Sunday, February 13, 2011


Deety is not a patient person. This could come as a surprise to people who know me IRL, because in some circumstances, I've been known to show extreme patience. But at home, in my personal life...not so much.

DH is recovering from major surgery. This means that he is occupying our main living space nearly 24x7 (barring trips to the shower and short walks outside). The corollary to this is that the television is on nearly 24x7.  Deety hates the television. The television is the bane of my existence. It is my version of nails on a chalkboard; anchovies on a pizza; it is the thing my world could do without.

Add to the auditory aggravation his need to try to help around the house, regardless of the fact that he is in pain and has already overdone it physically. Today, it was an attempt to help me change the sheets on his bed. Instead of just getting the hell out of my way and letting me get it done, I had to worry about him getting hurt, or hurting himself in the process.  It's a sad state of affairs when your escape is to go clean the cat pan.

What exacerbates this whole complicated situation is the fact that I was on the verge of kicking him to the curb at the end of the year. Then he springs these surgical plans on me, and for all the bitch I am, I couldn't bring myself to leave him hanging.  It's that honor thing, and that thing that reminds me that I'm a role model to the ankle-biter on how we treat people, and that...governor...that keeps me from acting impulsively and rashly no matter how much I want to.

I need an escape. I need to plan a trip - a long trip, not a weekend thing, although I suppose I'll take what I can get - to get away and get some head space. Maybe the planning of an escape will be enough to get me through this dark forest of his recovery. Maybe.

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