Welcome To My Life

The inmates are taking over the asylum here. And I'm talking about people who belong in an asylum. The other day, all I thought I had was a psycho husband, and today, my darling daughter has been channeling her father.

Let me backtrack a bit.

You will recall last Friday, when it snowed, and the Hubs announced that he had been fired, and yada yada yada. Monday morning, of course, he got up and went to work, because he was not fired, his boss loves him like a brother and would fire everybody else in the office first, if he had to. But I guess work was not the Eden he would like it to be, because when he came home last night, after a short "hello," he said not a single other word all night long. Except for this little creepy detail: he was mumbling under his breath as he went about making his dinner and doing what else he was doing. Now, this was especially creepy because I didn't hear at all, but K commented on it, and said he does it all the time when he's angry. And I never hear it because I can't, and I had no idea that he was even doing this. So that was freaking weird.

The other one, the junior psycho, has been doing the snotty-teen-being-short-with-mom thing on and off for the last few days, which lost its charm totally, let me tell you, when she stopped being a teenager four years ago. Anything I say is answered with an eye roll. If I tell a story, she tells me that a) I have told it before, probably many times, or b) I'm so funny I should be on TV. (Eye roll from mom, at this point.) But what I can't stand is the anger. If someone is going to be angry about something, fine, but if I didn't create the anger, don't take it out on me. I learned long ago to control my temper as well as I could, and I think it's time for Papa Bear and Baby Bear to figure it out, too.

Anyway, so the kid and I, as it turned out, both had appointments with the dermatologist this afternoon. By the time we left there, she was in some pain (an acne treatment of some kind) and was so snippy and mean that I just didn't want to be around her at all. And like someone else I know, every snotty thing she said, and even any important thing she said (like that she hurt or had to go to the bathroom) she said so softly that I couldn't hear it, and I didn't ask her to repeat because that really ticks her off. (Oh. I. Am. So. Sorry. If. My. Fucking. Handicap. Is. Inconvenient. For. You.)

We got home and she vanished upstairs, leaving me to sit at my little desk here and wonder if just ditching them all wouldn't be a good idea. After all, the Hubs was yet to come home, so that joy still awaited.

And home he came. He said a cheery "Hello!" and then actually looked at me and asked me what was wrong. I did not have an answer prepared, so I said something about the dermatologist, at which point I heard K, in the kitchen behind him, tell him something about her treatment and why her face is all red. In a normal tone of voice. And there followed a semi-normal conversation amongst the three of us.

I am in the Twilight Zone.

He came back after changing his clothes, laughing, and told me about an email he was sending his father and Bcc-ing me. Um ... okay. You psycho.

So he seems normal tonight, the kid is turning back into normal, and guess what? My guts are churning. It's not food that actually triggers a Crohn's attack, you know. It's stress.

Oh, goodie. Goodie goodie gumdrops.

WATCHING FRIENDS :: ENTRY #1688