The trouble with unemployment is the amount of time it gives you to think.
For a person suffering from anxiety attacks and depression, lots of time to think is not neccessarily a good idea.
Now, combine that with a husband who works all the time at a bar in a hotel and an Asian girl who has some serious control issues and you get one very freaked out, crazy girl. In case I have to spell it out for you, that my friends is no bueno.
So when my husband comes home late, or if he doesn’t answer the phone, or when he opens the bar and he is pulling a 12 hour shift for reasons unforseen, I turn into crazy pyscho bitch. You think I would be used to this by now seeing as he has worked this job for, oh I don’t know, like 2 years now? But it has never gotten easier
When he came home one night and told me his coworkers were giving him grief because I call him at work when I think he should be off (did I tell you I was a woman obsessed?) I sniffed. He told me when the phone rings and it is for him everyone turns to him and says in this high squeaky voice (which I find very offensive by the way. I have been told I should be a phone sex call girl my voice is just that sexy) “Are you coming home yet?”. I growled to myself not wanting to admit it was true. I worry when he isn’t home. So I stiffen my upper lip (I read that in a Laura Ingalls Wilder book once and endevoured to use it often) and decided I was not going to call to check anymore.
I have to tell you, it is killing me. As I watch reruns of Law and Order: SVU, I wonder what is keeping him. I get mad at his clients (that I make up) in my head that are probably keeping him from coming back home to me. I curse the stupid new bartender because I just know she is holding him back because she is so incompetent. I wonder if the bar closed early and he and his coworkers decided to go across the street to a different bar where their friends are working and have a couple drinks. Then I worry that he might drink too much and might get into a car accident. (Now you see why my sister thinks I am insufferable?)
I cannot wait till I have a job. I cannot wait till he get to leave this one.
Everytime I call home and mother and I get to talking about Cory’s job she tsked and mentions (once again, for the trillionth time) that his position puts him in a really bad place, with really bad girls, and really bad … you get the picture. She lowers her voice conspiratorially, “you know how men are…” Um, no, I don’t know how men are. Apparently mom has been around the block a time or two more than she would care to admit if she apparently knows more than I do!
So what to do? I pretend (sometimes more successfully than others) that I am the loving patient wife waiting for her husband to come home to me. I stay up late every night even if it is just to give him a kiss goodnight and let him tuck me into bed and cuddle me for a little while we pillow talk about all the things we missed in each other’s life that day. I plaster a smile on my face (my teeth might be gritted together but he doesn’t know that) so he can see a happy smiling (trying) face the first thing he gets home after a long day of work (if Arden the Beagle doesn’t get his pant leg first) because I know he works long hours and late nights for me. That he is trying the best he can till I can get a job stable enough for him to cut back his hours to part time and go to school full-time. That he wants to be the best employee he can be even if he doesn’t see himself at this job for the forseeable future (hopefully!) because that is just his work ethic.
How many bullet have you bitten and what sacrifices do you make for the good of your relationship?
~ I am obsessed with the look of vintage alarm clocks these days. The more colorful the better. You can get the ones above at this lovely store