Silenced.

For someone who is actually quite happy in every day real life, I seem to bitch a lot here on this blog. Perhaps that's what allows me to maintain my happiness in every day real life ... I don't know. Regardless, this is likely to be yet another piss and moan post. I always seem to feel better once I've got it out of my system - almost like I've said it for real out loud. Bet a shrink would have a heyday with that ... passively aggressively getting stuff out in an online diary and then moving back through life in a cloud of avoidance. Hmmmm.

Anyhow, on to the rant! As I said several weeks ago, HB, darling man that he is, has no ability to prioritize what is important to say yes to in his daily life. Consequently, he says yes to everything and then our home life ends up bearing the brunt of (1) his absence and (2) his crankiness.

When we got home from the benefit late last Saturday night, HB went directly to bed. He was exhausted and still had another full day ahead on Sunday. I take a bit longer to unwind, so I putted around a bit, took a bath and then crawled into bed at about 2 a.m. I'm just drifting off to sleep when I hear the big dawg rumbling around and around and around on the main floor. I finally go down to investigate. As I hit the bottom step I see it .... thankfully before stepping too much further.... he has the diarrhea. And he has, in his panic, walked around the kitchen, living room, dining room and hall several times.

Did I mention that we have dusty rose carpets in three of those four rooms?

And that it's 2:30 a.m.?

Whatever. I get the cleaning stuff out, put the dawg outside, and spend the next hour on my hands and knees, cleaning up. HB wakes the next morning, wondering why there are wet spots all over the carpets. I explain what happened. The important part of this story is that HB woke up the next morning.

Monday I wake up as sick as a dawg (pun intended) myself. I spent the entire day sleeping, when I wasn't throwing up or trying to down water so I'd at least have something in my system to throw up. Tuesday was a bit better, but I was still not 100%. Clammy, cold, hot, tired, that kind of stuff. At 5:30 Wednesday morning, I'm awoken to the lovely sound of doors slamming, and HB's voice loudly chanting his favourite string of curse words while he bangs around. I bolt out of bed to see what's up.

The dawg has had another rough night.

HB's response? He goes downstairs to the basement and comes up with a paint spackler and bucket. He proceeds to lift up the stuff and fling it into the bucket. Then....

....he sits down and eats his breakfast.

W. T. F.??????????????????

So I, without the least bit of resentment (sarcasm intended) get back on my hands and knees, sick as a dog still, and go back through the rooms scrubbing the carpets again. 50 minutes into it, when there are precisely two stains left, he comes out to help. I couldn't even talk to him I was so pissed. I got up, showered, dressed and went to work. They sent me home because I was still so sick. I came home, called the carpet cleaners and then proceeded to work from home, preparing for a full day workshop I was facilitating on Thursday. I had to stop at about 5 because I had made arrangements for us to take Frodo and Mini-Me to a junior A hockey game here. My friend's son plays and she was making arrangements for the kids to go to the dressing room for an autograph session. I had to go because she had never met HB or the kids, so if I wasn't there, no one would find each other.

Frodo shows up in his usual "the world owes me" mentality, sticking attitude out all over the place. HB is bitching about how this was a good idea at the time, and Mini-Me and are both sick. I'm also thinking about the four hours of work I still have ahead of me to get to the point that I'm ready for the workshop the next day.

I could go on about that night but suffice to say that Frodo was a little jerk all night; HB never corrected him; I hit the point that I just didn't give a shit anymore so that's how the night went. We got home at 11, I came into my office here and worked until 2:30 getting ready for the session the next day.

Still sick on Thursday but no choice about doing this workshop. Which results in my finally losing my voice.

Which wouldn't have been bad except that we had committed to sing for an hour on Friday night. We had made the commitment months ago. HB of course, had forgotten the date, and agreed to take Frodo to his hockey game, 30 minutes out of town. The game started at 7 pm, and we were scheduled to sing at 9 p.m.

When he arrived at the venue at 8:30, kids in tow, I had our guitars and everything set up, but of course .... little problem..... had no freaking voice with which to sing!!! Every time he had called on Friday I would say to him "I'm not going to be able to sing" to which he'd say "drink neo citran...you'll be fine".

So instead he sang...with Frodo hanging inappropriately in his complete neediness, off his shoulder, singing directly into the mic in his totally off key and flat voice. He did a great job of all of the songs, and then tried to do the closing song we had planned. But it was in my key - so he tried to transpose on the spot. And it didn't work.

For the first time since I've known him, he was totally unprofessional. He sang the first verse, got into the refrain, knew it was way off, stopped, unplugged his guitar, took the kids and walked out. Left me there to answer (in my non-voice) the folks that had asked us to play.

Whatever.

They asked me what was up with him, and I just told them to ask him directly - I was not about to try to guess or defend him.

I'm too sick (literally) and tired (figuratively) to even give a shit anymore. I keep thinking back to a comment that Knothead made to me very early on in my relationship with HB. She had called me one night to bitch about him - highly inappropriate but for some reason, the exes always seem to like me and feel comfortable to talk to me - and said "be careful. He was nice to me when I first met him too".

Now even though I know that Knothead and I are night and frigging day, that comment keeps sneaking into my head. He's been so cranky of late, and hard to live with. I see glimpses (when I actually see him) of the man I love, but they are few and far between these days. He falls asleep on the couch. Our love life is non-existant, and although I resent the hell out of not seeing him, I feel guilty for asking for time.

This isn't the way it's meant to be. I know it will pass, and that we will talk it out - we always do - we're way to frigging healthy. But I'm always thankful that I can come here and get the attitude out of my system before I go into those talks with him. It really helps me to frame what I know needs to be said in a way that's not blameful.

But you know what? I'm tired of that too.

I want to yell, scream, throw some shit, blame and get that out of my system.

And I would.

But I have no voice!!!!