Thursday, February 21, 2008

No Wonder I Drink...

Why are you so quick to judge me as a liar all the time Hubby? I justify myself because you make things up in your head and then believe them- no matter what I say.

If you are so committed to staying together then why- during the first fight we have had since going to counselling- did you revert to your usual insults- fuck off/your a mental bitch attitudes? Why wouldn't you listen to my side before judging me to be a liar or a fuckwit?

Why do you care if Twinkle Toes rings M? Is it because you want her for yourself?

The issue is that YOU came home drunk after being at the pub all day- wanting a fight with Bloodnut; and you didn't get one with him so you picked one with me. I only drank lite beer all day- see Psychologist Lady- I can adapt. I went home. I wasn't drunk.

He was.

He jumped to the wrong conclusion and then believed it- no matter what I said I was just lying. He tried to manipulate everything I said and thought I was changing my story every five seconds.

The point is I can text who I like.

The point is I wasn't texting Twinkle Toes I was PHONING M- the phone was on my ear the whole time for fucksakes. Neither M or Twinkle Toes had a problem- just you, Hubby. M even said I was doing the right thing by phoning her before giving out her number to him. And she can tell him she's not interested if she wants. She doesn't need you or me for that.

Even if Iwas texting Twinkle Toes- so fucking what? I can talk to who I like- and that will include Twink even After we break up- which I'm now fairly certain that we eventually will.

No amount of counselling is going to get you to admit to me that you are mentally abusing me. YOU have a problem- you get jealous for no apparent reason and you are possessive and controlling. I can't do what I like- I can't even speak without being told that I am fucked. That's mental abuse, Hubby, and I don't fucking deserve it.

That's the part that needs changing- and you need to admit it to yourself and then to me.

Last week your 'only' problem was that I drank and smoked too much and wouldn't come home- what a fucking surprise when home is so fucking awful when you get this way. You are the one who says all the nastiness- you're the one who swears and carries on and threatens to smash my face in. It's not on Hubby. YOU'RE making me mental. YOU'RE fucking me up. I don't want to be with you if you won't change.

You're going to have to stop coming home so drunk and angry and looking for a fight. You orchestrated the whole fucking thing from start to finish- right up to the part where I didn't feel welcome in our bed or want to eat dinner with you.

And then you want to be nice and wonder why I don't wanna speak to you? Because I CAN'T. You don't want to hear the truth- you just want me to confess to all the shit you accuse me of. Well I WON'T. So there. Come to counselling again- and admit you have a fucking problem and we'll see Perhaps- but this ISN'T going to keep happeneing. I don't want you that much that I'll put up with this shit.

It's abuse and it's torment. And I'm fucking over it.

You can't even say sorry or admit when you are wrong and nasty. We'd get on so well if you weren't such an A Grade Moron when you're drunk and angry. You don't even remember what we were fighting about- you're disillusioned and deluded- you're the one who was drunk and having a black-out.

It's not normal how you speak to me. Other people don't ever talk to me the way that you do. You think it's normal to call me fucked and mental. You think it's okay but it's not. Sometimes you are so disgracefully mean and everybody tells me that I don't deserve to listen to it and that you are wrong- about me, about everything- you say when you are mean. I don't know why you keep doing it- surely you realise what it does to me when you accuse me of things I know in my Heart I could never do; things I've supposedly said or done.

You punish me for no reason half the time- you just come home drunk and take your shit out on me. No wonder I drink. I hardly did before I met you; I didn't need to- not even for fun.

You think I'm in denial but I'm not. I remember Every horrible thing you've ever said to me when the only things I've ever called you is cruel and nasty. And you know you can be; you told me yourself on New Year's Eve- unless I'm imagining that too. Didn't you say you wanted to try fighting differently- and that you could leave all the insults out and stop doing it in front of the kids?

I believed every word of it because I really want it to be true. I want you to want me enough to change that part of you who Knows he abuses me. I want that part to fuck right off because I love the rest- and that's why I stay; for Him. It's confusing to live with a person who one day says that they love you and the next tells you that they couldn't care less. And it happens All the time- and it shouldn't.

I don't know what it is about me that angers you so much but if I'm as pathetic as you reckon then why don't you just leave? I know you get mad when I question you- I don't know why you think you know all the answers and that I am automatically wrong.

He thinks I 'fake innocent' and the truth is that most of the time I'm not. Even yesterday he got it wrong again. I wasn't even doing what you thought I was doing- so why should I have to listen to you telling me I Was doing something I wasn't? You've said you Know you are mean sometimes; can you please only get shitty at me when I deserve it? I'll get a job I'll come home and drink lite beer if I have to stay sober long enough to realise that the only life I'm allowed to have is here at home with you and the kids. That's what you want; and that's why you can't even let me walk through that door without punishing me for ever going through it.

What makes you so angry about me? Why do you tell me you want to smash my face in?

The pot and the alcohol are only a symptom for what I'm feeling- I can't stand feeling so fucking awful because of the things you say- and have continued to say since I first met you. Or my Mother. Or because I'm a shithouse mother like you said. Or because I'm a fucking hopeless failure. All I've ever wanted was for you to love me the same as I loved you. From the start you've treated me like I don't matter and not even worthy of knowing your name.

Are you sure it's not You who's schizophrenic?

Why don't you tell me what you are really angry or upset with? Why can't you just speak to me? Why can't you see the person everybody else does?

Haven't I proved to you yet that I'm never going to leave you unless you give me no choice?

Sitemeter News...

According to my sitemeter I now have six visitors to my blog each day.


Six is my lucky number.

Nobody else need bother reading; but to those lucky six who are......

Please leave a comment. Tell me something about yourself.

And thanks for visiting.

The Bottle...

Who would have ever thought that I'd be sitting on my brand new chocolate brown suede lounge- directly beneath the antique pictures that my Grandmother gave to me?

I've had them in my cupboard for probably two years- I'd always planned to hang them up but the walls needed painting so badly I put it off. But since the fire happened lsat year we have had the house repainted inside; and the pictures look great against the cinnamon beige of the walls.

My George Cruickshank ORIGINALS. He was like the Gary Larson or Larry Pickering of his day; a social commentatorof sorts- if you like. They were drawn in 1858 and are a set of eight framed sketches called The Bottle. They're like the original 'cartoon cells' (for want of a better description) that were printed in the newspaper that Charles Dickens edited. My Hubby reckons they'd be worth more than our house. He's probably right. That's why I have no idea why my Grandmother gave them away to me; she doesn't even like me that much. (Who can understand rich, eccentric octogenarians? She's building a yurt at the moment on what's left of my Grandfather's farm.) My Mother's side of the family would go wild if they knew she had given them to me.

Suck shit I say.

The last picture in the series is of a madman sitting next to a cage in a lunatic asylum- that's the one that sits directly above my head. I made it that way; so that I can sit beneath the crazy husband. It's where I'll probably end up, too.

I'm really enjoying the dramatic effect that they are creating; my eyes are drawn to them time and again.

The picture of the happy couple having their first drink from the Bottle.

The picture where the husband loses his job because of drunkeness.

The picture where they have to pawn their belongings so that they can keep buying the Bottle.

The picture where they are begging in the street to buy more of the Bottle.

The picture where they lose their youngest child through neglect.

The picture where the husband, fuelled by anger and the Bottle, is beating the wife.

The picture where the husband cracks her on the skull with the Bottle and kills her.

I hope it's not the life I get because of my own attraction to the bottle.

I'm listening to Harley and Rose (The Black Sorrows) play on the radio; thinking about the night when my Hubby and I fucked to it.

Mmm mmm mmm mmm mmm mmm mmm....

More later.

After The Counselling...

My Hubby doesn't want to go back again but I think I want to go back.

We need to.

I need to tell him and he needs to listen to me. He needs to hear it all. He needs to know how he makes me feel. He needs to know he needs to be interested in my thoughts and feelings- that it Matters what I think. My thoughts are more than just important to me- they are my very Self.

They are me.

If he doesn't like my thinking then he doesn't like me. If he's not interested in my brain and how it thinks and not love it then he can never love me either. Not properly anyway.It's important that he knows that side of me better.

He doesn't get the right to be disinterested in my mind. My Husband- my other person- has to be interested in me enough that they will listen to my brain rave and welcome it and not misunderstand it.

Why can't it be like this all the time? He actually listened to me in the kitchen the other night. I know he felt what I was saying to him because he was looking at me and I saw that he heard me. Like for the first time in a long time. It was good; and that's how I want it.

He doesn't have to be that attentive all the time either- just when it's necessary and called for.

And the fucking just gets better and better; sorry Kids if you are ever reading this- but it does. New Year's Day I thought I'd died and gone to heaven.

And he hasn't tried to 'stop my fun' even when I've been willing to go home at a reasonable hour. Life is good again; for the moment at least.

We are enjoying an easy calm.

When You Are Surrounded By Madness...

"Your love isn't fair
You live in a world
Where you didn't listen
And you didn't care"


This blog doesn't tell me to shut up.

This blog doesn't think I'm fucked up in the head.

This blog gives a shit about the person who writes it; in fact- so do most people, except for my Hubby.

So why do I take drugs you ask? So it doesn't hurt so much when you roll your eyes at the things I say. How can I be calm when you are accusing me of being a fucked person? That's what you're trying to tell me isn't it?

The truth is you just don't love me. I don't know why. You are one of the few people who know me and one of the only ones who don't like who I am. You hate the best parts of me.

You hate my thoughts; you rubbish my mind- make fun of it because I don't know why. You want me to be alone and friendless and in this house again. I don't know why you have thought I've gotten worse instead of improving. The truth is you know I'm not the same as I was last year and that frightens you.

I have changed. I don't sleep all day anymore; not All the time anyway. I'm happier than I have been in ages; You are the about the only thing that depresses me. I guess I like to get high because you are constantly bringing me down. And you can't even see that you are doing it which frustrates and angers and saddens me to the point of erraticness. It's like you orchestrate and manipulate my feelings for no other reason than to cause an argument.

Yeah, so I had a shitty day and didn't want to hear about your secretary's tits- I'm sorry about that-really. But what I can't deal with is your attitude.

The truth is that our problems are too big for the two of us to work out on our own. But you won't admit you're to blame for any of it- this mess that we call our 'marriage'. I didn't eat dinner with you because fighting with you spoils my appetite. It shouldn't be that big a concern for someone who is so adamant that they don't even care.

Possessive people generally don't.

What's the go with trying to bait me into that argument we just had? How could I just ignore the crap you tried to palm off to me as truth? You can't tell me that you know what I'm thinking about- you've never bothered to find out.

You think drugs are constantly on my mind? You couldn't be further away from the truth if you'd hitchhiked in the opposite direction. Yeah so- I organised the drugs this time- you can do it next time. There doesn't even HAVE to be a next time; but why not when we BOTH enjoy them so much?

Is the house not cleaner than it's ever been before? Don't my eyebrows look improved now that they are no longer knitted together? Aren't you glad my teeth aren't yellow anymore and I have some pride in myself again?

Okay; so I almost burnt the house down but look at the improvements since then. I'm not a deadshit, Hubby; I wrote two books that you won't ever read but that doesn't mean that they are worthless or crap. If it wasn't the drugs it would be something else to pick on me for. Trust me; I am far from deluded when it comes to myself- I am my own specialty subject. This morning a skin cancer doctor took a biopsy off my tit and you didn't even ask me if I'm okay thinking I might have cancer and won't even find out for at least a week.

If you're determined to be a cunt then I guess you'll find a way no matter what I do or say. You want me to do AA or NA or some other fucking course you can wait till the New Year and you're fucking coming with me- unless you like being called a hypocrite. If I'm a pill-freak then so are you clever one.

Who -or what- is coming home tomorrow? The nice you or the arsehole who judges me as fucked in every possible way that a person can be fucked? Who made you the fucking King? I can't even be myself around you anymore because you don't even like who I am.

Let me guess; you won't remember our conversation tonight. You won't see it from my perspective or even hear it. You're incapable of listening- let alone letting me finish a simple sentence. Does that annoy me? You bet the fuck it does. I hate trying to sort out our mess with no help from you. There's too much shit for us to handle. We need help but you don't want it. Nothing's your fault- it's all my problem. Well Sorry Sorry Sorry and then Go and Get Fucked.

Even your co-workers- people you have never introduced me to- know how good you have it. I know that's why you keep me around; there's no other discernable reason because you certainly don't love me very much-if at all. Did you ever? Is our whole life together just been one sick lie? If you don't think I'm worth the bother then why the fuck do you?

What's in it for you to live with some drug-fucked mental bitch that you don't even care about?

If that's all I really am to you then we both know what we should be doing. And the truth is that Both of us drink too much and take too many drugs.

I can't even cry for Us anymore.

I want you to know, though, that you are wrong about me- even if you never even learn it- because you don't know me. You never will. We'll go out tomorrow because you'll forget your own promises like always. And I wasn't joking when I said you are partly responsible for me being this way.

It's hard not to become mental when you are surrounded by madness.

I don't keep the house clean so that you will buy me more drugs. I'm not like you and I never have been. I can't help who I am and I won't apologise for being myself. I'm not the only person in this world who left the Christmas shopping for the kids until the last minute either, and just for the record I'm going to be thinking long and hard over the next few days whether or not our relationship is even worth fighting for when we are obviously so very different.

A Small Puff Of Wind...

No one said we had to stay together forever anyway- most relationships fail eventually or otherwise making it to twenty-five or fifty years wouldn't be such a big deal.

And I can't do this the way it's been for another minute let alone for ten more years just so we can get a silver tray off the kids.

I'm worried my leaving is only going to make him worse- I don't want it to get like his mate and his Ex when they run into each other at the pub; slashed tyres and AVO's and jealous rages. So I guess I say goodbye to all the new friends as well- like Casper and Robbie and Jen and Sare and Fido and CC and Nort and M and the boys in the Band. And Stu and Daz and Macca. So in the end I lose no matter what I do- because they're His friend's girlfriends and His mates.

He doesn't get to have any consequences for the things he says or does. I'm more hurt and upset than angered about them- though he frustrates me when he doesn't listen to anything I say.

He says I never want to go home but it's where I want to be right now. Next to him in bed where we belong at three am- not on my Mother's back verandah.

The worst thing is that he says that this is what his Entire problem with me is- but I know it's only a temporary probably until the next one- whatever that may be. I bet he hasn't even shed a single tear for me being gone.

You don't know how it feels to be told to fuck off for fifteen years- do you?

I wish I could ask one of his mates to talk to him for me but none of them will want to intervene. And none of mine know him well enough except for CC and Loz and my Sisters, and that's not going to happen either.

I appreciate the fact he didn't go out tonight on the drugs with his mate and wanted to come home to me instead- but he was the one who was two hours late and drunk this time.

I know he didn't want to come home to an argument but I didn't want one either. We're supposed to communicate when one or the other upsets each other- not try and bait me into an argument about how many songs(and exactly which ones) I put on the jukebox with M the other night. Who gives a flying fuck?

How about I just SAY that the only reason you've kept me around is so you can get a lift to work and now you've got a motorbike you don't need me anymore so you can say what you want hoping I'll walk out the door?

Why can't I just fabricate stories that You were doing shit and up to no good when in fact you were not?

He seems to have missed the small point that he wasn't even at the Northo with me and M. I wasn't staggering drunk. I didn't have a go at anybody- far from it- I had a great time with everybody that I spoke to. I don't ask or seek attention from anybody except for the one person who can't give it to me.

My Hubby.

I'd stay up all night but the candle is small.

Funny how only a small puff of wind can extinguish a flame, huh?

One very sad confused lonely bitter bitch. That's me.

But Me? I am rn_buffoon. You know that mental bitch that he can't stand but who everybody else likes? Yeah. Me.

Fifteen Years Down The Fucking Drain...

Well I've done it now.

I think I left my Hubby a few hours ago. I suppose I have. I've told him I'm done with our relationship and I'm sitting on my Mother's back verandah. It's almost one thirty am.

I been crying all evening since I've been here but that's hardly surprising; fifteen years down the fucking drain by the look of things. I feel sick thinking about a life without him. How am I gonna explain this to the kids- or to his Mother- or to myself? I've sat here for hours listening to my Brother-in-law and Sister and Mother give me sound words of advice- like who to call in the morning- everyone from Centrelink to a counsellor to my Mother-in-law to see if she really meant good when she told me that if my Hubby and I ever broke up then the house was 'mine' for me and the kids. I don't want it to be mine. I want it to be ours.

I won't sleep tonight- I'm too upset to sleep; especially in my Father's bed (he's gone camping at the beach)- how fucked would that be? I should be at home where I belong. I know in my heart I need to do this; we can't keep going round and round in circles fighting every second minute. The stupidest part is what we fight over- inane things like cordial flavours or Playdoh on the carpet in my Son's room- or which songs I played on the jukebox with my friend M the other night.

He says the issue is me not wanting to come home when he is ready to go.

My issue is that he called me an unfit Mother to be raising our kids while threatening to sign their custody over to my Mother as punishment for my continued drunkeness.

Mum says there's no way he'd do it- and besides, she would have to contest their custody as well or else how stupid will he look giving them away after he had just won custody for himself? Not that it's going to happen. It's just another idle threat to see if I'll change my wicked ways.

Which are? I'm not sure.

Getting some friends at last perhaps? Writing two books about being mental? Not sleeping all day on the couch like I used to? Keeping the house and yard so much nicer than ever before? Why didn't he call me an alchoholic when I was drinking three litres of wine on the lounge every night?

Why does he have to be so cruel to get his point across? Why does he deny what he says in the morning? How can he accuse me of making rude comments to Macca or make out that M hadn't even called me when my Sister was right there next to me and Remembers her calling me and asking me to go down to the pub? When I defend myself he asks me why- but how can I not defend myself when I am accused of lies?

The Psychologist Guy was right- he said I'd eventually pay for my fun. But then we both drink and take drugs- not so many bongs for him these days but he loves getting on the E's as much as the next person. We're all designer drug addicts...

The point I wanted to make went unheard- he didn't want to hear what my issues were with him- they weren't interesting enough to keep him listening to me and so instead he yells and talks over and down at me. I can't do it anymore no matter how much I love him.

Love? Do I still?

Or is it perhaps changing that I'm scared about?

Either way I'm getting a job this year. If we get back together he'll only continue to bring to my attention that it's him who earns all the money. He can keep it. I never wanted it anyway.

I just wanted him to like me- even from the very start when he gave me a fake name so he wouldn't have to see me again. He won't listen to a word that comes out of my mouth without treating it as lies or bullshit. He took my bankcards and all the money(actually I gave them to him but only as he insisted upon it) because he thought that if I left I would only go to the pub tonight and spend all HIS money. I thought that's what alcoholic wives did for a living?

How stupid can I be? Fifteen years? No one said it lad to last forever but I can't imagine it not. It hurts and upsets me to think of a life without him in it. Now I've got friends and I haven't got my Hubby. I don't want to go back to my life on the couch, don't you see? Why is it so hard to listen to me or speak nicely without all the 'Fuck off you're mental' speeches thrown in?

I don't know what I'm going to do. I'll be fucked if I'm going to live at my Mother's; me and the kids shouldn't have to live in a spare room and he's being a fuckwit if that's what he actually expects when he's the one who could quite comfortably live in a spare room at his mate's. And then there's the schools- if I have to move to some cheap-arsed suburb like Wingate then that's where our little Son is going to end up going to school.

I don't even want to break up- I just want him to stop and listen and stop calling me horrible names and just let me be myself- that Chick in the photo on the fridge with the springy-Santa hat who is smiling and happy. I want him to go to a counsellor with me so that he will listen to me long enough to hear what I am saying are MY issues with the relationship- instead of only getting to listen to what's fucked about me and why I'M ruining our relationship.

Am I the one saying things that can't be taken back? I probably did when I broke up with him. Maybe he won't even remember -he was drunk afterall. He probably thinks I'm at the pub now- squandering his money calling his mate a derro to his face. As if I would. I know in my heart I didn't do any of these things- from kissing Alistair on the couch(a ten-year oldy but one that still comes out from time to time) to supposedly making up that my Sister's were at my house last Saturday night even though he was THERE and he SAW them.

He stole my penis rock and clear marble and hid them in the car that night they went missing- there's no other way he would have 'known' they were down the side of the driver's chair because if they'd just fallen out of my pocket then he never would have noticed. Also they went missing the same night we fought and I knew they were gone Before I went bed. It's only a small thing- but he knows how much I love that rock and he hates it when I ring it out at parties or at the pub.

I wrote him a letter and showed him my 'mental cartoons'- I stayed up late making a new one that had UNFIT written on my t'shirt underneath a banner saying Happy Mother's Day. It isn't finished yet though there's not much point really. I posted the letter on my blog- it's alright nobody really reads it except for me- mostly only other bloogers who want to spam my site with their own crap in the hope I'll look up their site(No-not Gemnastics or Jenny Wynter or Riva- the only people who've actually left actual comments). Fat chance. I couldn't be bothered.

Looks like I'm going to kill this pen- the nib is fucked already. Pity.

Half-Arsed Jobs Do...

The only half-arsed job I've ever done is when I didn't burn the house completely down. The new bits are mine- right up until the Rosella's nest in the western wall. It's all your's from there on.

Now I'm just angry looking at all my half-arsed jobs I've done around here.

All that gardening and cleaning out the garage before Christmas means nothing. I'm the one who scrubbed the laundry walls and plucked every fucking weed from the driveway.

So waht if I nap when I'm hungover? That's what you do isn't it?

Come to think of it- I'm the one who chopped those trees back and painted the verandah floors Forest Green. I won the thousand dollars that paid for that nice new patio furniture on the radio in a trivia contest; you wouldn't have known what the main ingredient in Coq Au Vin is. I'm the one who sweeps the footpaths and mops the verandahs and wipes the pissy spots you leave around the toilet bowl- and it's only recently that I've stopped washing your pissy sheets after you forget to go to the toilet again after a big night at the pub.

I'm the one who sacrificed the Centrelink Payments all year so that we'd be overpaid at the end of the financial year- and if you'd only bothered to do your tax return earlier we would have bought the new lounge and paid of the credit card a whole lot sooner.

I appreciate you doing the lawns- though I know it would still be my job if I could only start the fucking thing. I do your washing, grocery shopping and banking and always have to order the pizza because you're too scared to do it. I handle the bills and the money- even after you've stuffed it down the poker machines again. As we only have one car I'd probably need to drive you to work most mornings anyway- or I wouldn't be able to take our Son to pre-school or do the shopping, but I'd let you take it the days I didn't need it if only you had a licence and hadn't crashed into someone when you were drunk and unlicenced; though I'd honestly prefer it if you could make your own way and back to the pub each afternoon.

I appreciate you working and bringing home the money that I spend- mostly on other things aside from myself- though you do keep me supplied with tampons, even if you don't even know it. Even your co-workers- who you've never introduced me to- know how good you've got it and all I do for you. The truth is that no one Except for you and I will ever know the true extent of what I do. And the sad thing is that you won't even appreciate it until it's gone.


The saddest thing is I do all of this without complaint. I do all this because I do what's needed to be done. I do all this because I fucking love you. And I fucking well shouldn't because you don't deserve me- not when you speak to me the way that you do and when you try to control my every move. Why can't I go out dancing until three am?

I'm an adult and you're not even my Dad- who incidentally also used to have trouble keeping me out of trouble and that's how I ended up with you. And it's very hard to be with a man who has told you to your face that he not only finds you unattractive but that you are an unfit mother for his children. It hurts to see someone roll their eyes when you speak. It hurts to know for a fact he thinks I'm fucked in the head; he's told me to my face at least a thousand times- many of which are still fresh in my mind.

Do I consider myself to be a bad wife?

No.; I fuck enthusiastically and give great head. I make dinners worthy of resturant dinners. I never roll away just because I've had an orgasm first and Won at sex.

Besides- I'm only thirty two and not even in my sexual prime yet. In fact I'm only getting better.

The more I think about it the more I think I should have let the fire take the whole fucking lot.

Anyway; what about Your half-arsed jobs Hubby?

I'd list them but I'd run out of space.

Say Goodbye To Taxi-Girl...

I'm not even sure what I did so wrong but I know what the punishment is. He's taken away the bong and the drugs because I didn't wash up or buy any toilet paper.

I see his point. I suppose.

But it's forty five degrees for fucksakes. I didn't feel like going to the fucking shops when there's no where to park and the car's like an oven.

And dinner? Nothing for tea? For fuck sakes- Chrisco only came the other day; it's not like there's nothing to eat. Taking the bong away isn't going to prove anything. I'll just make a new one. I don't care if the cone is made of tin foil or if the stem is made from plundered hose. I didn't go to the shops because it's fucking hot; not because I want to sit around getting stoned all day. I left my phone at home because he yelled at me and I walked out without grabbing it- I'm sick of him thinking I'm just making up excuses.

What do I have to do that Can't Fucking Wait?

Nothing. That's fucking what. So get fucked.

No dinner? No- only about eight hundred dollars worth of food to choose from.

It's not up to you, Hubby, to decide when or how many drugs or alcohol I consume. Get fucked, drug cowboy- who are you to judge? You told me you were doing overtime at the last minute for a start; I didn't know that meant I had to change my stupid plans. I don't even need your drugs Hubby. I get given as many as I like because I'm fun and people like me. I don't need money or a vagina; I just need to be me and that's enough for people to want to be around me. Try and control me and see what happens next. See what happens when you think you've got all the drugs and booze away from me.

I'll hide it and lie about it and then you'll find out and get the shits so don't fucking bother trying.

The only man who has ever had the right to tell me what to do is my Father and you aren't that- so shut it. I won't be told by you what I can and can't do. If it's about money then I'll go and earn my own. You can say goodbye to Taxi-girl if I do.

If it's about pot or drinking or giving up/cutting down then you can DISCUSS it with me but I won't be told. I'm too old to be told what to do anymore. You's can all go and get fucked if you want to keep trying.

Stop trying to make me feel guilty for going out-it isn't working anymore anyway.

Except about the money part. You always make sure I never forget who earns it all.

And if the only reason I'm here is to remember to buy the fucking toilet paper then I'd rather fucking not be.

What I Want Is...

What do I want? I want to break that glass and slash my wrists until all the blood drips from my body.

What do I want? I want something made of metal that I can heat up and press into my flesh until it sizzles and melts.

What do I want? I want a Hubby who listens to me and doesn't scream at me for every mistake that I make.

What do I want? I want him to hold me and stroke my hair and kiss the tears from my eyes.

What do I want? I want him to tell me that he loves me and that everything will be okay.

What do I want? I want him to like who I am and not threaten to sign my children away.

What do I want? I want him to smile at me like he used to after making love to me.

What do I want? I want to take away his accusations that I am an unfit person to be raising our kids.

What do I want? I want him to love me like a man's supposed to love his wife. I want the Hubby who doesn't point his finger in my face and make me scared that I'll end up in a hospital.

What do I want? I want to feel welcome in my own house and bed.

What do I want? I want him to admit that I try my hardest even if I'm just a failure in his eyes.

What do I want?

I want him. And I'm don't even know why when he obviously doesn't want me back.

Letter To Hubbby,,,

If you and me are going to stay together then you may as well know the real me.

Yes I'm a drunk- but I'm nowhere as bad as I used to be. Was. The drugs I'll work on. But I'm not an unfit mother- I'm just a sad confused lonely bitter bitch.


I said it.

Sort of.

I'm also fun and nice and loving the rest of the time aren't I?

So now what?

I love you but I can't stay with a man who thinks that way about the mother of his children. That hurt me to the core and I'll never forget it. Even if you Would take it back you Can't.

Please just love me for who I am. I'm happier than I've been in months except for what is going on between us, and not because of drugs or alchohol. Because I have people again. Friends. And because you and me have been happier lately- mostly.

I've been thinking of nothing else for days and I just want life to get back to semi-normal again for a while. I don't ask for many things but if this keeps up I'm insisting on both of us getting counselling. I don't know about you but I'm not ready to throw away the last fifteen years especially when I still love you so much.

I don't want to break up. Ever. But this fighting has to stop.

I love you Always. I wish you'd tell me the same.

What A RottenThing To Choose...

I always thought that I would be able to write anything down in here.

Now I know differently.

I can't say the word that I'm thinking. It's too terrible. If I ever thought I was depressed before I was only half-right. This has been by far the toughest ever in my life and it's only gonna get worse for the next two weeks as I try to make the biggest and hardest decision in my life.

This is so not fair.

I have so much on my mind but I have to word it carefully so my descendants never know the awful truth about me and what I am contemplating doing. I can't believe I'm even considering it- it's so awful. And yet I can't see any alternative to this problem. What can I do?

I can't lie down and let it happen and I can't Not either. And my Hubby isn't helping at all. He says it's up to me; my choice. It should be a decision we both make. He says he'll be supposrtive either way but I doubt he's capable of being truly supportive like I'll need. He can't even speak to me about it now- how's he going to be when it's over - how's he going to handle me when I'll need even more help?

I'm going to be an absolute mess if I go through with this. I change my mind five times a day; backwards and forwards- and still I can't come up with a decision that I'm happy with or one that I will stick to.

I can't do either.

I know what I'd want if I lived in an ideal world where I was rich and had a big house and an established career- but that's not the case. I'm poor and a Drunk and I haven't got enough room or money and I've got no support and no time to sort shit out in my mind before I have to decide on this.

I can't choose. What a rotten thing to choose. How do people choose these things? How do they live with themselves afterwards? I know I'll hate myself forever afterwards if I go through with this. And who will help me when I feel this great shame and guilt for doing it? I'm going to hate myself and my Hubby will tell me to just get over it and pressure me to feel better but I will never feel better or get over it completly.

I wish things were different. I wish I could do it better and go through with what I want to do- but I'm feeling so much pressure to do the other that it's not even funny. I know it's for the best financially; but emotionally this will kill me and then I'll fail uni anyway and then I'll think that I could've done it anyway because my life will be on hold anyway until I get over my depression.

There are so many reasons to do the Bad thing that I don't want to do. My head tells me them every other minute.

But my heart is breaking, and my soul- if it's possible- is crying out for another solution. And there simply isn't one. My Hubby says we should just concentrate on what we already have and make the best of that; but the price is so high to pay and I don't think I can physically go and pay it. It makes me feel sick to even consider it.

And I know I didn't want to be in this position- but now that I am I can't think of anything else I'd rather do. It's impossible. I know I'm gutless; I always want to avoid pain if I can help it. But this is so different.

How can I do this when I know what I'll be losing?

I know it would be a hard road to take. I know a lot of things would be fucked. But I keep hoping there is a way out of doing this and find a way to make it all work. Why did my Hubby have to name It?

I've been stressed all week; and making those phonecalls was so hard to do. I just feel for every girl who has ever had to do this in their life. I know why everyone I know who's done it has never done it twice. How can I do it at all? How can I let, pay them, to do it to me? How will I feel when it's over? Except for disgust at myself for doing what I thought I could never do?

Nothing stays the same. Nothing will Ever be the same again. Not now. Either way my life is fucked up and completely irreversible. Either way I'll want things differently. What is the greater of two evils to live with? I already know the answer to that one. Not that I think it evil or immoral or anything- it's just not for me. It's not what I want for Myself. I want to do what's right for everybody and me. The other way it's right for the Three of Us and not for me- but how can I justify myself and do this for everybody else and ignore my own self and feelings? Especially when I find the idea so repulsive and bad.

And yet that is the direction that I'm heading in. Basically I've just got to book myself in and actually go through with it and then... what? I don't know what will be after that. I don't think I'll be able to cope with the decision I'll make- If I make it-and I think I'll have to.

I don't want to choose. I wish there was no choice for me; back in the days where there were no options. So the decision didn't have to be made at all- except perhaps by a coathanger or a hefty dose of castor oil. How will I face people cheerfully when I already feel like I'm dead emotionally? I've gone over everything in my mind a million times over and over, turning over every obstacle and every positive aspect that this whole scenario presents to me. I don't know that I will be able to live with the guilt; actually, I know that I won't.

The worst thing is that this will be the Only other one. I'll never be in this place again; even when I've finished uni and got a job or whatever. I'll never be here again. I know I'm only twenty seven but if it's not now it really is Never; and I'm going to regret this forever because of that.

This makes everything else I've ever been through seem so pitiful and small and benign and stupid it's almost funny; considering the way I act and think and deem things on the Important Scale. Nothing will ever impact on me like this; except for the death of somebody I love who is already alive.

Nothing really matters Except for this. It's so big I can't even grasp it, or get my head around the implications of what it'll mean to me. What am I going to do? How do I choose this- little me? How do I make a decision this huge without knowing the outcomes? Even as a Philosopher I can't make sense of the arguments for and against. I've put off writing in here for over a week because somehow just writing it down makes it all real and I'm not ready yeat to face reality- though I'm gonna have to. Soon.

I wish I was sleeping and this was just a nightmare. I've never been so afraid in all my life . I'm scared of both scenarios. I'm worried I'm making choices for the wrong reasons- because even though I dread doing this I reckon it's the only choice I have to make.

I can't speak to anyone. My Hubby won't speak to me. He's pretty much avoiding the entire topic, and even when I bring it up only answers in monosyllabic grunts. And I told him the other day he'll have to try harder to help me; even if it's just by talking to me about this; or cuddling me without trying for a root. But it seemed to go straight over his head; or else it's the same old story that he won't be told how to act and is merely being defiant.

I'm scared of that too. He thinks that we'll break up because of money troubles if we go ahead with this; but I'm scared we'll break up anyway because he won't deal or cope with my emotions and then I'll feel and wish that I'd gone it alone and taken the chance and just accepted the inevitable that we''ll break up because of this anyway no matter what we do.

This isn't a fix-it solution (what we're planning on doing). It could just make things worse for us. Anyway I've sooked enough for tonight. I'll talk to you again tommorrow maybe.

I Want Him To Feel Like I Do...

Got a bit upset tonight- same shit different day. I know my Hubby judges me for the things I either do- or don't- do; depending on the situation.

Like (and here I go again, whinging and bitching about everything again) why he doesn't help me with shit; why does he get angry when I don't do shit for him when it's impossible to ask the same of him. When he was on the couch earlier I even thought of saying to him that I knew how lonely it was to wank by myself and how nice it would be to have some help- except he would have taken that as an invitation instead of what it was; a non-compliment and a rejection back- just one of the thousands that I've gotten.

I know I'm a bitter bitch but I just can't help being resentful about stuff. I want him to appreciate me and when he doesn't I do what he does right back at him. Is it a punishment or pure vindictiveness I'm not sure? I want him to feel like I do...rejected I supposed. Though I hate saying it. Especially when he can be so nice; but then again so can I. And it's only when he does something-Anything-to upset me that I change tactics and go from being loving 'lil me to bitchy old Buffoon.

I don't know how to stop this behaviour. It's almost instinctive in me to act this way. I'm only this way with my Hubby. Most people only ever get the 'nice me'; that's all they ever see.

Is it only when you are in a relationship that you feel you can get away with freely dumping on another person? What happened to accountability for stuff?

I konw my Hubby would never act the way he does with me with someone else; and I wouldn't either. Something's going on. Something's not right.

This Isn't How I Was Supposed To Be...

I totally agree still with everything I wrote last month- I just can't remeber writing any of it; which isn't so bizarre when you consider I was probably off my guts drunk as per usual. So now why? Why am I writing today?

Pissed again. Ha ha. In the last few weeks I've stopped ging to uni. I can't handle going. I hate it so much. It's not that I hate learning. I even enjoy the lectures when I'm there- but I hate the assignments- the pressure of sitting down and doing them. I hate the fact that I'll never get a job out of this; that I'll be stuck in this welfare life for the rest of my life. Most of all I fear that I'll lose everything I love.

How I wish this was just a phase that I'll get over; this place where I'm stuck. I'm afraid this really is my life- one that I'm doomed to live because of some bad choices I've made along the way.

This isn't how I was supposed to be. I know that to be true. It's like my failings are the things I feared most would happen and by imagining them to be true I sort of prophesised them into reality- and now they are true. I am the hopeless person I never wanted to be; the person I know I would loathe if I met them on the street.

Maybe I'm not my Mother's daughter afterall. I'm not strong like she is; in fact I'm so vulnerable to shit it makes me feel sorry for myself. I can't even cope with the small shit anymore- that everyday shit that everybody gets and deals with and then get on with their lives.

How hopeless I feel at the moment, creeping around the house so my Hubby won't hear me getting another beer or putting the empty ones in a plastic bag for recycling. It's twelve twenty am. I should be in bed and not sitting here drinking still; not when I have to get my Son to school in the morning. I'm so sneaky I'm hiding the drink beside me and even tossing up whether or not to leave my Hubby on the couch when I go to bed so he won't have to know what time I went to bed either.

I know this isn't ordinary behaviour. Just like I know the fight we had last week wasn't right either. I've explained elsewhere that I don't believe that I was in the wrong with anything that happened with Alistair on the couch- my Hubby just won't believe me that's all. I could accept that I suppose- unless my head gets in the way of his fists. I've had a headache for two days and the spot behind my ear is still tender to touch. No matter what he 'thought' I did I didn't deserve that.

We haven't spoken about it. We won't until the next time we fight and that's how it is.

Chug chug chug.

I see why my Mother worries about me- I really do- and I know it's in my power to change things. But at the same time I can't get out of this shit; I'm swimming in it. It's like that old joke where the Devil says that the tea break is over and it's back to standing on your head in shit for all of eternity. At least I'd be accustomed to hell becasue that's how I live my life.

Another thing at the moment is the 'lift' thing again; meaning that I had to pick my Hubby and his pushbike up when I was cooking dinner and it shit me off. I know why I go any way; in case he comes off the bike and splits his head open and is killed; that's why I go and pick him up. But it's not right that he expects me to go at the drop of a hat. I know I sound like a whinger but when I am doing something- and I do the same things at the same time everyday- and he Knows that- he should realise that I won't want to drop everything just to go to his beck and call.

Especially when if I ask him to do something he puts me off or won't do it at all; and I don't mean I want everything my own way but a bit of give and take would be nice sometimes. He only ever thinks of his immediate needs; like getting home and eating his dinner- while I think more of my emotional needs- like him caring if I have an orgasm or not(which might only happen once a fortnight where he'll bother trying) or scratching my back supposedly so I will feel loved and cared for.

Because I've told him how much I need to be feel loved and special- and trying to finger my arse just doesn't cut it.

They're my needs- and they're rarely met.

Aha! A win of sorts! He's just gotten up to go to bed and didn't notice the beer on the floor beside me- and so(hopefully) thinks I've stopped drinknig for the night. If I wanted to I could even drink the other beer as well and he'd never even know.

There is one other big thing that has happened but I won't write it in becasue I worry that someone I know might actually read about it one day. At least I'll know what I mean when I reread this paragraph. I'm not sure how I really feel about it; except a bid odd about the situation. I'm not sure if I'll ever come to terms with the repercussions that might ensue.

Hopefully all will be well; even if I'm not.

The Problem WithMy Blog... that nobody is reading it. It must be too uninteresting and self-absorbed.

Like me.

A Spiteful And Malicious Drunk...

I have just had a revelation of sorts- I just hope it it's not too late to have learnt it; and hope that what I keep on doing hasn't fucked things up irrepairably for me and my Hubby.

Hubby. How I love him. Even when I'm being a total cunt to him I love him so much. I think I'm a total bitch- and he knows I'm one. Everyone else thinks I'm nice- I think- but he knows I'm not nice- and he still loves me anyway.

That's my revelation.

I can be so mean to him when things don't go my way. I don't think I conciously decide to be mean but I am. I'm a spiteful and malicious drunk. I always thought of myself as a happy drunk; but I know now that I'm not. The shit that comes out of me is terrible. So here I am with the same dilemna- because how or why would I give up drinking?

I can't imagine it. I've tried cutting down but I always end up having too much anyway because I can't make myself stop. I won't let my Hubby tell me when to stop either. I could lie and say that the next time he tells me I've had enough I'll go home; but I know that if I don't want to go home I won't go home; and so we'll argue and then I'll be mean trying to get him to walk out and leave me there to drink more without getting hassled out about it.

It's the same shit all the time; and he does a lot for me really. Like spending time with me; giving me the remote; scratching my back when I ask him too. And even though he doesn't condone me drinking as much as I do he doesn't hassle me out as much as he deserves to. It's funny that all the time I complain that no one understands or knows me I've forgotten that He knows me- even if he can't understand most of me.

I'm pretty fucking lucky really. I don't deserve him. The shit he puts up with- no one else would.

The Sorry BitchWho Caused It All...

It's ten days til my Hubby's birthday. He'll be twenty nine and as discontented with his life as I am with mine.

So we have our good moments. But it's not enough for either of us and we're just looking for an excuse- a chance to blame the other- why we failed, until we break up. Sometimes that is what I want; but mostly I need to be with him. Even when I could tear my hair out by the handful; even when I wish I had the nerve to just destroy myself from the inside out; or curl up and just die- I hold onto the thought that he loves me.

I don't know why he does but I know he does- for some reason. I don't deserve it; I'm too messed up.

I want him to find me right now- here- spilling these tears that I keep inside me all the time that can't come out. I feel so lost; no one understands me. Not even me. Why do I act this way; the way that I do? I'm so scared of losing everything so I drive it away before I can lose it. No one else would put up with me. Everyone else would leave or cheat on me and yet he doesn't. I don't know if that's because he doesn't want to hurt me or if it's because he doesn't want to be the one to cause our breakup. So he doesn't feel responsible- like he did the best he could and can be a martyr. That's maybe why I stay and put up with all the shit too.

I don't want to be the sorry bitch who caused it all to fall down. I don't want to be the one who ends it. That would make me the failure yet again; someone who can't keep a job, or a course or a relationship from failing.

I know I go on with crazy shit but at the time it's happening I feel perfectly justified; it's only afterwards that I look at my actions or words and decide I went too far. I try not to say anything half the time but then he badgers or goads me into an argument; or sometimes it's me who wants a fight. But I can't understand why he's still here when he obviously doesn't want to be. And I'm not sure that this will work out anymore- even though I used to be so sure that it would. I don't know that we are right together or even if either of us want to make it right. Or believe that it could be better.

We can't communicate. I can't understand him and he can't understand me. Christ only knows how hard I try and understand him- he doesn't even know that; how much time each day I think about Us and why things are shit. It's not supposed to be easy but surely it's not meant to be this fucking hard.

I don't think things could be much worse between us. I only have this blog to talk to; it's the only thing I can talk to and be heard- and that's a pretty dismal statement right there. I don't want to worry anyone. I want to be able to cop shit on the chin and take everything in stride but I'm losing. Again. And who needs to hear my shit? Who would even care to know it?

Now I just feel sorry for myself as usual.

I want to go to bed but I don't even know where I'm welcome to sleep- and the only reason I know I'll be able to go to sleep is the four beers I drank earlier and the tired eyes I have from crying and snotting all over the table cloth.

My Life- all that it encompasses- just sucks shit today. It'll be the same tomorrow and the day after that and the next and the next.

I'm tired of making excuses. I just can't do it anymore.

I Am Poison...

Silly me left the computer open- no doubt my Hubby saw that last drunken slur. At least I wasn't bagging him out this time.

I hate my life.

I've been crying watching a soap-opera wedding on tv. Why? Because two fictional characters can be happy and I'm not. I need a good scriptwriter too. I'm desperate for a better life- I'm sick of this Shit.

I'm an ugly ugly girl. I can't help it. I want out of this shit. I wish I was brave and could just check out. It's stupid to say that- it's just more depressing to think that way but I crave silence from this Voice. I don't know what to do. I don't know how to help myself. I can't help feeling this way.

I sicken myself. I sicken my Hubby. I sicken my family. I sicken everybody and everything.

I am poison.

This is my Life; my legacy. And I hate it. I hate myself. Why would anyone like me; love me? How could they? They don't even know me. Who am I; what do I want; why do I deserve what I am; what did I do in my past live to end up like this? I'm cruel and nasty- no one knows how bad I am. I'm surprised I got this far in life without everybody leaving me.

I think that's what I want the most.

Absolute silence and a large bottle of Wild Turkey and a full deck of smokes.

Fuck food. Fuck sex. Fuck company.

Fuck everybody.

Just me and an ocean and a view of nothing in particular and no one judging me or making demands or having expectations.

Fuck my responsibilities.

Fuck it all.

On A Drunken Note...

Only you. I want to talk Hubby.

I don't like this misunderstanding between us.

I don't want to be confused. I don't want to be left alone.


Eye Am The Frog...

I've just been watching an old movie- The Crying Game- and had to write. Not much beer left in the 'ol stubby but I pretty much had an AFD yesterday- only three quarters of a beer- and I didn't start drinking until seven thirty tonight. That's not entirely my own doing; I wanted to earlier but my Son's friend Liam came over and I had to drop him home after dinner.

You should see what I've done to my thumb-nail. It hurts just to look at it- it's the worst it's ever been and I'm talking twenty six years of nail-biting herre. Even when it was hurting to bite it I didn't stop; I just kept on gnawing. And even now looking at it I could probably 'fix' it up a little with some extra trimming; adding to the damage- though it hurts just to touch it.

I heard a good little analogy on Life in this movie just now. I've heard it before but it's so right and true that I may as well write it down before I forget it again. It goes a bit like this...

There is this scorpion and this frog on a river bank. The scorpion wants to cross the river but he knows he'll die without the frog's help across. The frog knows that the scorpion will sting him and that they'll both drown. The frog- in his good-naturedness- risks taking the scorpion across because the scorpion promises he won't sting him; and yet they get half-way across and the scorpion stings the frog in the guts . As they are both sinking the frog asks the scorpion why he did it. The answer he gave was- because it was in his nature to do so.

The scorpion was compelled to sting the frog and couldn't exactly help what he did Because it Was his nature. And the poor frog; who against his better judgement took him on board anyway and risked his life and paid the price.

I know I am the frog; risking shit, putting my life in another's hands when I know it to be dangerous.

And my Hubby is the scorpion- full of good intentions at the start, full of promises not to harm but who cannot be beyond his nature. I see him now, asleep on the couch, snoring- holding his dick- and I am the frog.

He pissed the bed again last night and even though he washed the sheets he didn't apologise. He said he didn't feel sorry for what he had done.

Pissing on me.

He must hold me in such high regard. How embarrassed he'd be if he pissed at a mate's house; in their spare bed; yet he feels nothing to piss on me. It's a euphemism of how he must feel towards me. I wish I could put this into words for him, but he just takes it so lightly. But it's not funny. It was Never funny. It's downright disgusting and degrading.

The worst thing( it gets worse?) is that our Son woke up at four-thirty and saw and heard everything. What's he going to think of me and his Father when he's older? Worse still- I allow it. I took him to the pub. But I didn't smoke the cones or drink the bourbon that got him so trashed. It wasn't me who didn't wake up before they went to the toilet.

At least I didn't wash the sheets this time. He did- but he wanted me to congratulate him for doing even that. He's emitting more groans from the couch; the more I write the more I despise what he does and what it means. And stupid bitch that I am I still want to wake him up and go to bed where he may just piss on me again but where he may also scratch my back and be kind.

My Kindred Spirit told me that when she left her husband the main reason she left was because he wasn't the sort of father that she wanted for their kids. But We choose who the fathers of our kids are. And for better or worse they Are the fathers of our kids and always will be.

It's times like this that I want to speak to somebody. Anybody. Just to be heard or something. This sounds like a cop-out when I haven't called anybody for ages but I think it's because I don't want to give other people my shit. Everyone has enough shit of their own to deal with; and I know that if anyone got me started it'd just flow right out of my mind/mouth/bowels.

I'm talking deep shit- shit that nobody deserves to hear.

Shit that even I can't handle.

This Life...This Lie...

I've sunk to yet another low.

Seven beers just wasn't enough tonight. Seven should be plenty but it's so hot- even now I'm sweating my arse off away from the fan. So what did I do?

When my Sister and her husband came up from Canberra I took a cask of wine over to my Parent's house. I drank most of it that night; but the next day my Father dropped off what was left. He left it sitting on my front verandah which is where it has sat since- nearly eight weeks now I suppose.

Anyway; eight weeks of sitting in the sun and having cockroaches crawl in and out of the box as I opened it weren't enough to deter me I'm afraid. I'm drinking the shit now. What's next- a slop bucket at the pub? I probably would if it were free. I've got one eye on my Hubby who is asleep on the lounge; the drink is hidden on the floor and out of sight should he wake up and go to bed.

I know how disgusted at me he would be; at least if he just wakes up and sees me writing he'll think I finished my last long-neck of beer hours ago. It'll be hard to explain my breath though- he knows I haven't bought any wine for ages. Certainly he'd know there is none in the fridge.

You should have seen me lifting up the screen door so it wouldn't squeak and wake my Hubby up; so he wouldn't catch me; so he wouldn't be disgusted and disappointed in me. I must want to die or something because I know what I'm doing to my body. I know what it means when my kidneys ache every morning; and those arse pains and blood can't be good for me either. I know I look for the easy way out of things- it's so much easier.

My future will be the same as my present unless I change it.

And I don't know if I want to.

I don't want to die and have my Son grow up without me ; but I do want to be the first to go out of everybody I know and love. I don't want to live my life without the people that I love; especially my Hubby and Son- or my Parents or my Sisters or friends. I don't know what my future is- I'm in some sort of limbo where I can't feel anything much at all. I'm just numb; and even when I'm sober the same is true.

I can't be happy or sad unless someone else is happy or sad. I'm emotionless in a sense, even though I'm full of emotion that I can't express. That's why I'm looking at my Hubby before reaching down to grab this glass of crap hot shit that I so desperatly wanted. But I can't let him know how bad I wanted it cos it'll never be the same. I know that he loves me and he'd be on my case not to drink. I don't even have the energy to give him the same consideration. Maybe I just know that if he knew the extent of my problems he wouldn't even care if I changed or not- but maybe that's just my insecurities talking again?

I don't know. I don't pretend to know but I need answers.

I hate not going anywhere in my life. I'm at such a standstill and can't get up- no wonder I panic about people in my life dying before I do. Deep down I know I would never cope and would just lose the plot. I don't want them to die for the wrong reasons- not becauuse I'd miss the relationship with them or their company but that I wouldn't be able to cope with the loss. I'd probably flip out and never come back from 'whence I went'.

Is that the ultimate selfishness?

Can't wait til tomorrow; payday. New beers, Bowling Club, same shit but with money.

I want to go to bed now but I don't want to waste this shit. I'll regret it when it gets poured down the sink.

I hate this life. This lie.

I Just Want To Care About Myself For A While...

t's funny how one minute you can be sitting somewhere reasonably content and then shit just hits you and you feel like crap and all worthless. Like now. One minute I'm watching the Allan Border medal on tv (for cricketer's heathens) and the next I have this realisation about what a shit friend I've been to everybody for ages. Like my Kindred Spirit; I haven't even seen her baby yet and he was born last year. And Goof- it was her birthday on the sixth and it didn't cross my mind even once until today. And to my Sister's and Hubby and Son and Parents I've just been one big selfish bitch for about four months now- and feeling so self-righteuos though god only knows why.

My Kindred Spirit will forgive me. And Goof won't care. My Sister's will ignore me as long as I do. My Hubby and Son will continue to suffer. I tell myself that I made a cake with my Son tonight so I'm not so bad; but I've sent him to his room at least three times since Saturday for no reason. He's getting quite testing lately; seeing what he can or can't get away with.

But what the frig is going on with everyone else?

I know myself pretty well even if I deny it most of the time; but I know I'm not pushing people away purely because I've got a heavy year of uni coming up next year. It's not that. It's purely a simple concept that I just want to care about myself for a while.

Which isn't me. I function a whole lot better if I focus on other people and yet I find myself begrudging driving my Son to school or picking my Hubby up from work. How can I do that and yet panic so much at the thought of losing either of them; or any of my friends for that matter? I hate feeling like this but it's almost embarrassing and easy to continue doing what I'm doing because then I don't have to explain to everybody where I've been. I won't have to give them lame excuses about why I won't visit them.

When I think about what a fantastic friend my Kindred Spirit was to me when I first had my Son and he was a baby and she'd visit me every Thursday and bring muffins or an outfit for my baby- or just a smile and a hug and I haven't done that for her. She's got to know somethings up with me.

The worst thing is 'ticking' people off; after I've called them I tick them off and ignore them to the next time I feel guilty. Then they go back on the non-urgent list. Ironically I don't have an Urgent list- my friends and family should be on it and aren't making the cut.

So what's important to me?

I've always said my friends and Family; they're more important than money or clothes or- I was just about to write drinking untilI realised it might not be true. That's why I lie and say that I've had too many beers to go over to my friend's houses when they invite me over; I don't want to have to stay sober long enough to drive home because that'd interfere with my drinking time.

god I'm a cow.

So I take another swill and push my friends and family away with the hand that's not holding a beer or wine or glass of bourbon. I'm chugging them down now; hence the articumalation. Even though the beer is hot. Even though it's late and I'm pretty tired I want to stay up to make up for last night. Funnily enough I had period pains last night even though I am so adamant that I've never had them before in my life. Now I know why I can't remember having them. I know why I didn't have morning sickness when I was pregnant also. I wasn't sober long enough.

And I know why people try and persuade me not to drink as much as I do. Especially my Mother. My friends even congratulate me when I tell them I've had an easy week on the piss.

Still chugging warm beer. It's never been about the taste; rather the effect that it brings- and the lack of bad dreams. It's weird that someone should wake up feeling better After a night on the beer but it does happen. The dreams are too intense otherwise; and I'm not as tired in the mornings because I've basically blacked out all night. I've lost track of the times I've woken up and my Hubby is next to me in bed and I had no idea he'd even gotten home; and it could've been just anybody wandering into my house or room or bed.

Chug Chug.

I know What to do to make sure this never happens. Yuck. It's a sobering scenario.

Same Shit Different Day...

Well; They say two things.

"You don't always get what you want"


"Be careful what you wish for; you just might get it."

Can anybody tell me why I wemt out of my way to get my Hubby to want me? What the fuck was his appeal? It certainly isn't what I ended up with at any rate. He is one useless piece of shit and that is being considerate to his feelings (what feelings?). I know what I want from him; it's not so difficult really. I don't think I'm being unfair or unreasonable in my needs. I'm at my wit's end because I know I let him get away with his behaviour. I tolerate it in the hope that it will get better. And it doesn't.

It just doesn't improve at all.

He thinks it's all so fucking funny too, I bet- carrying on like I'm the cause of All of problems; which in a way I guess is true because I don't move out and I tolerate shit that I would tell any other person Not to put up with because they don't fucking have to. Why the fuck do I have to? I don't fucking Want to. I don't like piss in the bed or on the toilet seat that I sit on; he doesn't even realise that he's done it and tomorrow he'll get cut at me for having the shits at him- like it's my fault and I should just get past it.

I can't. He's revolting and I'm still here. It'll happen again and again.

Same shit different day.

My god I sat in his piss for godsakes and okay it's only piss and it washes away but it's more the symbol of what it means- that he's too pissed to consider others- we don't figure into his accountabilility of himself. And when I told him that I will be taking no more phone-calls on a Thursday night I meant it. If he wants to get himself into a drunken state he can but he'll have to get his own way home or sleep wherever he falls because I won't let him get drunker and drunker and stoned and more stoned because he knows he has a lift and doesn't have to face riding his push-bike up the hill. He'll just have to.

The ironic part is when he tells me that he'll just sleep elsewhere- like I'd give a shit. If he wants to sleeep on his mate's shitty couch he's welcome to it-god knows he couldn't get a fuck in the conditions he gets himself into. And if he did good luck to him. I know I care and I'm not past caring about what he does but this is his call. He has to take responsiblity for him self once and for all and be accountable for his actions.

That goes for pissing on places he shouldn't when he's drunk; in bed or wherever else; he doesn't even wash the sheets. I do. And I have to go clean it up now in case our Son wakes up in the middle of night and slips over in the fucking mess.

Fucking arsehole. Who does he think he is? And why the fuck was he checking my underwear (twice) before I went out the other night? For someone who adamantly insists they don't care he's pretty fucking possessive. I've said that before though. He wants me at home and under control even as he says that I can do what I please. I can; I just have to deal with his consequences. He has no consequences for his actions. How's that? I was going to 'fine' him but I can't find his wallet anywhere. It'd be good for him to lose it actually; though the next week will be a struggle financially if he has lost it. But at least he'd have a reaction as a direct result of his behaviour.

So many other people wouldn't be here where I am. They wouldn't accept this shit as their Life. I'm either really strong or I'm really weak. I think it's the latter. I'm afraid to leave; I know that. But I'm also afraid of living like this for the next forty years because I know he won't grow up.

I know that this is forever if I stay.

I can't renegotiate this relationship because he won't accept that he's to blame for any of it. It's just becoming a habit of sleeping on the couch- I know that we'd have seperate beds most of the time if we had a spare bedroom in the house. And I'm so bitter towards him and I can't help it. He's got to give me a reason to stay and believe in the words he tells me when he can be bothered; I need to know that his actions aren't always self-motivated and that our Son and I figure into the equation somewhere.

If I asked him to show me he loved me he'd try and fuck me. I try to understand him but he doesn't give me the same courtesy-ever. Like everything it's just too much bother. No matter how much I do for him- even just trying to cook something different for a change; or being happy for him when he gets home; or just washing his pissy sheets; or picking him up from work on a hot day; or always having a cold beer in the fridge. It's just not enough. He thinks I've given up so he stopped trying too. I do heaps for him; which just makes him take me for granted even more.

The other day I had to tell him to stop 'helping himself' to me. It wasn't me he was trying to please- only himself. And an orgasm isn't the be-all-and-end-all of sex; it shouldn't stop just because someone 'wins' and has an orgasm. The act itself isn't the important part- it's the sharing and giving and being intimate together that matters. And okay- sometimes it's good to just have a really hard fuck but Sometimes all you reallly want is a cuddle or a kiss.

I'm drained. I'm sitting here with my legs up on the table, slumped in the chair and I'm just fucked up.

I'm going to Couch.

The BuffoonTheyAll Believe In...

Well here I am with nothing to whinge about for a change.

Well I could but what would be the point of that? I don't feel overly upset even if my Hubby has gone out without me. I don't feel angry at him for anything in particular. I just don't feel anything much at all.

Seven beers must be doing me some good; and I'm thinking of switching to the wine (leftovers from camping) soon. I still like the 'ol sensation of drink. It's relaxing and blocks shit out- though it often makes me focus even more on shit I'd rather forget, depending on my mood. I know now better than ever that I'll never be able to completely stop drinking. Why would I want to when everyone I know except for my Mother enjoys drinking? god, you'd be a social leper of sorts.

I must've started writing for a reason; very rarely do unless I have something on my mind. I don't know what it might be yet though, so please excuse me if I wallow or waffle on for a bit; just to keep the thoughts flowing. What am I upset for? I don't think I am but I could be. I just don't feel right about myself at the moment. Sounds a bit crazy and it probably is; but I'll just go with the flow. It's been so frigging hot perhaps my brain is addled; or perhaps its the grog I've drunk or a combination of both. I don't know where to start or if there is even a beginning anymore.

So I'll have a cigarette.

Am I still upset about fighting with my Sister? Or that I'm worried my best friend thinks I'm ignoring her and shutting her out of my life? I hope she doesn't think that. I can't explain to her about how I think her boyfriend is a manipulative shit; how he affects and changes her. I don't even know if I'm wrong or right about him actually. I can't tell her that she was the reason my Hubby and I fought the night he hit me; it would just hurt her too much and she's too vulnerable to shit like that. I don't want her to worry which I know is stupid because she worries about everything.

So I keep telling her that I've been really busy instead; or that I haven't felt like answering the phone. It just makes her even more worried. I think she thinks I don't value her as a friend anymore- which isn't true- but how can I tell her the real reason? Same goes for my Sister I'm afraid. I know that if I ring her she'll expect some sort of an apology from me about what I said about her kids. The problem is that what I said I still feel to be true; so I can't take it back. I can't take back how I feel and I won't- not even for a bit of peace between us.

If I die tomorrow I hope my Hubby doesn't pass on these journals to my Sisters or Mother. I hope he keeps them for himself and my Son. I don't know which would be worse; being dead or having my thoughts known by everyone? How bizarre that I should write that. That should be obvious- especially when I dread dying so much.

But really- if everyone knew the real me, the person even I don't know when I see her in the mirror- then that would be worse. People would know me for who and what I really am; and I couldn't go back to being the Buffoon who they knew but only Real Buffoon- who is infinitley more complex, sarcastic and pessimistic than the Buffoon they all believe in. Now there's an odd thing to say.

The Buffoon they all believe in.

Almost sounds like there is two of me; and I guess there is. The Buffoon people see and the Buffoon people have forgotten and who now chooses not to be seen. I could well be the first person with Multiple Personality Disorder who actually calls her personalities the same name. But I suppose everybody does that- there is a public and private persona to everybody. It's just the amount of how much people get to see of the Real Person that makes the difference.

My guess is that no one gets to see the real me. My best friend has a better chance than most; and my eldest Sister gets a good glance- or at least more than what the rest of the family sees. And my Hubby? If I was to write it as a percentage he would probably get ten percent of the Real me and ninety percent charade. My Son gets a bit of me too- I don't feel I have to hide the fun parts of my personality from him- only the sad destructive parts; though he sees that side of me as well.

I guess I'm happiest sitting in the shallow pools at the Beach with a beer and a cigarette; the people there think I'm funny and witty. And compared to most of them I know I have a good body; so it makes me feel good. The added bonus is that even with my clothes on I would still feel the same there; because it's safe and familiar- the place where I spent so much time in my childhood.

I probably feel the same way about the Farm; though it isn't the same anymore. It still holds memories for me- so that just walking down through Grayer's paddock or down by the Lake or boatshed I would feel calm; and remember walking there before; or riding Star or Peter there and remember how happy I was. I really must go back there soon- spend a whole day just walking around; taking the track down to the Hippy-church or walking through the paddocks; remembering the hills as I see them, even now, in my mind's eye.

Going down to the Point where the bush rocks grow moss and Maidenhair ferns frow in the shade; Peter's house paddock and the smoke-house; the taste of fresh blackberries from around the dams; putting your foot down a rabbit's warren; catching fingerlings in an old strainer and dragging them bag up the hill in a fish-box. Or the smell of lantana that's freshly picked; the hum of an outboard motor at six in the morning; when the dew frosts up the spider webs on the grass and in the trees. The calm of the Lake as you watch it atop the paddock as you call for the horses from the wooded areas where they rested for the night; flapping a tea-towel at Peter to make him gallop up the road, bucking and farting.

These are the things I never want to forget.

The tyre swing near the washing line; the day Kyla got covered in tiny ticks and when she spewed up all those sausages in the boat; the day I nearly trod on a red-bellied black snake as it was sunning itself; finding the Playboys under Boof's bed; sleeping on the hall couch underneath the telephone that never rang; the old brass beds that sagged in the middles; cleaning up the Little Old House; Grandpa's peach tree's covered in netting; boxes full of mullet and bream and blackfish that Grandma might make into fish cakes; Bess the Morris Minor; Granpa's ute that we'd fall asleep in after he promised a two-bob coin; going to the dairy for fresh milk that was still warm; rowing to Schmidt-Roover Island and carving our initials there; looking for the fabled watermelon patch that supposedly grew there. Hiding in the reeds; playing on Slippery Log- seeing who could walk furthest down it before falling arse over tit; galloping up the hill bareback; running down the hill pretending to be out of Little House on the Prarie; fires made from Paperbark trees; houseboats and jumping from their roofs; remembering the first time you realised you could open your eyes in the Lake and seeing the murky green weed world; sitting on the verandah in Grandpa's stock saddle; the rocking horse; Grandpa and his mate's drinking long necks of VB; the wall of empty beer bottles stacked against the house; ABBA concerts that we'd put on for Mum and Dad; Euchre games and Trivial Pursuit; laundry baskets full of food; a stove so dirty it hadn't been cleaned in probably twenty years; the banana trees; the frog that jumped out of the toilet and scared Grandma; tobboganning on the Lake; Star's foals- Benni and Tommy; the old farmer and his cranky wife who lived up the road; our Parents taking the stirrups off the saddle so we wouldn't get dragged if we fell off; my first canter; Cindabarr Beetlebomb and White-Sox; the day White-Sox sniffed my hand until Boney chased him away and nobody believed me.

Grandpa's ashes are there now- where they rightfully should be. He loved the Farm; as did we all. I told my Son that I want one third of me there, one third at the Beach and the final third was for him and my Hubby. Then I can be in three places where I was happy.

I wish all the time that my Son had known the Farm as it was; a place of beauty, a place of longing. Where we wanted to be; not just for a week every school holidays- but all the time. I haven't thought about it in a long time. It's amazing how much memory we actually retain and recall when we wish to. It's the memories that I love now; the memory of a happier more idealistic me.

Not this drunkard who holds the pen who has lost most of her zeal for life. That's Me.

But I am rn_buffoon.

Cogito Ergo Sum...

Another day another shitfight.

What the fuck is going on? Another 'light-bulb moment' from Oprah- you've got to have emotions. Sounds so simple doesn't it but my Hubby has none. That's why he finds it so hard to understand mine. I guess it would be unrealistic to expect a person to understand nuclear physics if they weren't a nuclear physicist; and that's my Hubby. Why bring up emotions when he has none?

Even if he has them I don't see them except when he wants me to. I don't even know what he wants.

I told him to leave tonight and he said I'd be a blubbering mess if he did. I don't feel anything about that right now. I think it might even be a relief if it were to happen. I know I want the crap to end. I know I don't feel responsible for my position on the situation. It's his perspective of Me that cause our problems. Yet; he readily admits he cares for nothing. Am I so wrong for caring about anything? Myself or my Son or my personal happiness or state of mind?

I have been nauseated in the past by his condemnations about me; all because he is too obtuse to consider that what I might be saying to him is valid. What a moron. Why do I bother? He's obviously thinking about moving out becasue he told me he can get rent for forty five dollars a week at his mate's house. I hope he goes. It would make mine and my Son's life so much nicer. He thinks he's the best thing that's ever happened to Me; god he's got some news in store for him- he's equally the worst. Easily.

That's the main problem. My self-esteem. No other woman would put up with his shit. But I don't even think a woman is what he wants or needs. He wants the single life and all that goes with it; a cook and a sex-slave on demand and someone who will raise his Son as well. We're sick of his shit. I try to please him but then I think why bother; he's so full of shit. Like tonight talking to his mate about fixing up underneath the house (isn't he leaving tomorrow?). Like when? I guess this is on the forty year plan like the furniture kitchen floorboards fence. Am I disappointed in him? You bet I fucking am. He's infantile. Gunna. No fucking idea. Worse than all his mates put together because I don't have to live with them. He's disrespectful. He's thoughtless. Hateful.

I can't believe I thought he was the one for me.

I should go home or he should leave. Afterall it's only Gunna cost him forty five dollars a week. Then he'd be free of me and our Son; another useless father for society. I'm so proud of my Son for sticking up for me. I'm ashamed I fought with my Hubby in front of my Son; usually he's at Grandma's. My Hubby doesn't give a rat's arse. He tells us this all the time- which makes us feel really special.

But I wonder (because I feel and think-Cogito Ergo Sum) why he's here at all if it's not for us?

The first thing that sprung to mind was laziness- he's too lazy to move out. Stupid lazy prick! Let's see how lonely he is in his new bed he''ll be when he moves out.

I'm Always Right...

My Hubby and me are fighting again tonight. Been on the lounge for the past three nights- it's getting pretty tedious.

I mean if we love each other like I Always do and he seems to when when we are getting along well together then why can't we discuss our problems rationally? Why does he always have to be right even when he's wrong? I can't be always wrong.

Well in his eyes I am. Maybe he's threatened by intelligence or something. Maybe he knows I'm smarter than he is so he feels he has to put me down constantly. I know he wants to control me-he's on a big power trip. He won't even wash his own whiskers down the drain becasue he feels that would be complying to my 'demands'. Fuck. I don't ask that much of him.

It's only recently that I've begun to realise exactly how much I miss out on because of him. It's an effort to fuck me; an effort to hold me while I masturbate; an effort to take out the garbarge or mow the lawns or finish the furniture or say hello or I love you or how has your day been? He's so self-absorbed he doesn't think about how these things affect anyone else. And when I think about how my friend's hubby's are with them I feel like I'm missing out; selling myself short. I've said it before- but my needs aren't getting met. Everyone has needs; and he can't just make me a toasted sandwich and prove that he cares about me.

I don't need a toasted sandwich.

I need respect and to feel like I'm cared about; emotionally I mean. I can't describe what it feels like to be me- all I know is the hurt I feel when he rejects my feelings and brushes me off and calls me stupid and mental. At least I supposes you have to Have a brain to be mental.

It must've been Couple's Night or he wouldn't have even asked me along. I asked him if he wanted me to be there and he didn't say so. I guess that proves it then.


No pubs open. Where is my Hubby? Silly question really- probably out fucking around. Definitely with his Mate- the 'new girl' in my Hubby's life. I just want someone to talk to.
My Friends are too busy; one's out of town, another's too tired and the other one doesn't like me calling after ten at night. My Sister's too happy to hear my shit. My Hubby- well he can't be bothered to even be here let alone to hear my shit.

It's just you and me blog. My Son's gone to sleep already.

What the fuck is that phone number that my Hubby was so keen for me not to see? Okay; he might not have asked someone for their number; or even use it- but if it it is a girl's number then why the fuck did he accept it, put it in his wallet and bring it home with him?Okay it might not even be a girl's number- there could be a perfectly logical explanantion. But I know how he feels about impressing the Boys; how their opinions count some much more than my feelings, or our so-called life together.

It's pathetic; that's what it is.

I try to trust in him and believes what he tells me; but how can I when he readily admits he wants to be with other women and that he's only waiting for me to be busted so he can do it? He doesn't trust me. Where does he think I go? I'm here with our Son while all those girls at the pub obviously think my Hubby to be single. And why wouldn't they? They see him all by himself all the time; never a sign of Me around. I bet he doesn't even tell them about Us. I bet he just laps up all the attention.

He's so full of himself when his mates are around; he probably shows off to the girls or tries to be witty. Probably buys them drinks-more than likely pays for sex. How can two of them be out this long on only fifty dollars between them?

He didn't even eat the dinner I made him and it was really nice too.

Twelve fifteen. He should be home by now. Things aren't always bad. I know I only write when I'm feeling down and there's no one around. What is he up to? Why is he so secretive about shit? Like why is he seeing women in their swimmers at the beach and commentating on that? When does he get the opportunity for that? And Where? And Why?

Christ- I run around in the nude for godsakes and he's not interested. The only time he is interested in me is when I'm not interested in him. He didn't come camping. He didn't even ask if we had a good time. And when I told him had won the Miss Nude Beach Girl of 2000 he said how embarrassing and who did I have to fuck to win that? He's obviously a perve himself.

I'm not going to bed until he's home. I don't care how late it gets. But where the fuck is he anyway? I might have thought down at the League's Club but his Mate was only wearing thongs- unless they stopped by at his house to change. But they have no money anyway- unless they've gone to someone's house, or being shouted beers?

All this shit is just zooming around my head. I don't know what I feel; though I am on the verge of crying my eyes out or falling asleep or drinking til I pass out. This sucks. That phone number was not written in his handwriting. And it's not on a scrap of torn paper; it's all neatly cut out by some stupid bitch who doesn't realise he's Taken because he hasn't told her. And I can't even blame this hypothetical bitch; although I'd have to hate her if I ever find out who she is- because I would've done the same thing myself a few years ago. I can't blame them if they think my Hubby is cute. I do too. He just thinks he's a bigger person if he has chicks fawning all around him- he even said to me once that it makes him feel as if he's still Got It.

god I'm a fool.

I give him all these ultimatums that he just breaks- in his bid to win power or something. Like Don't go to the Clubhouse. Oh; okay- you can go for a visit, but just don't get a motorbike and join the Club; yeah alright- but please don't fuck other women; oh okay but just don't leave me and our Son for them blah blah blah fuckity.

Everything that I ask or demand he denies me. He's lazy. He's selfish. He snores. He stinks. And you know what? I still love him even when he gives me no reason to.

Twelve thirty. He's gotta be at the Club or at his mate's or some chick's house. He probably won't even come home. He probably knew he wouldn't come home when he left. He's probably gone and had had an Ecstasy pill. He's probably got his tongue down some young thing's throat.

I think I hear his mate's motorbike. They'll probably come in for cones now. My Hubby will pick at his dinner and announce that he's not hungry; but thanks for making it anyway.

More crap to deal with.

Go And Make Love To Yourself...

More time has passed.

His mate gave me an apology but none from my Hubby as yet. I've given up on that score. Why am I writing tonight? Probably cos I'm on the wine and feeling sad. My excuse is that I have three toothaches- I really do but that shouldn't make it alright or be an excuse. I've just been sitting here on the couch as usual feeling sorry for myself; shedding a couple, drinking a couple. The realisation is upon me.

My Hubby will never change.

After his last antics it got worse. He lied again- this time about a girl I went to uni with- Jane- who now works at the pub. He told me that Jane dropped her boyfriend because his mate (the same one) told her that my Hubby has the hots for her. Another lie. I shouldn't worry about her but what do I do now? We certainly weren't friends and she owes me no favours. Anyhow, at least now I know why my Hubby continues to treat me like shit- and that is because I let him. I guess it was the first ultimatum that I gave him that he ignored gave him the permisson to do so.

He only comes home to eat and sleep and fuck. Not to see me. Not to see our Son.Not because he misses us or wants to spend time together as a family. This isn't what I wanted. I wish I was brave like my Sister and Kindred Spirit and just go- but I'm too weak. And things will never change. That hurts to read that. I was raised to be strong but I was also raised to be silent. I play my part too well. When is it my turn? Me and my Son's?

My quote for the day is "Treat her like she wants to be treated and she'll be the person you want her to be" Dr Phil McGraw. Where's my Dr Phil? It's not going to get better unless I leave the situation. Leave my marriage. Where would I go? Would he follow? No. I know he wouldn't. He'd love it if I went away. Then he could fuck around like there was no tommorrow; like he wants to do now but supposedly doesn't because he doesn't want to hurt me. What does he think he does for me? Care for me? Nurture my feelings- my heart? Everything is too much trouble. Everything is My fault; never His. I'm the one who must change- not him. Why? Because it's His opinion- and he's Never wrong; never bad. I must drive him away.

Fuck- I should just give him the keys and tell him to go and make love to himself.

My Last Thought Was Correct...

Well it's all out in the open.

Believe it or not my last thought was the correct one. His hand was bleeding because he fell over while taking his push-bike apart; ready for Me to pick it up and take them home. There was no fight at all.

I can't begin to say how disappointed and angry I am with my Hubby and his mate. Why did he do it; lie to me and make me worry- all because he didn't want to ask me for a lift. Did he think I'd prefer to be lied to? He's the one who goes on and on about honesty.

The worst thing is though, that he doesn't think he's done anything wrong; he just says it wasn't his fault what his mate said to me on the phone. Okay; but You were the one who embellished the lie by filling in the details. He doesn't know or care that I was worried about why he would be fighting; I thought he was defending some other chick or that someone was bagging me out. He showed me no respect; he didn't consider my feelings and he's hurt and betrayed me.

Just you wait and see- I'm going to get an apology from both my Hubby and his mate. I'll let you know how I go.

Genie In A Beer Bottle...

I just sort of felt compelled to write in here today- one of those inexplicable things; just feeling out of sorts. Why? As usual I profess not to know though of course my subconcious always does. I guess it's because I had this dream the other night and I'm thinking I have this gift of foresight or at least something I don't understand or acknowledge often enough.

The dream itself is a bit hazy. I remember I took my Son to the 'pub' where my Hubby was drinking. It's his local pub, although for the dream it has morphed into the chemist's up the road. Anyways; I was at the pub/chemist wearing this sarong-thing that left very little to the imagination and I was unhappy with my shoes so I took them off while I went to the toilet to fix up the droopy sarong that I was wearing and I started stepping on all these used syringes that were on the toilet floor. I got upset that they could've stuck me so I went out and complained to the bar-lady.

The next thing I know there are these two bitches hassling me; they looked like prostitutes but they weren't- they were just regulars at the pub who weren't impressed that I was there, especially as I was trying to get my Hubby to come home with me. One grabbed my Son by the throat and the other was hitting me so I called for my Hubby to help, saying that the other one had our Son. He didn't come and he didn't help. He said I could take care of it by myself; so I did because I didn't have that much choice in the matter. Both chicks said that I wasn't welcome there and implied(in the dream) that I wasn't the One for my Hubby, that he belonged there with them in their world. Somehow I caught my Hubby- like a Genie in a beer bottle- his spirit was in the bottle- and the girls were yelling at me asking me where he had gone. I just kept my hand on the neck of the bottle for the suction was keeping him in somehow.

Anyhow I walked to our 'house' which was this time the local baby clinic and went in to discover all these people- who just happened to be fucking everywhere- and I told them to get out and stop fucking in my house. I don't know why that happened either.

Then I was standing near the side of the road and forgot that the beer bottle had my Hubby's spirit in it and I began pouring it out. When I realised what I was doing I wanted him back in but it was too late. He told me to "Put me back in. It's safer in there" or something like that. And then I woke up.

This is all odd- especially in light of tonight's troubles which are the only reason I even remembered the silly dream at all; which didn't seem that silly at the time incidentally. After I got back from taking my Son to Scout's I was speaking to my Sister when my Hubby's mate rang and told me to come and get him from the pub as he was involved in an 'altercation'. So I flew down in the car and picked him up. He wouldn't tell me anything that had happened except to say that nobody was hurt and that some bloke had been a fuckwit and asked for it.

Well- because he wouldn't tell me why he hit the bloke(twice) I began to assume it was because he had been defending the honour of some poor girl when I Know he wouldn't do the same for me. Then I began to think it was because whoever it was knew me and had slagged me off or something; and then I began to think he was only trying to impress somebody by getting in a fight; or else he is upset by something and is lashing out. As he put it- he's not an agressive person and hasn't even been in a pub brawl since we got back together- about six years ago now. So why tonight? His excuse was that the bloke was a fuckwit but he's been around plenty of them when he's drunk and never raised a hand to them. Why was tonight any different? And why couldn't he tell me about it?

The more I think about it I must have known the person and they slagged me out; or he was defending a girl and didn't want to tell me; though he's already denied the latter. I don't even know how he got as pissed as he did- he didn't spend much money at all. Either that or he just wanted a lift home so he didn't have to ride his push-bike home.

But he Was bleeding...