I hate having things sprung on me. It doesn't really matter what they are, usually, I just hate it. I hate having no notice. I hate feeling rushed. I hate feeling like something has just been dropped on my shoulders and I have to make good, NOW. I do not deal with pressure well.
I have a tension headache, I'm angry, but I'm sure Chris would say, well at least you are up. Yeah, thank you very fucking much.
This morning, as he was leaving for work, Chris dropped the delightful bombshell on me that he'd invited a friend of his over for dinner tonight. The table is covered in crap - left over from the search for my beloved necklace yesterday, his clothes and bag are strewn all over the couch, his dirty laundry is in the bathroom, I've got clothes in a pile, hell ALL my clothes are on display in clear bins that aren't under the bed as my shawl is blocking under there, but yeah, lets have guests over?!? Not to even mention the fucking disaster in the kitchen! It would serve him bloody well right if I just left everything right where it was!
But I can't. And I hate myself for it. I'm a woman. I feel the pressures women feel. Even if I did work, I'd still feel like it was my obligation, and not his to keep this place neat and tidy. But I don't work. I'm a kept woman, so the pressure is doubly there, though, it feels more like triple. I don't work, so what do I do with myself, I must keep a clean home, I mean, what else is there for me to do? I need to contribute in some way. Right? I know that's what everyone expects of me. Feminist or not, no matter now forward thinking you think you are, if you were raised in this society, it's been ingrained in you that it's a woman's place to keep the home.
Fuck. And if you don't work, as a woman, you are like the lowest form of human. Pity and disgust are the most often reactions, usually waring in my judges - working, self-sufficient people. I must be an awful good maid/cook/personal gofer, or why would anyone keep me? Not a lot of respect. None most of the time. The worst part is, I spent over a year looking for work, only to realise, I wasn't capable of holding a job, even if I managed to get one. My health is not that good. Fucking fibro sucks the life right out of me.
I'm better now than I was then, but I still couldn't do it. I couldn't do 8 hours or more a day 5 days a week. I don't have the energy. Even if it was a desk job! I couldn't. I would burn out in a month and spend the next month bedridden, exhausted, and in too much pain to get up and be useful, or to even sleep. I know. I tried working retail part time. I couldn't do it. After a month my feet were so sore I was limping and sobbing as I walked up/down stairs. I spent a month in bed off my feet. My feet throbbed, I iced my knees, I could get no rest, I barely slept - I was in too much pain for either. I do not want to go through that again!
But I've gone off topic...
This was about being sprung with company. My biggest issue is the place is a freaking mess, he's going off to work, and the assumption is I'm going to drop all my plans for today so I can play hostess to his guest, and clean everything up for him, like I always fucking do. I love him. I do. But I'm always the one cleaning up, and putting things away. I swear to the gods this man doesn't put a gods damn thing back in it's place! It drives me mad!
I've spent the morning cleaning up. The kitchen is still a disaster, the floors are still filthy, and now I have to get ready, because I have a fucking appointment this afternoon.
I'm so angry I'm seriously tempted to leave the rest of the mess, and just not be home tonight. He can fucking take care of it himself and entertain his own fucking guest. He said 7:30pm. Do you know how many times in the past two weeks Chris has even been home by 7:30pm?! Maybe twice. And he's on call until Thursday. Want to bet he's late today? And who is going to entertain his guest, this perfect stranger? Me. Yeah. Me.
Thanks for the fucking warning!
And I've told him!! I've told him I would hate to have a dinner guest sprung upon me the morning of! It happens in A&E's Pride & Prejudice!!! I was watching it just last week. We had a fucking conversation about it! I told him how I'd hate it. He didn't see the issue. Of course not. It's not his fucking responsibility to make sure the place is clean, neat, and tidy, to make sure it's ready to receive guests, it's not his responsibility to plan and prepare dinner. He just has to fucking show up. What does he care! Well, I fucking care!! I told him so!! It doesn't matter if he bloody well understands why I care! It matters that he know, he fucking knows I care!!
And yet he still springs a guest on me. He's known since Wednesday!!! He fucking invited him his gods damn self on Wednesday!! He could have said something over the weekend! He could have fucking said something before this morning!
He knew I had plans today!! He knew it. I told him last night! He's known since fucking Friday when I booked my appointment to take my beloved Mac in that I had things to do today!
And yet I'm supposed to drop my plans to I can take care of his. I know his answer would be that he didn't expect me to do that. But how the fuck am I supposed to clean this place AND get everything I want done as well?! He fucking knows I'm not a normal, healthy person. I don't have the same fucking energy he does. I can't DO as much. Fibro wears me out faster, and the more tired I get, the more I hurt. He knows. He sees me live it. And yet...
I have to go get ready or I'm going to be late. I'm so not impressed. I was hoping ranting would cool my anger, but it's still very much there.
And where the fuck am I going to put my clothes?!?!?!?!? I don't want some stranger looking at my underwear!!!!!!!! Bastard. Thanks for thinking of me!