Because I am done.
The boss has opened a second location. It is only open on weekends, but it means that I’m stuck with Saturdays & Sundays for the foreseeable future. I’m ok with it, because fuck knows I need the hours. Credit card debt from building this house is a thing. The problem here is my chronic illnesses, chronic pain, and the resulting fatigue. I’m not quite sure how I made it to my house last night; I can only assume it’s because my truck knows the way home.
I was so exhausted when I got home that I was barely able to poke food into my wordhole. I only showered because I felt sticky and gritty and greasy and gross. I didn’t really pay attention to anything around me once I reached my little haven.
This morning, I feel like hammered shit. As I started trying to get ready for my day, I started noticing things. Things like:
- The dirty fucking t-shirt stuffed under some throw pillows on the couch
- Sunshine’s fucking shoes on the bathroom floor
- Sunshine’s goddamned slippers in the middle of the bedroom floor
- The overflowing trash can that nobody could be bothered to empty all fucking weekend
- The dishwasher that somebody didn’t fucking unload after he ran a cycle
- The damned fridge filled with leftovers that need to be tossed
- The stove is dirty as fuck
- The nasty-ass floors haven’t been swept, much less mopped
- Dirty-ass laundry is piled up like whoa
I could go on, but I think you yet the point. There will be a come-to-Jesus meeting in this house, and soon.
Seriously, Sunshine? When you went through a summer feeling like hammered shit because of some medical issues and I didn’t complain about having to take on more homesteading tasks than usual, did it not occur to you that the roles might be reversed one day thanks to my chronic conditions? I have 2 days before I have to go pull a long, shitty day working outside on the 4th, and those 2 days are filled with doctor’s appointments, and you couldn’t unfuck this mess you made? Get the fuck outta here with that bullshit.
I’d leave the shit exactly the way I found it, except for the fact that I am my mother’s child and knowing that my house is in such a gross state makes me fucking twitchy.
Final note: even in healthy relationships, things aren’t perfect. There are bumps in the road. I’m just grateful I have my sponsor to help me figure out how to get Sunshine to come to jesus.