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Road rage is worse at home
2006-09-19, 1:01 a.m.

Hmmm... I think I'm fighting with my husband. Or rather... I think he's fighting with me.

Last night wasn't a very good night for us. Actually, I should probably write off the whole weekend if we're being honest. After a bit of a communication issue on Saturday night, followed by me coming home from work on Sunday to find him still visiting his parents where he had eaten dinner (which meant that I was, unbeknownst to me, on my own for dinner and ened up not actually eating anything), I became fairly depressed. I was truly useless for anything other than tending to the baby last night (which I can usually manage no matter what because he tends to be an "upper" for me). Well, I tend to cycle pretty quickly, and as I told him, I just needed some time to "get over it." That's what I do. Luckily my depressions don't take me down for days, weeks, etc. I'm pretty much a day-by-day psychopath and it works for me.

Well, today was much better and things were okay. When I came home tonight he started to tell me about how he nearly got into an accident on his way to take Jack to his new daycare (a whole other story) and then off to school for himself. I was listening intently when he gets to the part about blaring the horn and giving the nice lady, who was being a hell-bitch and caused the whole near miss, the one-finger salute. Jeff knows I generally don't approve of such things and double that when we're talking about it going on in front of the baby. He is generally a very calm guy, but can get fired up in a hurry over traffic and a few assorted other issues. I calmly pointed out to him that I wished he wouldn't do that around the baby, and for some reason I was wrong in doing so. He actually got quite upset with me. Tomorrow he'll tell me I was yelling at him. That's not really how I remember it.

Besides that, he has a beautiful ability to always pick the exactly right thing to say in these situations that will cause me to have no sympathy for him at all. Tonight it was, "What else was I supposed to do???" My answer to that, and by this time I was a little cheesed-off, where I wasn't when I originally made the statement, was, "...because profanity always fixes everything..." I think that was the last thing I said. He finished loading the dishwasher and went to bed without a word. I was a little surprised in that, though I don't know why.

I don't think I'm necessarily wrong in this. I hope he wakes up in a little more reasonable mood.

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