One NEW Day At A TimDay 19 & 2
Day 34
Thursday, September 25, 2014
It’s still only Wednesday night, but I feel like
writing. I’ve been screamed at today to
stop, but I am anyway.
The day started out OK, even considering it was chilly and
pouring rain almost all day. Once again,
DN got mad at me because I didn’t want to walk all the way to the shopping
center in the rain. Turned out she hadn’t
gotten *all* the facts,. OK, to clear
things up: DNa is a nurse. DN2 is muy “flatmate. DN3 lives on the other side of the
world. So, DN1 picked us up and treated
us to lunch. Nice.
She took DN(2) to her appointment. I finished going through the boxes on the
floor.
DN got home, took a nap.
Then all crashed. She wanted to
change the plans for tomorrow, and I had the nerve to object. She got mad at me .. as usual. Then I made the HUGE mistake of venting to
DN1.
Long story short, DN1 axewMWS r mw ro arop xomplININF IN
WMila. Rhwn ahw apwnr rhw ewar od rhw
wcwninf ahur in hwe eoom.
I apwnr rhw ewar od rhw wcwninf qiahinf I Hs my homw NS MY
HUAVns Vxk.
I nwELY POLIAHWS ODD
vorrlw od qinw .. vur nor sonw ywr.
I know, I’m not supposed to say anything, complain or vent or
anything. And if anyone dares to comment
on my blog, DN2 will likely scream at me again.
I hope I have enough wine to last me the next 11 months. I
just don’t want to be here. I want my
home back, mice and bugs and all. I ant
my husband back. I want my *real* life
back.
Please, whoever bothers to read this, DO NOT call or email
DN and fuss at her. It does not help,
just makes things worse. It’s all my fault you know. I’m over emotional, over sensitive, over
stupid, whatever. I tried standing up
for myself. It just made things
worse.
I hope I have enough .. or can get enough .. wine to make it
through 11 more months. I will live in a
cardboard box under a bridge before I continue to be treated like this.
I know, it’s my own fault. Sorry,
I just don’t like to be yelled at and I *try* to be conciliatory (pretty good
word for a whole bottle of wine) .. but it just doesn’t work. I never know when I’m going to say the wrong
thing. I just cannot meekly accept
orders to do this or that. And I’m
pretty sick of being told how good the “exercise=ze” is for me whenever she
wants to force me to do what she wants
to do. I’m to the point that I don’t
care about stupid exercise!!
Bottle of wine is empty.
I guess it’s time to go to sleep.
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