Thursday

Deep breath, Kim. Breathe in and then out. Again. Breathe in and then out.

Apparently, I should have kept taking the pills. I really thought that quitting for the summer was the BEST thing because I have been sailing through these last two-three weeks. Yesturday I felt little twinges of anxiety but chalked it up to a busy, busy, busy day and a small $200 financial mistake on my part. (After all, even normal people feel stressed at times. However, their stress does not lead to a downward spiral due to not knowing when the psycho bus ride will ever end. Two hours, two days, two months? And then you start feeling anxiety about the fact that you are feeling anxious and how counterproductive that is.) Then Bart said something last night and put me over the edge. (I hesitate to even say this because I know that he is just a unintentional stupid man who has been married to a woman that has worked and taken care of the house at the same time for9 whole years.) He said "I have to get after your mom for not doing her job and getting my laundry done. My running shorts have not been washed in ages and they were in the hamper just waiting for her." When he saw my aghast look, he completed putting his entire head up his butt by finishing, "I mean, that is what you are staying home to do, right?"

Stop right here. Even in my panic attack, I have to say that in all the years we have been married, Bart has never said anything to me about laundry or the cleaning of the house. He doesn't care. Granted, that means that he doesn't do a darn thing himself around the house. It may be a far out myth or maybe a bit of folklore, but I have heard that there are men out there that don't do a thing and still complain about their wives housekeeping skills. If he doesn't have any clothes to wear, he does a load of laundry without saying one word to me. Yes, the load is all of his clothes only but he takes care of the problem. It has been a source of pride that my husband was smart enough, nice enough, pc enough to not make those laundry comments. And then he went and did it.

There is still so much a part of myself that feels the need to work. To have my existence validated by a paycheck. And yet when you put it that way, I want to gag. Not only Bart, but myself sees importance in contributing to the workforce and getting paid for it. But to let it define me is so backassward. I am trying so hard to FEEL the importance of staying home as much as I rationally know the significance of it. And so obviously, I took that comment a little harder than I should have. But I know that it is more than what Bart says or thinks. It is what I think.

But the panic attack makes it all about what I FEEL. And right now I just want to run away to work and hide under my paid for desk.