To My Husband,
The week has barely started, but already it’s been very long.
My friend died. I’m emotionally and physically exhausted. My sadness is sitting in a lump in my throat and sinking into my stomach.
The house is a mess, between what OUR youngest son did when he dumped all his toys out to me trying to clean them up and reorganize. Which, by the way…thanks so much for the help. The kitchen sink is full of dishes. The house needs to be vacuumed. I’m trying to plan that little B’nai Mitzvah for October. I’m getting nothing done.
I’m a mess. I feel like my life is a mess. And…I have a helluva constant headache.
I didn’t want people in the house. I don’t think that’s selfish of me, seeing as you JUST had one of your loud, obnoxious poker games here on Friday.
But, you chose to pretty much say fuck you to me and there they were, a little skeleton crew, sitting at the kitchen table playing poker and drinking beer.
There is never a middle ground. Everything is what YOU want and you could give a rat’s ass about anything else.
So, I’ll tell you what. Here’s the deal.
As long as you keep having poker every single week, contrary to what I have asked…
I’m not doing shit around here. Do it yourself.
You will receive the same respect that you are constantly bestowing upon me.
I know…you don’t care. You never do.