Silently Fuming


I can’t. I can’t find the words to articulate your donkey-fucking pissed I am right now. This might be a long one. I woke up at 4:30AM this morning the the sound of breaking glass. I jump out of bed, grab the gun, and do a sweep of the house. The cat had pulled on a runner the lamp was on, and it crashed down, shattering into pieces. The video is posted below.

Cat vs Lamp

The night before, the wife asked which shelves the runners should go on. I said, “None.” I built those shelves myself. I love the look of the wood and the black gas pipe. It’s rustic. I do not want fabric on the shelves. I think runners are useless. What’s the purpose? Runner proponents will say its to keep dust off the shelves. My response, “Yes, by trapping more dust on the more complex fabric!” Oh, we’re suppose to wash the runners? Dusting is a shit ton easier, and she rarely dusts. So, we need to move everything off the shelf to remove cloth, to wash the cloth, and remove everything again to put the fabric back on. I said runners are nothing but trouble. The cat proved me right.

Unfortunately, this shattered hurricane lamp was her grandmother’s. It’s well over 100 years old. It was converted from a gas/oil lamp to electric. There’s no replacing it. Why it is difficult for me to be sympathetic is the fact the cats have knocked this lamp over before. They have knocked several lamps over. I do not like indoor pets. These cats should be killing shit outside. Secondly, I do not like runners. If something is super sentimental and/or important, you don’t place it in the line of fire of animals. You don’t park your Ferrari in the cow barn with the cows.

This morning, she said, “I can’t look at it. I can’t deal with this right now,” and went to work. As soon as she left, I got a shower and got ready for the day. I had no time to clean it up. I’m trying to get everything done before my surgery. I get home from work just long enough to nuke some pasta for 30 seconds and take a shit before taking her son to track practice. There, I did a little work, wrote the previous post, and watched 15 min of a “Rick and Morty” episode. I get home, and she says, “I can’t believe you didn’t pick up the lamp parts. That’s okay, I did it.”

“Huh?” I ask. “I didn’t have time to pick it up, and you never asked me to.”

“I told you I couldn’t do it because it would make me cry.” I go over the words she spoke before leaving for work (which didn’t contain any of those words). “Well, you should have gotten that from what I said.”

“Your cat, your lamp, and your runner. I said those runners are worthless.”

She says she’s mad at me, to which I respond, “Well, yes. I’m mad at you, so it looks like we’re even.”

“I didn’t do anything.”

“Oh, wait… (using her own words), ‘Why can’t you pick up the wood and put it in the wood burner? Isn’t it like picking up a gallon of milk?’ I remind her of. Again, these pieces of wood are 30-100 pounds.

It goes on from there. I say the runners need to come off the shelves. Long story, slightly shorter, she’s the woman, and whatever she decides to decorate is the way it is going to be. My opinion doesn’t matter.

Wait… isn’t a marriage, or any relationship for that matter, supposed to be about listening to the other person and agreeing to some form of compromised solution? I’m sorry! It’s not? It’s supposed to be only one person’s way? Fuck that! I’m not the one who fucking passes out on the floor every fucking night, drunk as fuck! Every time I can’t do something because of my fucking hernia, I get guilted and blamed for not doing the shit anyways. I’ve got surgery is less than two fucking days, and it’s somehow my fault? A weekend of cleaning doesn’t wipe out the two-three years of doing nothing but getting drunk and passing out on the floor.

The arrogance and betrayal rips my soul from my chest in such a ferocious manner, I feel the physical pain. I have tried everything I know how. I’ve tried other people’s advice. The truth about addiction is that the person needs to want to help themselves first. No one else can “fix” them. We can open every door and every window of opportunity, but that person must take those steps to walk through them. I have nothing left to do but give up.

I’m lost. My oldest is going to college next year, yet doesn’t have his priorities in the correct order, causing him undue stress. My youngest, who has cerebral palsy and autism, hates going to his mom’s because of his step-dad. My step-son refuses to listen to anyone and keeps wondering why shit keeps going wrong while barely putting forth anything but bare-minimum effort. My wife is an alcoholic who is functional at work, but not at home. I have a fucking hernia that is going to take months to get back to full strength. I can’t fix any of it. I have no solution. I’m out of ideas.

One day at a time.


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