We talked last night. A lot. I had written this *HUGE* rant, and then didn’t post it. On my way to bed, she looks at me, like we’re peachy keen and asks “Are you OK?”
Like I’m going to be all bubbles and smiles and say ‘Sure, never better.” The answer was, of course, “NO”
After a brief detour to clean the catbox (ohmigod, you cannot talk seriously about something when the bathroom smells like cat piss) I let it out. Everything I had been holding back, or posting here, or biting my tongue over. The anger, The confusion, the sadness.
The fact that I loved her more than I could ever imagine, but that I didn’t exactly like her or myself right then.
The feelings of inadequacy and of hopelessness. Everything I’ve been putting here under lock and key , and stuff I had just built up in the last day or so.
Truth doesn’t always equal beauty, but it will set you free. out biggest problem is, of course, that we haven’t been talking. or that it’s timed badly. Work time s not the time to tell me I’m not home enough. between dinner and bedtime is a bad time to tell her that I’m confused as to what’s going on. And putting on a happy face when asked “Are you OK” when you aren’t is a bad thing. And constant complaints leads to unhappy Daddies.
So we’re talking again. Which, while not a total fix is a step in the right direction. At least I’m not considering sleeping on the floor any more.