Forgive me whilst I ramble; forgive me as I let off steam. Again.
Most days I try to blog the pretty bits of our days together, and in between all the mess there are without doubt many beautiful moments to our days. But that is not all. Oh no, that is not all. Because of course there is the other stuff too – things I don’t share, try to ignore, gloss over with optimism and brush under the carpet for the sake of my sanity. And most days that works.
But today, and for the past week or so, I have been bubbling with resentment.
I am tired; despondent; fed up of trying to see the glass as half full when actually some selfish asshole has drank the last drop. I am tired of pretending it will all get better. I am tired of having to wear rose-tinted glass instead of having a real sunset to colour my world.
I am stuck in a rut; we are penniless, beyond broke, and it’s never going to get any better. I am stuck in this two-bedroom house the size of a postage stamp in the ghetto and it’s never going to change. Short of an absolute miracle things will not change.
Add to this fact that, even if we were earning money we couldn’t take a mortgage and you will understand how our horizon is basically the edge of cage.
I am tired of handling the lion’s share of the work around here. Really tired of being taken for granted. Tired of the fact that I settled for so very little. I am just so tired, and unable to see the payoff.
My laundry lies in piles throughout the house in a vain attempt to get dry (with the onset of winter laundry takes daaaaays to dry in the house… and hey, let’s sit and read and share a cup of tea under a tram line of moldy underwear…yeah). The ironing pile, which has amassed over weeks, oh who am I fooling, months, stands waist high. The cutlery and plates lie on the work surfaces because we have no cupboard space. The fridge door panel has fallen off, the washing machine drawer can’t be opened unless you have a screwdriver, the toilet cistern is leaking, mold grows behind damp wardrobes, the garden… oh ignore the garden, and I have no space to store anything.
I don’t even know why I’m bothering to write any of this. I don’t even know why I bother blogging; it’s so vapid.
I’m just tired and bored of everything. And I’m tired of lying to myself to get me through the to-do list.