Things to do tonight:
Hotsync the Visor with stuff I'm going to be working on while in Florida.
Pack up the Goodwill box in the basement.
Do the damned dishes.
Finish up the barcodes.
Pack the rest of my bag*, do a couple more loads of laundry.
Eat a salad for supper.
Put the ground beef in freezer bags before I forget about it.
---------------
*I talked to Mom last night.
"One bag, right?" she asks.
"Well, two, my backpack and my suitcase."
"Okay."
"There will be space in the van, right? There will be one extra seat."
"Yeah. You'll get the backseat to yourself and Jess and Ellen can have the middle seat."
"Good."
"Although we'll be tight when all seven of us are driving around, but that won't be fifteen hours in the van, either."
"That should work okay."
We will be sardines, but hey. I'm not complaining.
-------------------------------------
So anyway. Someone is trying to be nice. Someone is actually being a decent human being, and I've been bitchy to him all week long. *g* Gee. I should have tried this ages ago. I think I might let up on the bitchiness for the rest of the week, though. Although he didn't end up doing the dishes...
Conversation last night when he got home:
"My jeans and shirt need to go in the wash right away or they'll be ruined." (when he walks in the door.)
"Okay..." I say.
So he gets in the shower, and I put his jeans and shirt in the washer (while the shower is running, I am so evil...) and then I walk upstairs and go, "I'm not your maid, you know."
"Fine. Leave them there. I'll take care of it myself."
"They're already in the washer," I say, "but it would have been nice to have a 'Hi, honey, how was your day' or something before you asked me nicely to put your dirty clothes in the washer. That's all."
So afterwards, he comes into the office, kisses, me and tells me he's sorry. See? No yelling. Hell hath frozen over.
But that's my whole point, really. I hate being taken advantage of. I hate being the "Oh, she always does it." person or having to pick up behind another adult. Maybe perhaps he is learning, maybe perhaps he is just figuring out I'm not really going to miss being bossed around while in Florida. Who knows. But we shall see.
And I have no idea who won the hockey game last night; he fell asleep in the middle of it and I ended up turning the TV off around eleven. They were tied and going into overtime, then. Can you tell I care about hockey soooo much?
Hotsync the Visor with stuff I'm going to be working on while in Florida.
Pack up the Goodwill box in the basement.
Do the damned dishes.
Finish up the barcodes.
Pack the rest of my bag*, do a couple more loads of laundry.
Eat a salad for supper.
Put the ground beef in freezer bags before I forget about it.
---------------
*I talked to Mom last night.
"One bag, right?" she asks.
"Well, two, my backpack and my suitcase."
"Okay."
"There will be space in the van, right? There will be one extra seat."
"Yeah. You'll get the backseat to yourself and Jess and Ellen can have the middle seat."
"Good."
"Although we'll be tight when all seven of us are driving around, but that won't be fifteen hours in the van, either."
"That should work okay."
We will be sardines, but hey. I'm not complaining.
-------------------------------------
So anyway. Someone is trying to be nice. Someone is actually being a decent human being, and I've been bitchy to him all week long. *g* Gee. I should have tried this ages ago. I think I might let up on the bitchiness for the rest of the week, though. Although he didn't end up doing the dishes...
Conversation last night when he got home:
"My jeans and shirt need to go in the wash right away or they'll be ruined." (when he walks in the door.)
"Okay..." I say.
So he gets in the shower, and I put his jeans and shirt in the washer (while the shower is running, I am so evil...) and then I walk upstairs and go, "I'm not your maid, you know."
"Fine. Leave them there. I'll take care of it myself."
"They're already in the washer," I say, "but it would have been nice to have a 'Hi, honey, how was your day' or something before you asked me nicely to put your dirty clothes in the washer. That's all."
So afterwards, he comes into the office, kisses, me and tells me he's sorry. See? No yelling. Hell hath frozen over.
But that's my whole point, really. I hate being taken advantage of. I hate being the "Oh, she always does it." person or having to pick up behind another adult. Maybe perhaps he is learning, maybe perhaps he is just figuring out I'm not really going to miss being bossed around while in Florida. Who knows. But we shall see.
And I have no idea who won the hockey game last night; he fell asleep in the middle of it and I ended up turning the TV off around eleven. They were tied and going into overtime, then. Can you tell I care about hockey soooo much?
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