For what it's worth

I have something to say.  I'm sure of it.  I'm blank though.  Dark and empty.  I don't even know how to feel.  I'm angry and sad and just fed up.  I'm tired too.  Another morning of white outs on my drive.  I used to love the snow and a free work from home day and eating comfort food, and not always French Toast like the rest of the locals.  I had to leave the house.  I needed to get to the office, tired and blah. 

For the first time in almost 2 years we went out to a bar to have a drink and grab some junk food and listen to some friends take us back to a time when life seemed more simple.  I showered and curled my hair and put on makeup and a cute little outfit of black.  Slimming you know.  My sis came over to play with Anya and get her to sleep so we could enjoy a few hours of us time.  We met friends and enjoyed a clanking of the glasses in honor of our little adventure.  A lot of chatting and a smokless bar of 20 somethings made me feel bored and tired much sooner than I had hoped.  I didn't, however, feel the urge to call home. 

As the clock neared 10 I felt myself nodding.  Geesh one beer and I'm a gonner; it doesn't help that I'm up all night with the baby and at work by 7am.  I think Fridays are the hardest day to survive let alone try to extend into the hours of the moon.  I tugged on his shirt for the whatever time, asking if we could head out before I embarassed myself by falling asleep at the table.  He rolled his eyes, ordered another beer and walked away.  We stayed for quite a few songs and I finally stood up and put on my coat.  With much resistance and obvious pissed-off-ness (if you can allow me) he stood up and we walked to the car.  I said thank you, we were home and I went to bed.

The next day was full of distraction and visiting and by the time we arrived home it was past bed time.  The baby and I shuffled off to bed and left him to play the Wii for a few more hours.  I woke up alone save for my little precious nestled beside me.  I wake up alone on most mornings because we can't get the baby out of the family bed and he feels cramped, or he ate something he shouldn't and was stinky, or he had insomnia, or he fell asleep on the couch.  But this...this was Valentine's Day.  The day I've always resented as a Hallmark day that should be scoffed at or ignored.  But married now I tried to feel something akin to smugness.  Instead I woke up feeling single and unattractive and alone.  The same thing I have always felt, and I was seething.  I dropped the baby in his lap in the spare room and slammed our bedroom door shut. 

I tried to fall back asleep and ignore my guilt and the tantrums downstairs.  I tried to enjoy a little more time to settle my rage and change my attitude.  After a half hour of tossing and tears I dressed and went down, picked up the baby and hugged her tight.  I helped with her breakfast and had a snack myself and attempted to have a day that wasn't burdened with explosions.  I don't know when or how long or what prompted the comment, but at some point I was standing in the kitchen, doing the dishes maybe.  Or was I at the computer checking email.  In any case, he walked up to me and said, "For what it's worth Happy Valentine's Day." And he walked away. 

Since we weren't planning on going out to dinner we invited some friends over to eat with us.  We went to the grocery store and took early naps and bathed the baby.  At some point I even tried to get intimate, but was ignored.  So.  We busied ourselves with cooking and the dog and picking up around the house.  Dinner was a great success and by nightfall the tension had dispersed a bit, or was it the beer and lots of chocolate. Shortly after I went to bed he followed and we all slept.

The next day we had some work around the house: forward momentum was a must.  Crabby, learning-to-walk baby and dishes and pesky dog and plain old end of the weekend blues - a three day weekend no less - made the day seem restless and unwelcome.  We set off in stages moving the books from the first to the third floor and rearranging everything so it looked nice and neat again.  The motion and movement was a welcome outlet to my frustration.  The evening ended with homemade soup and exhaustion. 

I'm just empty.  I feel sorry for the world we brought our angel into.  I'm a fighter.  I don't give up, especially on something that I believe in.  But I'm dangling.  The blame is on me; he said he doesn't care.  He refuses to take even half the burden from me.  I don't want to go down a path darker than this crossroads, I will hold on because I must.  When is enough enough.  When can I be angry.