Bitchface McWhinypants
And in the whiplash style that has characterized so much of my life lately, we are back to argh. Despite the fact that I have not one, but two health insurance policies, my last ($190! You have the flu! It should go away eventually! Bye!) doctor's visit was not covered by either of them, due to bureaucratic bullshit. Stanford didn't cash the check I sent them a month ago, so I have to scramble to cover it now, and on top of that they want me to pay $656 more dollars for...health insurance. More paperwork required to wiggle out of that one. My project was suddenly found to be >$25K over budget for this year, and egg landed on my face about it, despite the fact that I've been telling people something was wrong with our billing for ages and getting the bureaucratic equivalent of philosophical shrugs about it.
Philosophical shrugs are not in large supply around here, these days. Even though I feel relatively happy with my life overall, every minor bullshit problem instantly makes me want to rage or cry. A spilled drink or dead lightbulb or mistaken food order can suddenly, abruptly throw me into a frustrated, irritable funk. I had a yelling tantrum this morning when we found out about the insurance non-payment and whacked my fist into our marble counter hard enough to bruise it. And apparently I've been snapping and snarling so much at Himself that he doesn't really want to be around me anymore. Which, you know, I can see that I've been doing it. I just don't know how to stop.
I'm going to try taking all day tomorrow to just tie up the mental loose ends I have lying around. To pay all the damn bills, put things away, deal. I think part of the problem is that whole "woman's work is never done" thing. All the shit that is mostly my responsibility around the house is ongoing and cyclical - cooking makes dirty dishes makes dishwasher loading and unloading and then I cook again. Cooking depletes groceries which requires shopping which makes putting away shopping and then I eat again. Laundry requires drying requires folding requires putting away and then we wear clothes again. Baby requires feeding and changing and then bottles need washed and diapers need restocking and laundry needs doing and then baby is hungry/dirty again. There is never a time when it is all done and stays done, despite my almost obsessive multitasking.
And part of the problem is that I am doing a pretty good job. I am staying on top of it all. Which doesn't sound problematic, and it's not really, it's just that I somehow feel that this should entitle me to nothing going wrong. In the past, when things have gone wrong, it was usually because I had not tried hard enough, read the fine print, made the extra effort, organized my time, or kept careful track. But I have gotten so very much better at all of that. And things are still going wrong, in ways both large and small. I am good at admitting it when things are my fault - so good, in fact, that I often have to be stopped from taking responsibility for problems to which I was only tangential. But most of this crap is really not my fault. Really. So I am getting very poor-me/why-me about it all. Logically, I know that entitlement is bullshit and I'm just grateful that we're well-off enough that these stupid things won't break us and we can afford to hire help with the house and everything. But emotionally, I'm not there. I'm trying so hard! I don't deserve bad things! Waaah!
If I can't get over this problem soon, I swear I am going to try to find a therapist again, even though I hate looking for a decent therapist the way many people hate therapy itself. Because I can't be snapping at my loved ones and losing my shit over minor things like this. it's not right, and it's not healthy. I'm going to a 4-day work-related conference at the beginning of next month, while Himself takes the Squid, and I've tacked on a day at the end for decompression. Maybe a good hard re-set is all I need. I sure hope so.
Philosophical shrugs are not in large supply around here, these days. Even though I feel relatively happy with my life overall, every minor bullshit problem instantly makes me want to rage or cry. A spilled drink or dead lightbulb or mistaken food order can suddenly, abruptly throw me into a frustrated, irritable funk. I had a yelling tantrum this morning when we found out about the insurance non-payment and whacked my fist into our marble counter hard enough to bruise it. And apparently I've been snapping and snarling so much at Himself that he doesn't really want to be around me anymore. Which, you know, I can see that I've been doing it. I just don't know how to stop.
I'm going to try taking all day tomorrow to just tie up the mental loose ends I have lying around. To pay all the damn bills, put things away, deal. I think part of the problem is that whole "woman's work is never done" thing. All the shit that is mostly my responsibility around the house is ongoing and cyclical - cooking makes dirty dishes makes dishwasher loading and unloading and then I cook again. Cooking depletes groceries which requires shopping which makes putting away shopping and then I eat again. Laundry requires drying requires folding requires putting away and then we wear clothes again. Baby requires feeding and changing and then bottles need washed and diapers need restocking and laundry needs doing and then baby is hungry/dirty again. There is never a time when it is all done and stays done, despite my almost obsessive multitasking.
And part of the problem is that I am doing a pretty good job. I am staying on top of it all. Which doesn't sound problematic, and it's not really, it's just that I somehow feel that this should entitle me to nothing going wrong. In the past, when things have gone wrong, it was usually because I had not tried hard enough, read the fine print, made the extra effort, organized my time, or kept careful track. But I have gotten so very much better at all of that. And things are still going wrong, in ways both large and small. I am good at admitting it when things are my fault - so good, in fact, that I often have to be stopped from taking responsibility for problems to which I was only tangential. But most of this crap is really not my fault. Really. So I am getting very poor-me/why-me about it all. Logically, I know that entitlement is bullshit and I'm just grateful that we're well-off enough that these stupid things won't break us and we can afford to hire help with the house and everything. But emotionally, I'm not there. I'm trying so hard! I don't deserve bad things! Waaah!
If I can't get over this problem soon, I swear I am going to try to find a therapist again, even though I hate looking for a decent therapist the way many people hate therapy itself. Because I can't be snapping at my loved ones and losing my shit over minor things like this. it's not right, and it's not healthy. I'm going to a 4-day work-related conference at the beginning of next month, while Himself takes the Squid, and I've tacked on a day at the end for decompression. Maybe a good hard re-set is all I need. I sure hope so.
posted by The Stute Fish at 12:41
4 Comments:
Um ... why exactly are cooking and dishwashing and grocery shopping and laundry and baby changing all primarily your responsibility? Sometimes with a kid or kids there's just too much work, even for two adults, and you're both going to be tired and cranky, but it shouldn't all be your job.
Right now, Himself works longer hours and I work at home, which gives me more opportunity.
Also, and more centrally, his back has herniated again in the same spot where he had surgery three years ago. He just did a course of physical therapy, but bending over is really hard on him, particularly if it involves repetition or lifting things. I want to save all the times he does it for necessary squidcare, and laundry/dishwasher loading/unloading, cleaning up the backyard, diaper changes on our too-low changing table, etc all stress his back. If his back goes out entirely, I'll have ALL the work and ALL the squidcare for a year, so it behooves me to help him conserve it! Um, and in less selfish news, I love him and don't want him to hurt himself.
He does do the grocery shopping sometimes, but I'm the one who tracks staples, usually, and my job flexibility makes it easier for me (though I'm going to start getting the groceries delivered to take it off both our plates.) And he feeds and cares for the baby almost 50% of the time that he is home; he's just home a lot less than I am.
I also sometimes find it really hard to not be angry about the never ending cycle that is taking care of a child and a house. It just doesn't have the same reward that actually completing a project does (well, the raising Jack part does.) I don't know if this will help you at all, but, with Jack having just turned 2, it is less frustrating. His needs are very different, less demanding, and he is more independent, and it helps me a LOT more than I ever expected.
In any case, I hope you are feeling less angry and stressed out very soon.
I'm not angry - like, angry AT anyone - just tired adn frustrated and snappy. I think 8 months is hard, because he's so sctive but not yet mobile that he's frustrated, and I do expect it will get better. Thank you for the perspective!
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