I Hate Morning

   I hate morning.  Well, let me clear that up- I hate morning when I have to get up and there are others in the house I have to cater to.  Waking up alone, with just the dogs and birds, when I have no place I need to go is wonderful. Other than that waking up is just the preamble to what I have to do for everyone else.

This morning was a real treat because not only did I get to wake up in the middle of the night to an invasion of the dogs into our upstairs sanctuary (read:  no dogs allowed), I got to hear complaints about the water temperature not being what it ought to be and about socks not getting washed.

   I was also accused of being passive-aggressive (again) because I wash only my clothes and not his (I wash both and he knows it) and that I never argue back (I don’t).  I can’t win when I do so what’s the point? It’s wasted breath as far as I’m concerned.  I could use that breath elsewhere.  Plus, I don’t know how long it’ll take him to get it through his head, I wasn’t raised that way and I’m not going to change.  Just because he was brought up in a house of arguers doesn’t mean that’s the right way to do things.

   It was a great morning.

   And now I want to text him to see how his day is going but I feel like if I do I’m caving and he needs to make his words up to me, which he did try to do, but way too soon for me to feel forgiving.  Sometimes I hate myself for the little game of sabotage I play on my relationships.  It is a covert operation and it’s only going to end up with me being alone and him feeling like something awful.

   So I will text him and check in, and we will go to class in the evening together, and I will have the next several days off to catch up on sleep and chores.  If all goes well we won’t have this argument again for a couple months.  If all goes well is the key…