I don't understand....

Holy cow, I'm having just the most intense rage tonight. I had already thrown my pity party, and had just cleaned up the punchbowl from that shindig, and I get home and just want to physically beat something. Not my child, of course, but it just fucking STINKS in my house. I had gone to Walmart to pick up some essentials: milk, creamer, some apples, oranges and lemons, as well as some wine and beer, and I walk in the door to this disgusting smell.

So, just to clarify, I didn't know exactly where the smell was coming from, but I had my guesses. Could it be the sink of dishes that have been sitting since...hmmm, say Saturday night when Thad made me a cake for Mother's Day? Hmmmm, that's defintely a good candidate, but let's take a look at Mr. Two-Days-Full Garbage Can...... that had beer cans gently laid on top and pressed into the garbage, so as to stay in the garbage through ABSORPTION. As long as the garbage kind of holds onto the can, it's technically all good. Well, he, also, could be the culprit behind the noxious aroma permeating my home. So I get to take care of both problems, all the while fucking SCREAMING at Thad in my head, telling him all manner of things regarding how much I seem to give and give and give, and barely see any effort in return.

Well, I've martyred myself in my head to my fullest ability. These holes on my hands really heal quickly every time I nail myself up on that cross. It isn't as though he doesn't do anything, but I feel like I can't ever criticize because a) he'd take it so personally as some kind of slam to his parenting abilities and b) I don't want to a bitch and a nag. But I'm fucking SINKING in what feels like the never ending parade of his laundry and cleaning up after him after he's had the baby all night, and not really getting any break where I'm not totally at work or totally in charge of the child. Even on my days off he gets a break, but on the weekends I usually have to get up with the baby regardless of what time I got to sleep after I came home from work or how many times I'd gotten up with her the night before.

But for the reasons listed above, I don't tell him how much it bothers me. I rage and rage and rage while I just get the shit done, and then I don't feel so bad about it in the morning. I have the fight in my head that I don't have the energy to have in reality. I can go rounds with Thad in my head, because I'm feistier and always right in my head. In reality this isn't the case. "How can Thad know it's bothering you if you don't tell him?" Some of you may ask yourselves this question. And the answer is, "I don't really care how he knows, he is just supposed to". I'm a girl, I reserve the right to be pissed off for a good reason, but I don't have to share that reason with the person I'm pissed with. If they don't know what they did to deserve it, I shouldn't have to tell them. Ticket for one to CRAZYTOWN!

I really need to address this stuff with him, but I find myself not wanting to have a fight about it. So for all those people that think it's gutless to write someone a letter, or break up over the phone, you may find my passive aggressive tactic at dealing with my anger issues and frustration a little sad and cowardly. I'm completely okay with that. I doubt he'll ever read my blog anyways. But if he does, baby, I wanted it noted that tonight was not a good night, and I hope that you attempt to make tomorrow night better.