I did not go to the job today. We did some figuring, and after accounting for daycare, said job would have paid $100 a week less than unemployment. (I should never have applied for it. I skimmed the job listing and thought it was maintaining technical manuals as in EDITING them, not like printing out a changed page and filing it. Actually, that was two different jobs. One person printed. One person filed. Tax dollars at work, y'all.) I can use that $100 to buy happy pills when the "what are you makin'? coffee? are you making coffee mama? can I see the coffee mama? are you makin' coffee? where's the coffee? can I see the coffee? are you makin' coffee mama?" routine runs a little thin.
This morning I noticed the cover of my new IK was cut up and the scissors were laying nearby. I said to Bug, "Don't cut things like this, and DON'T PLAY WITH SCISSORS!" He smiled sweetly at me and said, and I swear this is a direct quote, "Maybe you should put your scissors away."
I have been knitting on Mary Jane. I thought it would go all speedy like when I took the armhole stitches off the needles and only had to do the body. I forgot how many sport weight stitches are required to circumnavigate my girth. There are many. It is still not fast.
Don't tell Nora, but I jogged the other day. For five whole seconds, whilst chasing Bug on his bike. (Surprisingly, my rack did not smack me in the face and knock me unconscious.) I burned off so many calories, I came home and ate a whole cake.
DH did get the job he interviewed for, and started Monday. (They REALLY wanted him.) This exacerbates the mental issues revolving around myself, my attitude toward being a housewife, and my mother, and perhaps a little jealousy regarding the fact that my husband is eminently more employable than I am. I hate cleaning, and the cobwebs in my psyche have been there for a while. It's not pretty. I've been weeping and gnashing my teeth about how my DH isn't supportive and how he sucks and blah blah blah (most of this has been in my head, you can thank me for sparing you) but it turns out most of my recent unhappiness is my own attitude. I gotta say, it sucks deeply to find out you're to blame for your problems. (Not to say he's totally blameless for the fighting, but there is little resolution when the fighting isn't really the reason I'm fighting. Clear as mud?) Will I tell him that? Oh hell no. Can't have too much personal enlightenment at one time, y'all.