in a vain attempt to now eradicate the growing and well, let’s face it, not entirely unjustified, perception that I am a complete troll capable of more pure undiluted vitriol than ever thought possible, I’m going to do some posts about the lovely things happening in my life of late. I promise I will not mention:
- Chef not buying me a present for Christmas.
- Chef telling me to buy a present for myself when I schlepped to the shops with Jasper attached to my chest in 35C heat to buy his brother and other family members presents (and his Mum’s birthday present) while he had a swim at his parents place.
- Chef not wrapping the gift I’d bought for him to give me.
- Chef not giving me the gift I’d bought for myself at the family gift exchange.
- Chef not helping wrap presents.
- Chef quite willing to drink the beer put out for Santa.
- Chef sitting down having a grand old time on Christmas Eve after I’d been up since 4.30, been to the shops (as detailed above), and prepared all the food for Christmas Eve dinner with his parents.
- Chef, when I finally got to sit down to eat with everyone, not even motioning to get up and get drinks for children who had asked for them just as I sat down.
- Chef still sitting down having a grand old time while I was getting drinks for children and one of those children hurt himself coming inside.
- Chef doing NOTHING (except setting up tables and chairs – something easily achieved in the first ten minutes of his brother, BIL, father and uncle arriving) for his mother’s birthday brunch.
Sure, he was sick, but had already had EIGHTEEN hours in bed, it was for HIS mother with TWELVE of HIS family coming at NINE FREAKIN’ THIRTY in the morning.
- Chef being to sick to help me, but well enough to eat two full plates of food and sweets afterwards, only to then go back to bed when everyone had left and the cleaning up had to be done.
- Chef going to bed for essentially FOUR days.
- Chef jamming FOUR of my fingers in the car window, and failing to apologise until we got home and I was standing at the kitchen sink with an ice pack to try and dull the numb throbbing that lasted SEVEN hours.
- Chef knowing the bank account was in debit (because his pay had not gone in), but saying nothing to me as I took myself and Felix to the dentist in the city that would involve exorbitant dental bills and parking. So me discovering the bank that should have been loaded was bare when trying to pay dental bills, and then having to explain to parking station that I couldn’t pay because I had no money.
- That when I was 6 weeks pregnant, had gastro, a fever, was bleeding and contending with a midwife saying, ‘you’re probably miscarrying’ I was still making dinner for the boys, getting them bathed and into bed, getting them dressed and ready for school, taking them to school. While Chef had gastro and stayed in bed for FOUR days.
- That the fall out from that behaviour lasted nine days.
- That I feel like a FUCKING idiot for falling for his words at that time – that he wouldn’t checkout on me and the family like that ever again – only to have him do exactly the same thing within a year.
- That for the rest of my life every time Chef even gets a cold, I won’t be able to rely or count on him to SUCK IT IN AND FUCKING GET ON WITH IT, WE HAVE THREE KIDS TO STILL PARENT because he just takes himself to bed and disengages with REALITY.
- That I can’t rely on him.
- That when then going gets tough I’m on my own.
- That there is just the expectation I will pick up all the bits and keep our world turning.
- And that even the faintest inklings of these thoughts is driving me insane.
- That we’re entering day 6 on no communication.
- That I’m crying about four times a day and can turn my mood on a pinhead.
- That he thinks having a blog is self-indulgent. My bloody oath it is.
OK – I won’t mention any of that…