Do you know what makes a snarky day even better? Covering it in chocolate snarky syrup with a snarky cherry and some snarky caramel. Why? Because every thing tastes better smothered in caramel. Where did ya'll grow up? Mars? Yes I said caramel ... and I pronounce it care-a-mell ... because I can.
There has been a lot of passive aggressive posturing, snarkiness, whining and lets just face it, bitchiness around these parts. Sometimes I can't help but wish that the husband was back to buffer me from his mother. Than I remember that it's best he's gone for the next 3 months so he doesn't have to pick sides.
I know. I know. I know that's it's her nicotine-withdrawn diet-starved anxiety-pushing-depression-off-a-cliff mood swings talking and not her normal ambivilant hobbitness but OMYFREAKINGOLLUM. (I'm not sure why this post is so LOTR themed so moving on.) When I hear her merrily HAPPILY prattling on Skype (through the door and up the stairwell) to her gaming BFF in Australia or her son-in-law in Oregon or the few other people she talks to outside her selfexiledprison room I see green. I feed her and take her shopping and buy her WHATEVER.SHE.WANTS and go to work and deliberately stay out of her hair and yet she's not passively aggressively shrugging or sniping at Them only ME. I'm finally the fishwife. (Oh husband you have no idea the amount of guilt crowding the last nerves of my brain every time I think of the experience of you dealing with me on fertility hormones.) It seriously is driving me bonkers. They see her as Mother Teresa and I'm the fool.
I know. I know. I know I have numerous awesome local friends here who would rescue me. They have couches and televisions and WoW capabilities and spare rooms. But I want my house! I want my room! I want to be able to tuck her away into a box and mail her to Timbuktoo so I can have a few moments of peace in my Sanctuary! I want to be able to focus on diets, exercise, God, my friends. Instead all I see is HER. I'M Meeeeeltinngggg. Please laugh with me. It's like having my own personal hormone riddled teenage girl - EXCEPT I'VE NEVER BEEN A MOTHER. Damn you Ovaries!
I've decided on a plan of action. A Survival Mode if you will. I am fully conquering my 3rd floor. I'm ceding ground. I'm temporarily relocating my computer and a bucket of my daily yarn project to my room. I'm not telling her I'm just sneaking it in and stoving myself into the bunker by the light of the moon. The livingroom can remain Switzerland. We will share movies and the antics of The Closer, Criminal Minds and NCIS. When we pout we both can hole up in our caves. Neither can take possession of the nuetral ground.* Wish me luck and the right combination of warpaint and tranquilizers to keep her oblivious.
While I'm hiding like a morose and roundly beaten pet I'd like to thank @MamaPop, @JiveTurkey (also here!), Kristine@WaitInTheVan, @Amalah, @MoxieBird and TWIN, your peachy attitudes and cherubic behavior has been helping me cling to the sanity of my padded walls.
P.S. I must admit that I bought her a pack of cigarettes today. It was like my own little flag-of-truce. She wouldn't let me call the doctor to ask for a reprieve from thinking it sane for her to attempt (emphasis on attempting with a piss-poor attitude) to cut her chain-smoking habit and a harsh diet at the same time. So I took matters into my own hands. You either smoke or you eat. You won't be doing both on nights like tonight. Once I've gone to ground, and restocked your fridge with diet material, I'll hide the cigs again.
p.p.s. YES I'm sure eventually it will get better but today I beat ny head into my desk in a firm and rhythmatic tone. wump. wump. wump.
*I'm fully reclaiming Switzerland when the Boy returns. He plays CoD and my attention withdrawn ADHD will require constant reaffirmation of contact, touch and commentary. In the flesh babe.