I have a list in my head of things that really yank my chain.
I could dwell on them all, but I think I'll give you one. It's marital, so if personal stuff makes you uncomfortable, stop reading now. Don't worry, it's not sexual. :-)
Anyway, as everyone knows MacTroll is a good guy. He's pretty smart. He mixes a good drink. He's low key and he's very social. He doesn't sleep with women in the bathroom attached to our bedroom. He doesn't get loaded and go home with hookers or porn stars and make them his goddesses.
Everyone also knows that for the past 10 years, MacTroll has traveled for work. I've gotten used to us being separated. I've gotten used to the back and forth of being a single parent and then adjusting to have someone else in the house. We've always lived very independent lives. And I love the fact that he loves his work. Not very many people get to say that. He loves it so much that his employment is not only his work -- it's his hobby and enjoyment. The Fruit apparently meets a lot of my husband's mental needs, and he thrives on it. Fine, Great.
But periodically, when I'm back home on the range with a child, a dog and four cats, we have a rough night here or there. Riley suddenly catches wind of a sniff or a sight of something wild behind the fence, goes into guard dog mode and insists on being let out every hour to keep watch over whatever it is that he's worried about -- like that plastic bag stuck on a weed that just looks evil or those Canadian Geese that he thinks have gotten too close to our white picket fence.
Nights like that always happen at the same time as something else, like X-man has a bedwetting incident or he has diarrhea or one of the cats starts throwing up all over the house -- or all of the above. And then I'll end up with a fever or vomiting or something terrible. You know, when it rains it pours, or something like that.
When it happens and I'm alone, I still have to get up, go to work, run the house and take care of a kid and the animals and keep going. Sometimes it's dog one night and kid the next... just to keep it interesting.
And my husband will insist that sleeping in hotels is not fun. That his 800-count Egyption thread sheets and maid service and restaurant meals isn't very comforting and that he doesn't sleep well on the road. Yeah, right. No one is waking his ass up at 2:30 a.m. yammering about how there's a monster under his bed. And then when you go to lie with him, you realize the monster is about a cup of urine that you just sat in in your pajamas. Sigh.
So, last night, the dog had a guard dog night. Usually it's the scent of coyote urine that freaks him out a bit. I was ill with a low-grade fever and chills and MacTroll wasn't ready to go to sleep when I was (around 10:30 p.m.) so he went into the guest room. Where I guess the dog got him up six times between whatever time MacTroll decided to go to bed and 6:30 a.m.
And at 8:45 p.m. tonight, Mactroll claimed he was too tired to carry on and went into our bedroom and turned off the lights. At 9:30 p.m. he was sound asleep. And there I was... on my own, doing bath and bedtime by myself, again.
Ugly, ugly resentment is my issue. And here I bet you thought I was such a nice woman.