When I got home from work yesterday, I was tired, stressed, overworked, and frustrated. Plus the Infernal Revenue Service keeps sending us bills telling us that we underpaid our taxes. They're up to insisting we owe them about $2500, and I can't figure out why, because I always use the same tax preparation software, follow all the rules. I mean, I don't need an "article of faith" to encourage me to be honest, except, as I said before, about shoes. I'm just sayin'.
Anyway, so I had barely gotten inside the front door when my husband started. I must be doing something wrong. He needs this done right away. We have to do this. Blah blah blah. I also have a writing project I'm trying desperately to finish. I'd hoped to finish it over the weekend, and didn't make it. I'm really hoping I can finish it today and get it off my plate and out of my life. Taking the assignment was a mistake, but sometimes mistakes are made and you learn from them and move on.
When I got frustrated with him he started accusing me of being an alcoholic. Because of all the wine, you see. There was a 4-pack of some small bottles of white zinfandel in the fridge. There were also 2 other bottles of wine in the fridge: one was some kind of spritzer thing that if I'd realized it was a spritzer I wouldn't have bought it; the other was a "Southern sweet tea" wine thingie, and I'd poured out a glass, took a few sips, didn't like it, and poured out the glass. I just hadn't gotten around to getting rid of the bottle. (For the record, he seemed to be more shocked about the tea than the wine. Go figure.) And there was a bottle of Sangria on the counter. So sue me. I like sweetish wines. He told me that he had poured out all the wine. Well, he let me keep the small bottles of zin, but he poured out everything else.
Dude, I lost it. I said that he has no more right to get rid of my things than I have to get rid of his things. And I am not going back to believing in TSCC. When I said this, he said that it was his fault, because he was asking questions that led to my research that led me to the conclusion that there is no way the LDS corporation is the true church. I told him I'm glad he asked the questions, because I don't want to spend the rest of my life in servitude to something that only brought me pain.
Anyway, he said if I'm going to drink wine to drink expensive wine. Good wine. Buy it at this certain upscale grocery store he likes. WTF? Why shouldn't I drink what I want to drink?
I'm glad he didn't find the honey mead and the sweet shiraz I hid when I saw that he had come home. He may be going out of the country this week--I'm praying to the powers that be that it actually comes to pass--and I'm telling you, I'm going to throw a lush bath bomb into the tub and drink a huge glass of wine that night!!
He wants to stay married. He also wants to live his life the way he wants to live it. Those two things, for me, are mutually incompatible. Basically he wants to eat his cake and have it too. We had another long talk yesterday before I returned to my writing project. I don't want to stay married if he wants to live his life the way he wants to live it. I'm definitely not telling him what he should do--I did that for 18 years, and it accomplished absolutely nothing. Now I'm of the opinion that if that's what makes him happy, then I need to move out of the house and let him follow his own inclinations. It'll take a bit--we've obviously got to come up with an extra $2500 to pay the IRS what they say we owe, and I've got to save up some money for apartment deposit, any utilities, etc.
But I have to say I'm really looking forward to having my own place. It will be lovely to go home at the end of the day, with no one there telling me how to live my life, and what I should do, and what I shouldn't do, and taking steps to ensure that I don't do what I shouldn't do. If I want to have a cup of coffee on Sunday morning, I can have a cup of coffee on Sunday morning. If I want to have 20 bottles of wine, then I can have 20 bottles of wine and no one will go and pour them out. If I want to drink a glass of iced tea--heaven forbid!--I can drink a glass of iced tea. No one's going to be screaming at me because I dare to think for myself. No one's going to furiously ask who put that thought in my mind, because we all know that I am easily influenced by my friends. I can sleep in purple panties or leopard print panties with a tank top, and no one will glare at me because I'm not wearing my Jesus jammies. Do you blame me for saying that it sounds like paradise?
The buck stops here. I'm standing firm. I hope that as we continue to talk things out, we can come to a mutual agreement that we need to part ways. But if not, once I've got enough money saved up, I will be leaving.