Sunday

So last night was fairly eventful as far as my asshole neighbours go.  At 3am she was outside screaming into her phone.  At 3:30am he turned up and they argued, pretty sure he hit her.  He left their apartment, went down through the laundry room and out in the alley way that goes under our bedroom window and threw up repeatedly on the concrete.  Then he locked himself in the broken down car they have in the garage.  She stormed out shortly afterwards and had an argument with him locked in the car that consisted of her screaming at him to open the door and give her back her apartment key, then throwing stuff around the garage.  Then she changed from wanting the key back so he couldn’t get in, to both of them just going back into the apartment. 

Fucking trash. 

By all means, argue with your partner, I don’t care.  But why does it have to be such a public thing? No one wants to hear any of that shit, and then she bitches at him about people "knowing my business".  Well, when you constantly drag your business out in the street at 3am, people are going to know about it. 

So, woke up nice and early this morning to her screeching about something, and placated myself with the thought that next Sunday I will be waking up at mother’s house, probably hearing her stomping around upstairs.  

I started packing the food we won’t need this week into a tub, wiping the cans off and throwing out the stuff we’re never going to eat.  We had a plastic tub that tiny cockroaches had invaded, despite there being no food or traces of food in there.  Unpacked and washed all that stuff, re-packed it into the tub.  Washed and packed the slow cooker back into its box.  

It was 1pm by this time and I was growing pretty irritated with the fact that M hadn’t made a move to pack a single thing.  Finally he started pulling out his games and cleaning them off, preparing to pack them.

My beef is this:  I have been packing things for weeks in preparation for shipping.  This week we have switched to packing to move, and still he hasn’t managed to do anything substantial.  I take into account the fact that anything that he does moves at a glacial rate, but this is really burning me up now.  For three weeks we have been going to mother’s house and washing his stuff in the delicate cycle, and hanging it in the bedroom.  Yes, it takes days for the stuff to dry.  Yes, I realise that he needs to fold it all carefully and pack it into a space bag.  Yes, I realise that he isn’t sure what box he wants to use to ship his clothing.  And YES I feel like these are all fucking excuses and that I am, once again, hearing a shitload of talking and not much action. 

I’m just really frustrated with it all, because I am someone who decides on a plan and ACTS.  I can’t tell you how many discussions we have had about what we’re eating this week, so we can decide on what food to send to mother’s house early.  We settled on the food on Friday night.  So why is he still now asking what we’re eating this week? 

I get very impatient with him anyway, without the extra stress.  So I am trying hard to be patient, to try and guide him so that he doesn’t feel like I am nagging or rushing him, but then I get resentful because he is never so considerate of my feelings, so why do I tiptoe around his? 

I was saying to another OD-er that moving house might be the catalyst for us to have a nice big argument.  That’s a shame, because no one likes to argue (except maybe the bitch next door, from observations) but at the same time, we both need to blow off a little steam. 

Now let’s change the subject.  I didn’t get a chance to speak to mother much yesterday because the builder was there and I was self-conscious that he was listening in. I bet he wasn’t, but still.  Anyway, today I was helping her paint and we got to talking about various things, and I think we were both testing the waters to see if we could have a civilised conversation about personal matters.  It seemed to work and she spoke to me a little about my dad and his wife and how she’s jealous that they are going to Europe.  I told her about my visa interview and how I was anxious about the money thing.  She immediately offered to lend me money to bulk up my account for the interview, and to put M’s plane tickets on her credit card.  I am going to take her up on her offer, but I insisted that I will pay her the full amount by the end of July, and I will be paying her extra to cover the interest she will be charged on the credit card and for taking cash from her mortgage account.  She laughed off the interest part, but I am very serious about that.  It should not cost her a thing to help me out.  I just need to do some sums and figure out how much I should borrow.  

I ran by the supermarket on the way home to get bread, milk and bleach.  The mouldy ceiling in the bathroom is starting to clear up now that I have given it a second dousing.  The walls are not an issue, but I think the ceiling will take another two days of spritzing to get it cleared up properly.  

M is of course grouchy and unhappy because I put the tub of canned goods in the garden shed, which is completely weather proof, and I have not seen a single cockroach, mouse, or even spider of evidence of ANY of them in there.  Good-o, I’ve done the wrong thing once again.  Eff that shit. 

I am trying, guys.  I am working hard on this, and juggling a million other things.  I fucking hate his attitude.  He made a comment the other day about how I have to rush things, instead of doing them properly.  I know that was in relation to me having given notice on this apartment.  What he fails to realise is that we’re moving out TWO WEEKS before we have to hand the keys back.  How the fuck is that rushing things?  Most people hand the keys back ONE DAY after they move out.  He also doesn’t realise that money doesn’t fucking grow on trees and if he wants to pay the fucking rent on this place he’s fucking welcome to.

Geez.  I really am heading for a blow up.  The problem is that I never bite back at him when he makes his snarky comments.  I don’t see the point.  He acts like king shit and he’s always right, so what’s the point?  But instead I simmer and start to whistle like a kettle….