Doc Mick’s meds have made me sick and irritable. He says this is normal, and as long as I don’t see blood in my stool or vomit, I’m ok.
I feel pretty bad, emotionally, too. Last night I was mean and nasty to my husband, and today he’s asking me where I want to go out to eat. It started over him washing laundry Tuesday afternoon. Having a husband who does laundry is like having unlimited money. It’s great for people who don’t have it, but then you realise how lonely or annoyed it can make you. My husband washing laundry throws off my entire system. We live out of antique Bonnet Collection dressers and shelves, so we can’t have too many clean clothes at once. I needed clean socks. He washed underwear. Every dirty pair in the house. After I had just washed us enough to last through the month. He always does things like this. Washes the sheets when there are too many on the shelves, washes clothes when there’s no place to put the clean clothes. I have underwear and socks mixed in with jeans and tees. It just drives me nutso. I must be obsessive compulsive.
It’s my fault. I encouraged this. I told him he did a great job organising the closet with the plastic totes for my shoes and the bags for our smaller dirty items so they wouldn’t fall from the basket and get lost behind my trunk. Oh, and I always praise him when I come home to find the mountain of dirty laundry we pile up at the foot of the bed has been sorted and put in the right baskets and bags in the closet. Those little things I really don’t mind, but please don’t wash the clothes! Aside from the fact that we rarely have a place to put clean clothes, when he washes them, he doesn’t use fabric softner, nor does he dry them properly. Sometimes the socks come unwound and the strings wrap around other parts of the laundry, where the middles don’t dry because they’re wadded together. Then he dries everything on extremely high heat so it shrinks. All those brand new pairs of underwear, shrunk three sizes smaller.
Looking back, that was hardly anything to get upset about. It was certainly no reason for me to tell him what I did. I feel bad about it, especially since we’re getting ready to go out and eat tonight, and he’s taking me out tonight and tomorrow night to kind of give me a mini-vacation before I have to undergo those treatments. I doubt I’ll want to do much of anything that I don’t have to after I start them. To make me feel worse, he’s making me DVDs of old Monkees episodes, and he has all of them downloaded, because he remembered I loved that show when it was coming on as re-runs in 1986.
In other words, I don’t deserve what I have. I know this more than anyone else can tell me.
Last, I feel badly because I had to work a double shift. Lance called in until next week. I was the only on there when he called, so I volunteered to take the shift, then split his other days up between Michelle and Judson.