta. Those are so good I drink them even in the dead of a New England winter.
C - Chore you hate: I'll do your dishes if you'll put them away. That bothers me more than washing them.
D - Dad's name: Robert
E - Essential everyday item: Debit card. I love spending money I don't have.
F - Flavour ice cream: I'm not big on ice cream these days :-(
G - Gold or Silver?: Silvah.
H - Hometown: Eliot, ME.
I - Insomnia?: Actually, yes.
J - Job Title: If I want to avoid taking responsibility, it's "Secretary". If I want people to think I know more than I do, it's "Legal Assistant".
K - Kids: Sure, but not now.
L - Living arrangements: Trailer in the woods of Dovah with the boy and his parents.
M - Mother's birthplace: Trick question- her mom's veeg.
N - Number of significant others you’ve ever had: Dear lord, Deanna. Mine=1 that I chose, and 1 that chose me that I couldn't get rid of, because I wasn't on the meds at the time. (That's my story and I'm sticking to it.)
O - Overnight hospital stays: None.
P - Phobia: You totally were. My phobia is falling on ice. Seriously, I avoid ice like it's the plague. I've called out of work before so I wouldn't have to walk down the driveway. It's making me ill just thinking about it.
Q - Queer?: Good answer. I'm not "quee-ah", as that just means "slightly retarded" in New England's unPC dialect.
R - Religious Affiliation: Raised Baptist, semi-practicing Baptist and Catholicism.
S - Siblings: Two sisters (Kristin and Courtney, the founding of a pep squad) and two brothers, Jake and Zac (The founding of a football team). I don't fit in anywhere.
T - Time you wake up: I should be up in time to leave by 8, I usually get up at like.. five of.
U - Unnatural hair colours you've worn: Hmm... Briiiight red, orange, purple, pink and blue.
V - Vegetable you refuse to eat: Are olives really veggies? I thought they fell into the berry category. I can't eat asparagus.
W - Worst habit: Doing things like this while I'm supposed to be working.
X - X-rays you’ve had: Oh, lordy. My teeth about four times, my back... wait.. lemme count... probably upwards of forty. Three for my knee, three for my ankle, and one for my kidneys.
Y - Yummy: I'm totally with you on the Moe's setup. I also loooove fried ice cream from the Yangtzee. Veggie rolls, lo mein, and fried ice cream is a good night. Oh, and vodka.
Z - Zodiac sign: Capricorn, also known as the "Sea Goat". As you can see by those two words, I was born to be awkward and slightly weird. Sea. Goat. Sea. Goat.