mood swing
March 20, 2006, 6:54 P.M.

I had such a nice weekend. So good I'm almost sorry, for it only points up the spirit-crushing hell that is now my work week.

After I posted on Friday, I took a satisfying and rejuvenating nap. I was therefore able to stay up and make dinner for Spouse, without too much strain. As requested, dinner was fettucini with meat sauce, tossed salad, and garlic bread. And I threw in a pan full of (sugar)cookie dough lumps and baked them up fresh for his dessert. He really enjoyed it, but not so much that he felt disposed to rub my neck and shoulders this time.

I rinsed things off in the kitchen and hit the sack, for I knew I'd be up early for dog-walking and housework duties.

Raji let me sleep till six, and then wanted a long and luxurious cuddle in bed. I accommodated her demand, and then got up an threw on sweats, sneakers, and a hat and let her drag me around the neighborhood for half-an-hour. When we got home, I kicked back for coffee and quiet time while Spouse slept.

I had assumed he would be getting up and going to work at some point, but at 9:30 he woke up and informed me he would be calling in. He's so fed up with that place, I think he's trying to get fired. He told me when he came in Friday night that he'd been on the carpet for mouthing off to the plant manager. So it sounds like he just doesn't care at this point.

Typical behavior for him, actually. And not so much triggered by his job dissatisfaction, but by mine. Historically, every single time my job turned to unbearable shit, and I mentioned that I couldn't take much more and was thinking of quitting--his response was to run right out and quit his job. Leaving me to soldier on in the breadwinning department. Apparently, it is not, and has never been, my prerogative to quit. (Consequently, the last time I was able to say "fuck this shit, I'm outa here" was in 1985.)

And after twenty years and innumerable occurrences, I'm so used to it that I can't manage much more than a rueful chuckle.

But I digress. Once he said he wasn't going to work, I made it clear that there was plenty to be done around the house, and if I had to spend my day off on that, so did he.

He went to get a haircut and managed to be gone for three and a half hours*.

Clever, no? By the time he came home, I had swept, scrubbed, washed, dried, vacuumed, dusted, polished, laundered, folded, and put away about 90% of the housework. And myself, in the bargain.

I'm kinda glad he got out of my hair, to tell the truth. I got a phenomenal amount of work done, and ended up feeling pretty good about myself for the first time since I got home from Vegas. So I was in the mood to enjoy myself come afternoon. We went out to lunch and ran some errands, then came home and relaxed for a while. I finished my book, and he napped.

Around five, I headed out to pick up Niece (who lives about 25 miles away). And oh, did that prove a difficult endeavor! I had to go to three gas stations before I found one that actually had GAS. Once I filled up, I went in to pay, only to find a police officer brow-beating the young woman behind the counter. He had her in tears, and was threatening to have her up for obstruction of justice because she dared to say that a witness probably made a mistake. Once he'd realized I'd come in, he shut up and left.

Well, of course, that poor woman had to cry it all out on my shoulder. Apparently, sometime that day, there had been a hit-and-run (of a car) at her apartment complex. A witness had stated to the police that they believed the culprit had exited this poor clerk's apartment prior to the wreck. So our lovely, dedicated men in blue decided that it must be her fault. Never mind that she had been at work all day, that she lived alone and had no one visiting her. Either she was covering for herself, or a friend. The policeman judge, jury, and executioner had decided it was signed, sealed, and delivered.

So after all of that, and fighting traffic, and hitting every stoplisht between my house and hers, and driving for half an hour into a blindingly bright setting sun, I picked up the niece. And we turned around and headed back to town.

We got to the theater at exactly the right time, though. And I proceeded to sit through "Tweeny Twelfth Night". It did no permanent damage to Shakespeare. Amanda Bynes was a trifle more annoying than she usually is--at least when she's being Sebastian. And at that, she was still vastly less annoying than any other tween star. Seeing this with Niece, I kind of watched through her eyes, and saw a main character that was going to let nothing stop her from attaining her goal, and was willing to work hard and long to improve her skills as an athlete. I saw a girl who answered her boyfriend's macho, sexist posturing in exactly the right way--first by promptly cutting him loose, and secondly, by answering is criticism of her skills with an indisputable show of excellence. Who has a well-developed sense of self, and doesn't worry about being criticized for all she isn't--because that isn't who she wants to be.

As for the rest of the cast, Julie Hagerty and David Cross were amazing, Vinnie Jones was authentic, and the guy who played Duke came across and sweet and sensitive, which ain't bad for a jock/underwear model.

As I said, Shakespeare has not sustained serious injury. I've spent $7.50 on worse, and Niece and I had a very good time together. So it was worth seeing.

After the show, we headed home and ordered fried chicken delivered, and baked up some cookie dough lumps whaile we waited. Chocolate chip this time.

Niece surprised the bejabbers out of me by falling asleep as soon as she'd eaten. We tried to get her up and into her jammies, but ended up just tucking a pillow under her head, throwing a blanket over her, and turning out the light. Spouse and I were pretty happy, really. We were both more than ready for bed, and glad she'd zonked out.

I got up at six next morning, and did the usual catering to the dog. It being a sunny and crisp morning, we took an extra-long walk, and even circled through the nearby park. We were gone nearly an hour, and returned to coffee brewing and Spouse frying bacon and flipping pancakes. Very homey and pleasant on a bright Sunday morning. Everyone had a nice breakfast, and then Spouse and Niece lounged around watching "Billy Madison" (her choice) while I did the dishes. After everyone got cleaned up and dressed, we hit the road for McHenry, and the Meijer.

$200.00 worth of grocery shopping later (some of it was for a food drive), we dropped her off at home and pointed ourselves East so I could go home and put all of that away.

Which I did. And some fridge/freezer cleanout in the bargain. Spouse, having carried half of it in, considered his job to be done, and wathed TV while I toiled. And once I'd finished, he escaped to the bedroom for a nap. This pleased me, actually. Because I was free to watch (behold, the power of cheese!)"The Reincarnation of Peter Proud"!!!! Which had arrived on Saturday.

Man, this movie is a triumph of achievment. It encompasses nearly all of what is horrendous in 1970's movies. Muddy lighting, hideous 1970s interior design, new-age themes and the Jerry Goldsmith-penned "Outer Limits"-style soundtrack to go with them, seizure-inducing jump cuts...plus loads of gratuitous nudity--both female anterior and male posterior. And lots of smoking, drinking, and swearing, much of which I was seeing for the first time. Having previously seen the film on broadcast TV, and once on a heavily edited VHS cut, I was surprised at the swearing and much of the nudity.

But not of the much-mentioned-but-always-cut, famous, historical, legendary Margot Kidder Bathtub Masturbation Scene! I was totally looking forward to finally seeing that for myself. It failed to live up to its hype, but really--after thirty years, how could it not?

Soooo nice to get another look at Michael Sarrazin in his prime, though. Impossibly long-limbed and lanky, with those piercing eyes and that dark and tousled mop of hair. Wooof!

I also began a rather ambitious beading project. Not ambitious from a technique standpoint, but on the design side. A great deal of thought required as to exactly what I wanted to do. And nothing is written in stone--I'm casting a critical eye over it at every turn, and perfectly willing to unstring a gross or two of seed beads and start over, if necessary.

And last night, we had our corned beef. I had cannily waited until after the 17th to buy a brisket, because they come cheap then. And what a buy I did get--a perfectly gorgeous first cut flat brisket, around three pounds. Cooked up like a dream in the slow-cooker, fork tender. I steamed some red potatoes and baby carrots to go with. Mmmmm.

And that, in nauseating detail, is my weekend.

*Yes. I am aware that he is spoiled, lazy, selfish, undisciplined, inconsiderate, and manipulative. I am aware that he exploits me shamelessly and provides next to nothing in return. No one needs to alert me to any of that.

wt 268
Still experiencing signifcant pain and fatigue in my left leg--upper and lower. It seems like it's taking forever to recover. And that persistent and annoying heel pain in my right foot hasn't let up. But I worked through it for as long as I could. I have to--I need to do something about the way the weight is shooting upwards again.