There are things in this world that bug me.
Actually, there are also things that seriously annoy me, and things that drive me completely around the bend. Being the passionate lass that I am, there are fewer “bug me” than “around the bend” on my list, but that’s another story altogether. I digress.
I absolutely resent having to wake up to noise. Even melodic noise – it’s all an intrusion. This morning, however (actually, yesterday, because I am writing this Monday morning and scheduling it for tomorrow… err… today… whatever.) the thing that really annoyed the beejeebers out of me was the Hubby. Hrm. He doesn’t deserve a capital. Today he’s just “the hubby”. No – NO. Today he’s just “that husband of mine”. Anyway. He knows that I can’t wake up to an alarm clock. He knows that the only way to really get me to wake up is to ever-so-gently touch my shoulder, and oh-so-quietly say my name. He’s known that for 20 years. TWENTY YEARS, people. So what did he do this morning? This morning after I’d had only about 2 hours sleep, because of – well, I’ll address that later -what did he do? He poked me. Hard. No, I’m not kidding. And when I didn’t respond, because, well, I was still sleeping and really really really tired… he poked me AGAIN. HARDER. Oh. Do not poke me. Don’t EVER poke me. Especially when I’m exhausted and don’t respond well to intrusion. Still, I didn’t freak out, but I did move. A little bit. Trying to wake up but really not succeeding very well. So what did he do? He slammed the alarm clock with his hand, accidentally knocking it off the bedside table, and then started yelling. Yelling! Like a 2 year old having a tantrum. I kid you not.
Here is where I insert the “don’t worry, he’s not a violent or abusive man, and not even usually a big jerk. Usually.”
This big 2 year old had about 8 hours of sleep last night. To my 2. But… it was “my turn” to get up with Wee One. And it was one of his (3) day(s) off. When do I get a day off? When I’m dead I guess.
Oh, I got up alright. I was planning to anyway, but having some difficulty doing so is all. 2 hours sleep is rather hard on me. Sleep and I don’t see a lot of each other. Combine that with me managing our household – and by that I mean everything, including finances, decisions, parenting our 6 and 16 year olds and managing their busy days, not to mention my own businesses (yes, plural) – all pretty much by myself, and a big concert this weekend that I not only sang my heart out in but worked on before AND after for setup and take down/clean up, and I would say that makes me rather mentally and physically over-worked.
So yeah, I got up, and so did he, both sniping at each other and making the kids a little freaked out at the same time. We don’t usually have arguments, and when we do they’re never in the morning, and hardly ever when the kids are within earshot – really bad form to argue with kids around. This was a completely bizarre turn of events.
The big baby went back to bed – and frankly he can stay there all day for all I care – and I’m sitting here mainlining caffeine to stay awake. And abusing my keyboard by pounding out a post I may or may not publish… writing is cathartic though, so even just putting it down in words helps calm me down. I guess if you’re reading this, I went ahead with the “publish” and decided against the “or not”. Maybe some other overworked do-it-all woman will read this and give me a mental high-5 in commiseration. Or a hug, because I could sure use a good one right about now.
Don’t worry, it’ll blow over. I’m just venting. It’s probably not even worth going on about but just seems that way because I’m so pissed off. And so very, very tired.
Know what else bugs me? The way Americans have to put “fish” after “tuna”. Why call it tunafish? Of course it’s fish… what else would it be? Damn Americans. (oh come on, you know I love you. Well,
most some of you.)