It’s not my fault you’re ill. I didn’t sneak the cold virus into your food or anything like that. It’s not my fault that you’re tired. You came in from work at 5, and I had dinner on the table ready for you. You spent the evening, until you went to bed at half past seven, generally complaining about stuff – and wonder why I don’t listen.
It wasn’t my fault that I didn’t hear the cat scratching to go out for a piss. It was only half past nine and I had headphones on to help keep the noise down because I am respectful of your decision to go to bed early. Just don’t expect me to join you.
When you got up, I offered to take the cat down and let him out. But Martyrdom set in and you did it yourself, then complained that I didn’t do it.
Don’t slam doors and think I won’t say something or do something equally childish. You slammed one, pissed off because you wouldn’t let me help you, and I slammed one. Tit for tat.
Don’t come storming into my sanctuary and hit me. Doesn’t matter it didn’t hurt. If I hit you, you’d be on the phone to the Police or your Dad to complain. Don’t EVER hit me, for I would never hit you.
Don’t then cry and wonder why I’m ‘stony faced’ about your door slamming and physical assault. You are tired, you say? Heed my advice and get back to bed.
Don’t tell me to get out your house unless you really mean it. I DO have somewhere, many places, to go. Don’t go down that road unless you have the guts to finish the journey.
Don’t tell me to ‘not come to your bed’, because, baby, that’s an easy one for me to deal with. And, it’s MY bed, k? K.
I know you’re worried about stuff. And I try to allay your fears and apprehensions all the time. But sometimes, duck, you just gotta deal with it.
So deal with it.
One thought on “It is not my fault you’re ill, or a miserable hag.”
You should send this to her. Tomorrow, or today, technically, when she gets up or is at work, send it to her phone, or email, or print it out or whatever, but she should read it.
Then again I can’t pretend to know her or the situation. She might just overact like most women and flare up again.
Get a litterbox for the cat. Might be too late if she’s used to going outside. At least she doesn’t piss in the house. One of the worst odors in the world is cat piss, and once it gets on your clothes or fabric, it never fucking comes out. Had a cat piss in the car once. The smell was still in that car after 5 years.
I can’t handle slamming or banging in verbal confrontations. Something mental that makes me extremely violent. I can’t explain it, but if someone is yelling and starts slamming doors, dishes, walls, I’ll lose it 99.9% of the time and pretty much lose control of myself (near blacking out). Has happened in the past a few times. Must have been something to do with childhood or something. I feel like a caged claustrophobic beast that needs to break out and rip people apart. Kind of scary. :p
Sorry to hear you had a shitty evening. Hope all is well soon enough.