Noodles...

I can't stop dreaming about them. That makes like three nights in a row that I have had dreams about rolling out pasta. I even came up with some kind of Christmas noodle, that magically brought peace to the house who rolled it out and cooked it up.

Am I going crazy?

Maybe.

I hate it. I've tried to stave it off. But there's no denying, the depression is coming back. And I'm not talkin' about the economy. I've had a pretty good few weeks--even my hormonally-challenged week wasn't so bad this month--but it's all slammin' in on me, like football players on a field, tryin' to tackle my ass.

I know a lot of it is situational. The AMD still hasn't written. Granted, it's the holiday season and all, so I shouldn't be too bummed not to hear from him until about the middle of this week. But I am. I felt like writing him that email when I know he doesn't dig email was a big step for me. Walking out on a limb. But the limb feels more like the plank right now.

I've lost sight of Sam again. He's giving me those looks. The ones that imply I'm stupid or less than valid. I'll find him and say, "Hey, I have an idea!" with excitement and hope clearly radiating from me. And instead of saying, "Hmmm, not bad... But what about..." He says, "Won't work. Too expensive. Ten years." or whatever. Sounds like caveman to me. I don't speak caveman very well, obviously. And he doesn't speak dreamer. Or innovator. Or happy.

I did clean my office. It looks swanky and shiny and smells like wood polish. But my desk feels bare and cold without my mounds of stuff. It was like drifts of fallen snow or piles of blankets or some shit. So, now, though my office LOOKS like an office, it feels like a walk in cooler. Oh well, I'm sure it won't be long before the snow drifts are back.

So, anyway, while I'm sitting here in my clean office, trying to recover from an afternoon with all the kids plus the neighbor kid... I'm playing Spider Solitaire *gasp* and trying to unwind, feeling very thankful that Sam is bathing the kids and not me. He comes into the living room to watch the news. So we do. It's been paused, so it's about a half hour behind the regular shows. Sam sees that Charlie and the Chocolate Factory is coming on in a few minutes and since it's in hi-def, he wants to record it on our DVR-type-thing. This is exciting for him. Another hi-def movie he can put on to babysit the kids for him while he does the accounts in the other room (something that he does for HOURS a day, by the way). So, he cuts off the news, "You don't really wanna watch any of those stories, right?" I shrug and make my way back to my Spider.

A few minutes later, he says, "Shit. The box turned off."

"So?"

"So, that probably means the movie didn't record."

"Hm. That sucks." I really couldn't be bothered to care, but I want to show solidarity. We fucking own that movie. His answer: "But it's not in hi-def!" *eye roll*

Then, a few MORE minutes later, I hear football. He's watching sports.

I can't explain why, but this just plucks my very last nerve. I've ended up with exactly what I didn't want. A dude who takes every opportunity he can to sit down while I wait on him, so to speak, by doing his laundry and cooking his meals and cleaning up after him. You know, he gets up from the breakfast table and just moves on about his day, leaving the butter and jelly and Nutella still there on the table, and get this, still OPEN? "Oh, but he's leaving it there for you because you're not finished with your breakfast," you say? Nope. I finish breakfast in record time.

He comes in EVEN WHILE I'M SICK and says, "What do you propose for dinner?" That doesn't mean "What kind of take out would you like me to go get?" It means, "What are you making us?"

He gets all antsy and pissy and passive-agressive if he sees that I'm busy right about dinner time (or another meal) and it appears that I am not going to fix us something. Because that probably means I'm going to ask him to go get us a kebab or a pizza or something.

I love to cook. You all know this. But I have weeks (sick weeks) where I don't feel like making EVERY meal. I tried to teach him how to make mashed potatoes and grilled hamburger patties (FROZEN ONES), probably the EASIEST meal you could ever make. I said, "Okay, now remember this while I'm gone so you can cook the kids something to eat." He said, "Oooooh, no. While you're in Houston, we're eating canned ravioli." He's not joking.

So, the sports. I say, "Why do you watch sports?"

He says, "Why? What's going on?"

"Nothing. I just wondered what you get out of it, that's all." And I mean it. I know it sounds antagonistic, but I'm not trying to be. I REALLY REALLY want to know what people get out of watching other people run around a field. I get it, it's exciting and stuff. I've been to games at Penn State! I've watched the Nittany Lions and Ohio State on TV. I get into it and yell at the screen and get pissed off and depressed and say, "Oh well, we'll get 'em next year." But that's because I'm LINKED emotionally to those schools. I was BORN at Ohio State and GRADUATED from Penn State. I've BEEN there. Those places feel like HOME to me. Like FAMILY. Just like I'll always love the Houston Astros. Because I lived there.

But I don't get sitting on your ass, scratching your balls and watching some random game just because it's on. He doesn't look around to see if there's anything else on. Nope. At the first sound of the crowd and those ANNOYING sports commentators (just as annoying in French, by the way, just less macho), he stops flipping through channels as if mesmerized.

He says, "It's entertainment." But it's a groan. He doesn't like the line of questioning.

"But why? Why is it entertaining?" I've become scientific about it now. I really do want to know WHAT it is that is entertaining about watching some random game. I mean, he almost ALWAYS falls asleep during them anyway. And, if I get up and go to bed, like I did last night, he usually turns off the TV, gets up and goes to bed, too.

Oh, and you think it's so we can be together and talk? Nope. He climbs in bed, turns his back to me and within seconds is snoring. So, what about the game? Why sit there and watch a portion of it and then just go to bed? Are not invested enough in it after watching for an hour? I just don't get it.

The only things we have in common are the kids. Now that Animal, Vegetable, Miracle is over and we're not reading TOGETHER anymore, it seems like the glitter has faded. He's on vacation right now. Yesterday when all the kids were sleeping, I asked him to come look at farms with me. Just to be together. To do something together. He wouldn't.

And now, sometimes, I'm not sure I WANT to do the farm together. I SO believe in this farm that I'm afraid of him getting involved because I know how he is. Defeat at every turn. No positivity or optimism in him. What if I get the farm started--purely from my own energy--and our marriage goes kaput? What if he tries to take the farm? I don't really see how I have any choice since he has basically crippled me. I don't have one leg to stand on. He likes that. Likes me to NEED him in that way. Likes that he's the one who does the accounts. When I ask him why he doesn't involve me more in it he says, "Sure. I will! I don't because you wouldn't like it. You don't like that kind of stuff."

Okay, granted, I don't like spending HOURS a day in front of Microsoft Money, looking at pie charts and bar graphs of our practices over the past whatever years, etc. True, I'm not into THAT shit. But I would like to know how much we have in each account and how much we owe and at what interest rate and which account we should make a priority. Etc. And I guess if I hounded him enough he would tell me. Well, that's not really true. When I hound him about it, he says, "Come here, I'll show you," and he'll lead me into his office so he can show me the fucking pie charts. REALLY? And then, he stands there and beams and waits for me to ask him to explain it all--again, dependent on him, weakened.

When I ask him, "How much money do we have?" He can't answer it. "How much debt?" Nope. Still no answer. He has to go in and look at the pie charts and make spreadsheets and stuff. You'd think that after spending hours and hours staring at them he would have some VAGUE idea what's there.

I complain, yes. But I see no other way. The chains are too tight now, with the kids and the blah blah blah. There's no getting away. So, there's only holding on. Until later. And when he does things that hurt me or make me feel lesser, I just absorb that and turn it into positive energy. Biding my time. Some day. I WILL succeed. I'll get published. And we'll be back in the States and I'll get a library job. And I'll have BOTH legs to stand on. And my kids will be older. And I'll have my farm. I have a lot to hope for.

What I don't kid myself about is ever feeling the way I used to feel about him.