Beware The Unwell

Screw the undead. It's the unwell you need to fear.  Seriously, when I'm sick, I'm either helpless or mean. Sometimes I'm helplessly mean.

I've been sick for over a week. I don't mean a little sniffle or a little congestion; I mean out-of-work-for-a-week, shivering-on-the-sofa-waiting-for-death sick. And that first part? That out-of-work-for-a-week part? That means I was trapped in the house with the increasingly fretful DH (still recovering from his surgery) and the stupendously annoying demon spawn (home for winter break).

My best efforts at recovery were destined for failure from the start.  When I get sick, I cocoon.  I want to hole up in my nest with all the supplies I'll need to ride out the storm of my illness. This was not to be.

Escape

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.

One Saturday in July...

<This is not my story - it was shared with me by a member of MWDAS, and I have permission to publish it>
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I ran away from home today. Truly, I did, and I am proud of it.  It apparently did the trick, got the message across, worked wonders.

My house was clean for the entire time DH was gone on his business trip. Now, I'm not gonna go so far as to say it was so clean my mother-in-law could've shown up unannounced and I'd've been okay with it. But the first floor clutter was under control, the kitchen didn't look like something from a crack whore's apartment and the floors were clean. Second floor was...tolerable. With DH gone for a week, I had put away the cursed-and-blasted ironing board that he leaves up because he irons every morning, so the loft felt a bit less cluttered and claustrophobic. 

Men and Children

<Caveat: You'll find that the behaviour of men both frustrates and confuses me.>

DH is home today. There were a couple around-the-house things to get done, but I considered it highly likely he wouldn't remember (read: think) to do them, as they'd been discussed over the prior weekend. So today, I sent a little reminder. What I got in return was, I think, typical of most men (and for any males reading this who disagree, note that I use the term "most"...not "all").  It was a complete and detailed listing of all the things he did around the house.

I am you

I've often been told I should write, or I should blog. I've often thought I should, as well.  What held me back was that most of what I had to say was guaranteed to offend someone: spouse, relative, friend.  I wanted to be able to write honestly without hurting feelings.

A few women I admire (you can find some of their blogs over there -->) and a Very Good Friend inspired me to go ahead and do it. And so here I am.  I don't promise to write every day.  I will probably write when I'm angry, when I'm frustrated or when something strikes me as odd or funny.  I will probably piss you off some of the time. I will write anonymously, because who I am matters much less than the experiences I have, experiences that are probably very similar to yours.

I am not a stay-at-home-mom.  I work full-time and I love what I do.  I often think I was not cut out for parenthood, but I'm told that's not uncommon. I have very strong opinions, and struggle to regulate when and with whom I share them. This will be the place where I don't have to regulate quite so much.

If you choose to come along, welcome. Buckle up. It could be a wild ride.