He used the computer (he's on restriction); I didn't lock the computer before I went to bed.
He took a shower...during the time period The Mister would normally take a shower.
This is what I heard this morning. From bed. All before 5:30 this morning. The news came approximately every THREE minutes. While I was lying in bed, pretending that life was good, and I could sleep. Door closed. Door opened. Every THREE minutes.
The Mister is the family reporter. The Boy had a busy morning. He says he got up at 4 am. Maybe 5. He's not sure.
And all of this is MY FAULT. I constantly catch hell for The Boy.
Everything is my fault. Global warming? I did it.
Financial system meltdown? Blame me.
Housing bubble? Me.
Cat puking on carpet? You guessed it - my fault, entirely.
I got dressed in yesterday's clothes. Stumbled through the house. Screamed at The Boy to GET OUT OF THE SHOWER. NOW. Hit my own head against the wall once to stop the voices, I knew I needed to escape.
Sat in the car, doors locked. Windows up. Just to not hear any more news bulletins.
It's a great place, this world we live in, where it is a 24-hour news cycle - the news came to me. Knocked on the car window. Final update.
I had flashbacks. I was a young girl again, when my mom would come into my room, in the dead of night, and SCREAM at me to clean something. Covers ripped off. Water poured on my sleepy head. Get up, dammit.
I married my mother? It took all of my inner resources not to call him Ruth.
When The Mister reads this, expect more Hell.
Go here for my original post for today.