serafaery

Josh just put something on the stove to cook, and a piece of sweet potato that fell under the burner (all the way under the pan that's supposed to catch things that fall in the burner) started smoking and when I tried to get it out he yelled at me, "WOULD YOU JUST LET ME DO MY THING." I explained that it would smoke up the entire kitchen if I just left it, it was a huge piece of food, and suggested he use another burner.

I am so done with him right now. I am going to spend a month not taking care of him. I have taken breaks like this before. No more cooking for him, no more cleaning his room, I will have to keep doing his dishes and cleaning the apartment if I don't want to live in filth, but I'm not waiting on him or helping him or making him anything to eat for a solid month. He is bossing me around and taking advantage of me and treating me poorly and I'm done. I'd rather be single than take care of someone who doesn't appreciate the effort.

I am really exhausted living in this 1930s apartment. He has no concept of how much more work it is to live in an older place. It's so much harder to clean, because of the old run-down appliances and fixtures with all kinds of crevices that brushes and rags and brooms and mops can't reach. There are things here that will never be clean because they are sealed poorly so dirt seeps into them but there's no way to open it to get it out. You just have to deal with the ugliness and clean around it. It's frustrating and just feels bad. It's a part of being poor I've always had to deal with, but now that I'm married to someone who could easily afford something nice, but chooses to be miserly, it stings more because I am the one who suffers for it, not him. I could never afford a nicer place on my own anyway, but I am stuck cleaning for two, this way. The plumbing here doesn't support a dishwasher and he never washes dishes. It just gets exhausting. I have done my best to turn dishwashing into a meditative process, but it still drains me after a while.

I will let him and Natasha rock climb without me, tonight. I need a break from him. Like a long one. I am a little bummed that we are going to summit prairie together for new year's, now, but hopefully by this weekend I'll feel a little better, after taking a break from cooking and caretaking for a bit.

28 days until I've had a year of no alcohol. Then I can schedule a cocktail date with Timo, maybe. Or maybe I'll keep going, I don't know. I really want a drink right now.

Persistent pervasive thoughts of death have been plaguing me more than usual, lately. I've always had them, sometimes more than others, the more people I know who die the louder they get. Kara was the last big loss, and seeing that Maria, my step-dad's gf, has begun her end of life process (once someone can't walk anymore, they're kind of done), it's just constant. I'm used to it, being an atheist and not believing in any kind of afterlife, I feel like the more I consider death, the more precious and beautiful life seems. So I wear a lot of skulls and carry a little ghost bag around. To remember how temporary this little flicker of existence is.

Time to dusk-bathe (I'd say sunset, but it's a thick dark overcast evening sky).