— trouble-shots of disgust —

when things are missing or moved, if something is not done right, an ask for a bit of help, a word of advice, honestly, a word of any kind seems to earn a look

— trouble-shots of disgust —

I used to get an apology when he acted like a dick, now I just have a dick I never want to play with, and for fuck’s sake, I’m pretty desperate.

You tell me…after spending the day in bed from a hang over, then slamming a bowl of chicken down and spitefully spitting, “I haven’t eaten in two days and this is dinner?”

He didn’t remember finishing off the pasta dish I took to the party before he went to bed at 7:00. I told him that softly and took care of the kid.

He went back to bed.

I’m here wondering if he’s actually irritated I’m not backing down, not crying, not caring anymore. I’m doing everything the same, except I’m not home all the time to be his maid, I haven’t been treating him enough like a king.

I loathe that expectation.

My dad taught me a man wants to be treated like a king. After 20 years, I created a monster of expectations and disappointments.

I spent the last two hours cooking and cleaning, thinking about how I can escape tonight, where can I fly when it’s my time to feel something magical…but he killed it, reminding me right now I’m stuck in this reality.

Last week’s music league entry.

(FYI: Publishing this for 24 hours helps my brain deal with the fact that I’m not this, I’m not someone who shares marriage baggage until I can’t get past a new scar that opens an old wound…wish I could find some other way to deal, but as Popeye always says, “I am what I am and that’s all that I am.”;)