You know what I hate about days off?
He takes the day off, too.
(He has his own business; he pretty much works – or doesn’t work – whenever he chooses.)
I’ve been looking forward to having today off all week long. Well, actually, even longer than that. Sleeping in. Doing stuff around the house. Enjoying a long week-end.
Unfortunately, I didn’t think about that he, too, would want to sleep in and do stuff around the house.
I turned off my alarm last night so it wouldn’t go off this morning. It was wonderful to just sleep. When I woke up, I thought, oh, he’ll get out of bed soon and then I can lie in bed all by myself for awhile.
He finally did get up and go to the bathroom.
Now, I thought, now I can have the bed to myself.
No such luck. He got back into bed.
And then he started talking about the chickens: the cute sounds they make, how they are saying that they should be out in the yard already even if it is the Fourth of July.
I had already cried while he was in the bathroom. Now I just wanted to scream and scream.
I couldn’t even think straight. I couldn’t even come up with a Plan B since he was interfering with my Plan A.
And then he turned on his side and put his hand on me.
That was the breaking point.
I slapped his hand off, jumped out of bed, and left the bedroom, slamming the door. Still in my nightgown, I went outside and got into my van and cried and cried and cried. I prayed God would just kill me so I wouldn’t have to do this anymore. I told God that I just couldn’t do it.
I felt like such a basket case, so insane, completely off my rocker. Completely irrational.
I really didn’t want to come back in the house. At least my daughter can hide in her room. There is nowhere I can hide. Except the bathroom. But I was hungry and needed to eat. So I finally came in the house.
He wasn’t in bed anymore; he was at the computer at the other end of the bedroom. I at least had my little “space” where I sit on the floor with my laptop. I got my breakfast and sat down to the companionship of the internet.
After a little bit, he came over and asked me why I hit him.
I told him that I didn’t hit him.
He said that I did hit him and that I almost broke his finger.
I told him that I didn’t mean to do that. I told him I was trying to brush his hand off me, that I didn’t want him touching me.
He stared at me for awhile, but didn’t say anything else. Then he left the bedroom and I heard him go out the front door.
I hope he has a lovely day with his chickens.
Actually, yesterday he said he was going to work on “The Fort” and then later go to some open house thing at a place in another city.
Maybe I will at least get the house to myself for most of the day.
Anyhow, I still can’t think very straight this morning. There is a book I have been reading and I think it is having a huge impact, so huge I can’t even process it, on my emotions. But maybe it will be part of a healing process for me. We’ll see.
I’ll tell you about it another time.
I hope your enjoy your Fourth of July celebration, whatever it may be. A couple of my siblings and their families will come over on Sunday and we will have our annual cook-out.
When I was in the van, I was wishing (I’m really, really good at wishing) that somehow, by some miracle, that today could be my Independence Day.
I wish an Independence Day for you, too.