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Archive for April, 2015

Back to black

Yeah. Having one of those black days. Really hope the colour changes soon.

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Anger

A friend once gave me a book called “The Dance of Anger”, recommending that I read it and learn to manage my anger. I did. She and I no longer talk.

I am of the persuasion that anger is not actually a bad thing. It is good to be able to admit one is angry and to identify it and let it out from time to time. Hopefully before it ends in murder.

I’m getting close to murder now, however. Since I moved in with Thomas, my anger has slowly mounted to the degree where I wonder where the hell I am supposed to let off steam WITHOUT committing murder. And I feel completely helpless about doing anything about it. Not even “The Dance of Anger” is able to help me there.

I have discovered that I make a shitty extrovert. When I come home at the end of the day, all I want is silence, solitude and the dogs. What I get is Thomas’ hyperactive social engagements and his good-for-nothing son who does NOTHING around the house, complains when Thomas includes him in our dinners (the food is NEVER to his liking) and complains when he is not included and shrugs and says he doesn’t care when asked a) if he would like dinner and b) what would he like? The kid has been asked – and agreed – to do the recycling once a week. He does it at most once a month after a LOT of pressure, and then whines that there is too much for him to carry.

He has been told that he is responsible for his own room. He could see the logic as he yelled at me that I am not his mother (well, thank FUCK for that!). I told him not to treat me like his mother in that case. This includes: I will not set foot in his room. Ever. Also not to resuscitate him when he drowns in his own shit.

Last night the little twat (he is about 1.90) actually accused me of not doing very much around the house. HE accused ME of not doing much. HE, the kid who has NEVER cleaned the toilet or any part of the bathroom, NEVER hoovered anything other than his room (I have a vague recollection of him doing that sometime last year), NEVER wiped any of the kitchen counters, NEVER washed the kitchen floor, NEVER folded a t-shirt, NEVER taken out the recycle paper (not part of his recycle tasks, thus can’t be done by him), NEVER taken out the plastic, NEVER done the weekly shop or contributed to it in any way, who on principle NEVER empties the dishwasher – oh the list goes on and on and on. Apparently, all these things do themselves by magic.

I actually do believe he got a little too close to telling me I should do all the housework (probably including sorting out his room) since I am a woman. His brother managed to say as much once. He lived to regret it. What fucking century do these kids live in? What the fuck did his useless mother teach him?

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Depression as a lifelong companion

Depression is like Malaria. Once you have it, it just stays, like an extremely unwelcome mosquito.

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