Venting….

Okay, so you may or may not know that Nick was gone for four days last weekend at the Eelpout Festival. This “fishing festival” is an excuse to drink, eat crap food, and get roudy.
I’m okay with that. He may not get to go next year, so I figured he better “sow his wild oats” and get it over with. It was hard, because this year we actually like each other. Things have been good since he began working in Mora.
That doesn’t mean he doesn’t ROYALLY PISS ME OFF SOMETIMES.
Yes, you’re right… this is one of those times.
Today he and our neighbor, Dan, decide that they will go ride their horses. Nick’s horse needs the practice – she hadn’t been ridden much before he got her, and it’s been months since he’s been home and the weather has been decent to ride. They’d be gone for a little while, and I’d take a nap. All is good.
He left around noon.
3:00 I hear a car pull into the driveway. (???) It is him, and he borrowed Dan’s car. He came to get his Windsor. They were going to have a “quick drink”, and would be home in a little bit. His horse was at Dan’s, trying to convince the male horse to breed it. Great. Like we could afford a pregnant horse and a pregnant me… much less a baby horse and a baby human. Both just wouldn’t work.
I had slept WAY longer than I had meant to by this time. Three hours? Ug. Yet the startle of a car pulling in the driveway along with my Taco Bell for breakfast had upset my stomach. So I enjoyed my sleep number and pulled out a book. I have a stack of books from the library about a foot high, and I really needed to get readin’. So read I did.
Through 4:00
And 5:00
And 6:00.
Around 6:30, I’m hungry. I debate starting dinner, which (I THOUGHT) we were both very excited about – chicken parmesan. (We don’t buy chicken breasts very often… we just eat a lot of venison. So it was exciting simply because we were having chicken, but italian is ALWAYS exciting!) I don’t want to start it because I have no idea when Nick is going to be home. Besides, he wasn’t going to be gone for long, so I’m sure he’ll be home soon and we can start it.
At 7:00?
At 8:00?
Pretty soon it’s nine o’clock. I’ve finished an entire book and am nearly done with the second.
Sometime between 9:00 and 10:00 I hear footsteps on the stairs. The door opens, and I hear “Shhhilo. Jane. Pahty ousside.”
Oh Lord. I’ve got about 12 pages left, and I’m going to finish them. He’ll obviously be able to entertain himself. It’s too late to eat now, and I’ve rummaged through the kitchen a number of times. I’m sick of frozen pizza, canned soup, and mac and cheese. I haven’t eaten since 11:00 AM, and I’m slightly (rightfully so?) crabby.
Through the closed bedroom door, I hear him make his way through the house. I hear “Whitey, you’rea nize ketty”, and then the same phrase used for every other cat in the household. He trips over God knows what, and says “Cats, be quiert, mommy’s sleepurn”. Finally he pushes the bedroom door open, and stands in shock at me sitting up in the bed. (Busted? Thought I would never know because all I do is sleep all day? ARGH!) “Goo mahning!” He exclaims. “Wen di you wake up?”
“When you came home at 3:00 and said you’d be right back. Now I have a few pages left – leave me alone for a few minutes so I can finish.”
“Okay. Quiert, kitties, mommy’s sleepun.” he mutters again, and then he disappears.
I hear him go outside, and every once and a while I hear footsteps. At one point I hear him yell “SHut UP!” to no one in particular, and I hear a little more yelling, but I have no idea what it is. I finish the book and venture into the kitchen AGAIN, desperately looking for something I can cook to satisfy my hunger that won’t take an hour. I am craving protein, I recognize that. I drink a glass of water, take my vitamin, and return to the bedroom without food. There is nothing to make other than frozen pizzas, canned soup, and mac and cheese that doesn’t take an hour. I give up.
There is silence after a while, as I begin another book. After a chapter, I decide to investigate. I look out towards the garage, and there are no garage lights on. The truck looks vacant and untouched. Car is still parked and empty.
I wander through the kitchen on my way to the front, and stop to see if any food magically appeared while I was reading. No luck.
I open the front door and immediately see Nick, lying on his back in the snow at the foot of the stairs. His eyes are wide open and staring up at the sky, and he is splayed in such a way that you would almost think that he fell or was unconcious… almost.
“What are you doing Nick?” I see his eyeballs move, but he ignores me. “Nick, come on, get in the house.” I open the door wider, but he doesn’t move. “Come ON! I know you can hear me!” I say, feeling the cold air sweep into our already freezing cold home. “Come in or I’m locking the doors.” (Too mean? Now I almost think I should have.)
He doesn’t move, doesn’t respond, won’t answer any of my questions. I shut the door, debate locking it, and end up leaving it open. I rummage through the kitchen again, still empty handed. I apologize to the baby, because I don’t have what it wants here in the house. Story of my life.
I return to reading. I fantasize about the Snickers bar in my sock drawer, but I only have that and a Three Musketeers left, and I don’t make any money until Thursday after lessons. I’m completely broke, (although Nick does owe me twenty bucks!) and my stash is almost gone. Not good. I leave the candy bars alone.
After an hour or so, I hear the door open and shut. Then silence.
I keep reading for another 15 minutes. Finally, after not hearing anything, I venture out into the freezing cold house AGAIN, and begin searching every room. I can’t find Nick.
Eventually the cats lead the way, and I find him in the bathroom at the other end of the house, head in the toilet. Figures. Could this Saturday suck anymore than it already has? (I had a no show on a showing in Finlayson today, who called 45 minutes later and said “I’m sorry, I was at the dollar store and lost track of time. We’re pulling up now. Hey… where are you?” When I told them I would turn around and come back, they said “Oh no, we have an auction to be to in McGregor in 15 minutes. Thanks anyway.” and hung up. Nearly half a tank of gas wasted, a good three hours, and I got out of bed early on a Saturday. Jerks.)
I ask him yes-no questions, (do you need water? Do you want to sit in the tub? Are you hungry? Do you think eating would help?) and watch him for a few moments. Nick is a COLD drunk – I don’t mean emotionally, but physically. He starts shivering endlessly, while at the same time breaking out into a sweat that drenches his clothes, leaving him even colder. Our thermostat, set at 55 degrees, couldn’t bring up the temp fast enough. I wander to the bedroom and unplug the electric heater, which has been keeping me warm. I drag it to the bathroom and plug it in, shutting the bathroom door. I return to the bedroom, shut the door to keep what’s left of my heat in, and crawl under the electric blanket.
I crack a book that I’ve nearly finished, and begin working through it. I hear Nick’s gagging and vomiting from the other end of the house and shake my head. I let him go for a little bit, decide it may be safe, and venture to the bathroom with a glass of water and a bucket.
“Here you go, in case you decide to venture out.” It’s like 74 degrees in the little bathroom already, and he’s still shivering. I’m sure lying in the snow for an hour didn’t help any.
I hear hiccups for a while, more barfing, more gagging, and his horse yelling outside. (I never did find out if he actually put his horse away. She sounded a lot closer than her pasture, and I have a feeling she’s tied to his truck bumper or something.) Soon everything quiets down, and I finish yet another book. I wake my laptop up to check email and play Scrabulous.
Finally, around 10:45, he ventures out on his own, leaving the heater in the bathroom running full blast. He is carrying water and the bucket, and without saying a word, he crawls into the bed. I’m glaring at his back, thinking about how if he pukes on my sleep number bed, or the new sheets that I just put on while he was lying in the snow, I will KILL him. I made an executive decision to spend a significant amount of money on a REAL BED for us, which left me broke after the IMMEDIATE bills I paid out of my $5,800 commission in January. If he damaged any of it… it would mean death. I could have had FOOD in this house instead! (I, for the record, do NOT regret buying this bed. We slept on a futon for FIVE YEARS, and while I’m pretty sure Nick feels much better, I sleep much better, seem to be a little more cheerful, have more energy, and don’t hurt so bad. I also love the fact that I can soften it enough that I can still lay on my stomach every once and a while and not feel any pressure whatsoever.)
I ask if it would bother him if I ate something, and he said “Yeah, I’ll probably barf. Besides, you got dinner.” I LOST it. “I didn’t eat anything! I waited and waited for your dumb ass to get home so that we could make chicken parmesan!”
“Well go eat that.” He mutters, crawling under the covers.
“I DIDN’T MAKE THAT! I WAS WAITING FOR YOU!”
I would say it was only about two minutes before he was out cold. He’s sleeping soundly at a sleep number of 60, and I’m starving and pissy on my 40.
I sit there, staring at him, and can’t help but be pissy. Hormones? Maybe. But he was gone all last weekend, (while I was dealing with family issues, etc.) when I really wanted him around. I waited all week for this stupid weekend, so that I could have MY turn to spend time with him, and he spends the whole day gone and comes home completely wasted, stinks up my whole house with Windsor puke, and then crawls into bed and passes out immediately. I’m so hungry I want to eat the dogs, but at the same time the smell of the alcohol on him is so strong I want to barf. My house is a freezing 55 degrees, and if I go sleep somewhere else, I’ll freeze my tushy off and hurt like a bitch in the morning.
And there’s a part of me that keeps screaming the same old, time-tested thought – “WHY DO YOU GET TO HAVE ALL THE FUN WHILE I SIT AT HOME GROWING A BABY IN MY STOMACH???”
So there. I’ve vented. Tomorrow I may have some rationality, and may say “wow, those pregnancy hormones last night… they were insane.”
Although I doubt it.

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