Fit

I wish the title of this post referred to my firm inner thighs and tight abs, but unfortunately I'm talking about the kind of fit you have instead of are.

For a while earlier this year I was having a lot of these, throwing things and yelling and such. I had one again last night. This time, though, I hit HUBS in the stomach and when he said "Hey, what the fuck?" and backed away I threw a bag of crackers at him. Dammit.

Why did I get so upset? He'd just come home, right before 9pm, after saying he'd be home at 5:30 and then saying he'd really be home at 7:30. I had just finished eating without him (I hadn't had anything but toast all day; I tried to eat soup after I found out about the liver thing, but I think I was too worried to eat. So, after getting sick to my stomach I took about a 4 hour nap.).

I was mad that even though I'd called him and told him about the medical stuff, he didn't seem worried, or to care that I was worried. I was really hoping that he'd be home early so I could talk to him and be comforted and such. Plus? My computer keeps crashing and had just done so. So I wasn't able to get started on the story I'd been procrastinating on, like I'd wanted to.

It was one of those feelings like nothing is ever going to be right again. We literally never have any money for anything other than bills anymore, and are dangerously close to having no credit left either. We even had to take a cash advance from one of my cards last week to avoid getting overdraft fees in our checking account and to have some money for something. I really just can't seem to find a job. I put in four applications for retail places on Monday and no one has even called.

Nothing feels right. And, yeah, I was taking some undeservered stuff out on HUBS when I hit him, but I also feel like he hasn't been caring for me like he should. We've talked about this at least 3 times since I've been sick this month. I know he's been working insane hours to make overtime money for us, but when I was sick he still had to be asked and told to do things for me.

I mean, I got dizzy everytime I bent over and I still had to request that he do a little laundry. Do you realize how hard it is to go down a flight of stairs (to the basement) when you're weak and dizzy? He wouldn't so much as load the dishwasher without my prompting. Until I yelled at him. Got angry and told him to "help me dammit!"

Do you know he wouldn't even go get me a hamburger? Just a plain McDonald's hamburger. He didn't come out and say no, it was more like "Well, let's just wait and see after I finish this and we can go together blah blah blah." Fuck, I didn't feel like leaving the house. Basically, after a hard, long week at work he was finally getting to goof off online like he likes to and didn't want to deal with me (which he actually said to me, though not in so many words) when I asked him a whopping 4 hours later why he didn't just go get me a God damn burger already? Oh, and I happened to confront him about this when we were finally on the way to getting my burger, after I'd been hungry for, yes, FOUR HOURS.

I don't think I'm being outrageous here, to expect a little care from my husband when I get ill. Especially since I literally do everything for him when he's sick, and he gets sick A LOT. I even stuck by him when he got some flu-like thing a few months after we got together, when he thought he, wait for it...MIGHT HAVE AIDS. Yeah, and honestly, I think he deserved to get hit a little, though not for everything I hit him for.

This no-job-no-money-no-credit pressure is too much after 22 months of unemployment. I think we need counseling.