Glamorouse

Saturday, December 31, 2005

Silence, but not the golden kind.

More the brooding, so angry I can't breath, rage kind of silence. Chef - after not buying me a Christmas present, not even wrapping the one I bought for him to give me (on his request - to buy it that is) nor giving it to me during the whole family gift exchange - fell ill four days ago. Some of my family - the 'good' uncle, his wife and my cousin - were coming over that day. We went to see The Lion, the witch and the wardrobe in the moring with the boys and I thought he seemed quiet - but put it down to tiredness, over-eating and not getting any sex. He finally told me he didn't feel well around midday - to which I replied, 'why don't you tell me these things earlier, like, "poppet, I feel sick, I need to go back to bed", rather than just moping around which just IRRITATES THE HELL OUT OF ME. So he went to bed about midday, or one-ish. By this point I was fairly knackered because it's been OVER 35C here every FRIGGING day for oh, about a week and after several weeks of baking, gift buying and all the other day to day CRAP that seriously does my head in (there is SO no hope for me if just basic domesticity is the trigger for my depression). Since we got back from spending two days with my Dad & Stepmother's (who informed me she had nits, and well, quite frankly I haven't stopped itching since), who are building their very own bunker two hours out of Sydney in a place renown for high winds and brown snakes, I had been cleaning constantly. Loads and loads of washing, new toys to accomodate blah blah blah. Then, the day before yesterday and the day after Chef declared himself sick, we had 12 people for brunch for Chef's Mum's birthday. He.didn't.even.get.up. So there I was, breastfeeding the youngest, entertaining and getting the other two dressed etc, going down to the shops to get all the things he and his Dad had forgotten or not thought about the day before (like decent bread and some fruit - they did however have enough eggs, two kinds of sausages and bacon to feed a small African nation), still frantically cleaning up and cooking everything for the arrival of the crowd at 9.30. He surfaced at some point to set up the table and chairs outside and then went back to bed. I had no idea when he did this as I was basically blind with rage. Here I was, up until 11.30 the night before preparing some of the food and cleaning up our house and then up from 5am doing everything else the morning of while he FUCKING STAYED IN BED. Of course, he hadn't bought anything for his mum either. I'm sorry, but the concern and charity for his illness was long gone after I worked out he'd been in bed for SEVENTEEN hours. It was heading for the hills and half way to Perth by the time we all sat down to eat, he appeared, ate TWO plates of food AND then a couple of these sweet little tarts that were like pecan pies but without the nuts. What sort of illness is it that befalls someone to bed when anything has to be done, but then completely disappears to STUFF YOUR FACE, only to return to bed again when the crowd leaves and the cleaning up remains? He basically stayed in bed, occasionally venturing to the couch yesterday but soon disappearing again when he realised deathbywife may be a bigger issue than illness. Here it is. When it is 30C + every FUCKING DAY. When ALL OF YOUR FUCKING FAMILY is coming over at 9.30am. When you have three children. You do not have the LUXURY of staying in bed for FOUR FUCKING DAYS with a flu type illness. Take some drugs, go to the doctor, SUCK IT IN because it JUST ISN"T GOOD ENOUGH. I realise there are people in the world far worse off than me. I realise this is such a pathetic whinge about nothing. I realise I should have been more compassionate (even if on the inside I was/am SEETHING). But fuck off. I'm angry. Disappointed. And let down. Once more. Oh, and my right breast is so friggin sore and I am so achey. I can feel the mastitis charging in my direction. (Funny, the last two times it 'almost' descended, only beaten by my relentless expressing, ice packs and heat packs, was when I was standing on my feed too much and doing too much. Isn't that curious.) We're meant to be at the Doodles tonight - for fondue. But with the weather and my spouse driving me FUCKING insane, we are all at home. Just here. In the same physical space but so very far apart. Happy New Year.

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