So yeah, things are still sucking here, and don't seem to be even on the VERGE of getting better.
Yesterday sucked. I had an eleven-hour day at work, which was supposed to be a twelve-hour day but started and ended early (an unhappy homelife has been great for my work-ethic; I am always willing to come in early or stay on-property overnight and was commended for it in my recent review for increase). The major change, however, continues to cause everyone a lot of angst, and the morally sticky situation I wrote about (which is actually an entirely SEPARATE pile of bullshit) is still ongoing (I have Said Nothing, because I am a coward who really likes her benefits and PTO). Plus someone in the department with all the Very Large Personalities walked off the job and so That Lot is extra-special right now. Joy. Also, in case everyone wasn't on-edge enough, our Corporate Overlords hath vistited upon us a Customer Satisfaction Specialist whose main purpose in life seems to be to materialize out of thin air to interrupt everyone when they are their absolute busiest and suggest Fun! Little! Changes! to the way they do their job, send them scuttling to get some obscure object with which to improve upon something, and disappear, presumably to destroy someone ELSE'S workplace zen. This is about as popular as you might imagine.
Long days like yesterday suck even in the best of times, when I just miss my family and would rather be in my garden or my kitchen or possibly even my bed. When work is my only adult interaction, however, a long sucktastic day can feel like a prolonged test of my will to fucking live, and then I got to thinking about the whole Hotter situation on the way home, and I was supposed to stop at the grocery store but my usual car-crying time ran long so I skipped it and walked inside, breezed through The Awkward that is getting home from a long day to sleeping children and a spouse one isn't speaking to, and went and finished up my pity-party at Squatter Workshop, where the hens cheered me up. They were Violently Excited about the leftovers I brought them (some dressed salads that nobody ate at a dinner-function and artisanal bread-heels, plus a bruised whole apple). So yeah, the high-point of my day was watching some chickens throw down on some kitchen scraps.
I've gotten a couple of "are you okay?" and "are you getting a divorce?!?" e-mails, and have tried to answer them all with at least a sentence or two to the effect of "Yes, fine, just, you know, NOT!" I dunno, y'all. Heartbreak fades eventually, and divorce is expensive (plus my kids have already lost a shitty father to divorce, and losing a pretty good one to ANOTHER divorce would probably permanently wreck their mental wellbeing, even if mine survived it). Plus as much as he values their dysfunctional presence in his life, Hotter's family are an irresponsible lot of fuckups and would let him die of something stupid (like starvation, or lack of meds because they wanted his Social Security money for heat or heroin) and then I would feel guilty.
And then there's the fact that I love the asshole, even if I can't look at him right now without wanting to punch him in the fucking face, possibly with a brick. When I say he remurdered my personal sense of romance, I mean that he, in stunningly poor form, destroyed the happy notion I've held for the past five years that There Is A Perfect Someone For Everyone. Which is a dumb concept to begin with, and not much consolation to people who aren't even close to finding their Someone, and I am an asshole. I just...I don't talk about my childhood on here but IT WAS AWFUL, and then I married the XY and that...wasn't so great...and then after that was over with Hotter came along and was everything I'd ever wanted out of life (namely, someone who cared The Most about ME, and had the gentlest touch I've ever felt, and didn't seem to be afraid of anything in my life, like the health stuff, the children, and The Poverty). And for a while, we all lived happily ever after. Now, though...well. Apparently The Poverty is A Problem for him, and judging by how often he's been snarky or cranky about it in recent months, and the amount of bile behind the Recent Outburst, it's a big one. He seems to have gotten to a place of not being actively pissed-off anymore (he's wanting to do things like text me to ask how I am and try to hug me, which either means he's over being mad, in which case TOUGH SHIT I'M NOT or just plain lonely, in which case ME TOO, SUCKS DOESN'T IT?), but I'm just a little too "ET TU, HOTTER?!?" for anything like that. I am motherfucking furious with life that I don't get to have just ONE person who can be my soft place to fall, my nonjudgmental Sharer Of All The Things, someone I can deal with without censoring myself.
Now that things are all "don't talk about heroin like it's such a bad thing, you'll make the junkie feel judged!" and "what do you MEAN you couldn't round up $XXX if I really NEEDED* it?!?" I am just kind of...blah. I don't like the feeling of being judged, especially for things that I don't even feel like I SHOULD be judged for, and DEFINITELY not by the person I had built up, in my head, into My Reward For Enduring The First Twenty-nine Years Of My Life. I REALLY don't like being yelled at. And when I come home at the end of the day feeling absolutely fucking whipped, I don't like the feeling that the eleven-hour day should have been another hour longer because Now What and Oh God, Money. If I'm not off work to spend time with Hotter, I worry that I'll be seen as lazy and selfish any time I'm off work now.
It doesn't help my mental state to know that if I hadn't married Hotter, I wouldn't HAVE to worry about money, because the XY would still have to pay spousal support, meaning I could stay home with my kids and have roughly the same amount of money overall as I do with Hotter contributing his disability check to the household and me contributing a paycheck, AND not have anyone except my ex-husband judging me on the regular. So it's kind of O'Henry that I married for love and gave up money, and now am not getting any love BECAUSE I don't have money.
So I guess, in the end, I'm left with a nasty headache, a wretched case of insomnia, this dead horse in a "poor me" t-shirt, and a whole lot of unpleasant feelings.
I hate when that happens.
* Needed as in "to feel good about a certain situation," not as in "to buy immunosuppresent medication so as not to lose my donor organs."