Okay, I admit that my last post about Drogo was written out of my own irritation, and I'm glad that I have this safe place to vent and not go pouring my wrath upon him whenever I have fleeting feelings.

What I do have right now, though is kittens "helping" me to blog.

They are climbing on my hands and the keyboard and popping up between my arm and my side. It's pretty adorable.

Anyway, back to my admittance… I think Drogo just needed some time to, you know, be all grouchy and moody and whatever, and now he's getting over it. I pretty much decided that I was just gonna hold off and not really interact with him beyond passing conversation (i.e. not seek him out and "try to make things better") because I realized that women need a closeness when things are going wrong. We want to connect, to draw together, to be reassured and to talk and know that it's all gonna be okay etc. Men aren't like that. They want to be apart, to do productive things that will assure the desired outcome (that the thing going wrong won't be going wrong anymore) will come to pass. My continual pressing on him to make me feel better and to try to make him feel better and see if there was anything I could do to make things better and make the situation better was really just making things worse. So… I decided I was going to do for him what he needed. Space. Time. Silence. Okay.

I had to check my motives, though, and make sure that I wasn't ignoring him to punish him for being irritating, but to make sure that I was holding back from him to give him space to finish being grumpy on his own terms and in his own way. Waiting, you could say. Not punishing. And I did. And it felt kinda weird, but I knew I was doing the right thing. He came in after work and laid down with me for a bit, and I enjoyed that. He asked what I did, and I filled him in on the day. We discussed some "to do" things that I needed to accomplish that are urgent and I assured him that I would the next day (and I did!). He got up and went to go do his thing and I did my thing and eventually I went to sleep. While I was getting ready for sleep, though-- flossing, brushing my teeth, washing my face, etc.-- I came out and watched him play with the kittens for a while, which was adorable. We talked about them for a bit, too, and then I went to bed to sleep (versus going to bed to just lie down, which I do frequently). 

I woke up a few hours later 'cause pain and hunger and bladder, and as I stumbled into the kitchen I blearily noticed the sensation of my feet felt a bit different. I shuffled a bit further and realized-- Drogo had swept the floors! Granted, it's his chore and we'd both agreed it needed to be done that day, but he did it! Yay! I shuffled delightedly to the sink, only to be shocked into an utter standstill. The dishes were done. Normally I wash my dish right after I use it, but the past day or so had been especially bad for energy and muscle fatigue, so I'd let a few bowls and plates pile up and was dreading the thought of washing them all up. Now, though, I didn't have to, because the dishes were done!

And now I felt bad for being irritated with my husband at all ever. He wasn't far behind me in entering the kitchen, so I maneuvered my way back across the clean floor and kissed him passionately (do men know how sexy a clean kitchen is? Men everywhere--- this will get you into a woman's pants faster than roses and chocolates and fancy pick up lines! Okay, maybe not the chocolates, but it's really, really impressive!!) and thanked him profusely. I also thanked him again in the same manner the next day, and both times he was adorably bemused at my gratitude, but hopefully he'll store it away for future reference. He just said, "You were getting behind." Hah. Yes. Yes I was, and I'm grateful for the help.

So he's coming out of his grumpy shell bit by bit, but here's the bombshell… he broke his two cat rule. He has this big thing about only have two cats at a time. He claims it's to keep me from becoming a Crazy Cat Lady, and he's probably right, but I resent the Two Cat Rule with a passion, 'cause kitties! Anyway, we're re-homing the black cat that doesn't like people and keeping one of the kittens, right? Right. But the kitten will be oh-so-lonely without mama and its litter-mates because that's all it's ever known! So I proposed to Khal Drogo that we keep two kittens, especially since Juneaux is terrified of kittens and they'll need each other, at least until they're more significantly grown. He's been thinking about it, and today he mumbled that he guesses we can keep two kittens… and then he picked out the one that he likes the best. He broke his own rule! Ha-HA! 

Sorry. I just feel rather victorious at the moment. He didn't let me celebrate, though. I squeee'd once, very loudly, and he told me to "stop freaking out, woman". So I did. I replied "I will stop freaking out because I know that if I continue to do so it will jeopardize the decision you have made. Am I supposed to act like this is no big deal?"

"Yes."

"Cool. No big deal then. Can I smother you in kisses?"

"I'll be in there to kiss you in a minute. I'm leaving for work."

"Besides that one. Can I smother you in kisses?"

"…I'll be in there to kiss you in a minute. I'm leaving for work."

"…Alright, fine."

So I admit that I was writing out of my own annoyance yesterday, and he is being an adult and getting over himself, at his own pace, in his own way… and he's making overtures of kindness toward me, I think to make up for the grumpiness that he knows has hurt me this past week and more. I haven't discussed that here, but there have been incidents. It's been rough. Anyway… our marriage isn't in danger. We're just people, like anyone else, refusing to give up on each other. And isn't it super sweet that he swept the floors and did the dishes and is letting me keep kittens? My heart is so totally melted right now!!!! <3 p="">

I've got a confession to make: I suck at being sick.

No, really. I mean sure, I'm not a huge grouchypants most of the time like some people would be if they had to carry this load *cough* myhusband *cough* but I'm not so great at the ins and outs of actually being sick.

To demonstrate, I shall show you a cartoon a friend posted on my fb timeline the other day, and it is so appropriate.

Calvin makes a pretty good point as well:

When it comes down to the nitty-gritty of taking care of myself while sick, I'm pretty terrible at it. The last time I recall eating a vegetable was cucumber and avocado in my sushi the day before my birthday; before that, who knows? I finally unpacked my toothbrush and toothpaste from the last trip to the big city I took… you know… a week ago. I went an entire week without brushing my teeth and only thought of it, like, twice. (And I seriously cannot recall the last time I flossed.) At least I've showered once this week. Or was it twice? Can't remember.

We have maybe 4 pieces of silverware left that are clean, no bowls, and 2 large plates. Everything else is dirty, because I just haven't done the dishes in about a week. I've either been gone, sleeping, or feeling too crappy to stand that long and put forth the energy. I did some earlier and am waiting for them to air dry so I can do some more, but now I'm in bed feeling like I'm gonna puke.

Facebook peeps only see what I choose to share, and even then it's more than most people with chronic illnesses tend to share. I'm open about the fact that I'm sick and I'm in pain all the time and that I'm on prescription pain killers (among other prescription drugs). Sometimes that leads to my having to grit my teeth, smile, and dodge well-meaning advice but it's a small price to pay for the awareness, community, and authenticity it's garnered.

I guess I can't be too hard on myself, though. Recall, if you will, the last time you had a bad flu. We're talking fever, chills, nausea, headache, achy body, the works. Were you very able to function and take care of yourself and the cats and the house? Not so much. Just wanted to huddle in bed, sleep, and ride it out, yeah? Yeah. That's my everyday life. I've caught the curse of the Eternal Flu. Probably when I desecrated that ancient Egyptian tomb… yep. I'm sure that's what triggered it. I knew it would pay off to learn hieroglyphics, but nooooo, my high school guidance counselor wouldn't go with it. Well, now I have someone to blame, right? Right.

I asked Star if she knew anyone that would be willing to come by once or twice a week and help me with light chores and cooking food to freeze and eat through the week. So far I haven't heard anything, but I just might put out a plea on Facebook… just as soon as I'm done begging for alms for the Celebirthsary weekend coming up. (This weekend!) I feel guilty about it… we're strapped so tight for money, and we could use the funds we've managed to gather for other things… but on the other hand, I think that with the stress of my declining further and his truck being smashed and all the other fun stuff that's been happening (half of it doesn't even make it onto these pages) we could really use the break. Plus we've got a free place to stay with a friend of mine, so it's not like we have to pay for a hotel. I just… *sigh* I wish I didn't cost Drogo so much money. I wish I could contribute in some way. I used to pull my weight by keeping the house all spiffy and tidy, but even that is a little beyond me now (as evidenced by the week's worth of dishes). I just… I need help. But I have nothing to offer in return for any assistance. I can't pay anyone, and I don't have any marketable skills unless you count binge-watching Netflix from my corner of the couch.

I'm nervous, y'all. Really nervous. I know Khal Drogo says we're going to be fine and we'll make it, etc. etc., but I wonder how much of that is him trying to set my mind at ease and protect me and how much is actual truth? It's always hard, starting out as a young married couple. This, though… this goes beyond "hard". Sometimes I wish I could live an extremely uneventful life. It seems that my life is fated to be extraordinary with crazy things happening all the time, big difficult mountains to shoulder through and after-school-special-worthy moral lessons to be learned. But hey, you know, everyone's got their own crap to deal with in some way or another. I can't say that all the crappiness is evenly distributed, but we all get a taste of it at some point or another. I just happen to be a connoisseur, is all.

Well, I'm still feeling pretty terrible so I'm going to curl up with a book and lose myself for a while if I can. Before I leave, though, I'll just put this right here. (It's a song that's been stuck in my head for a while now, and I finally found it! Not the typical style of music I like but it's addicting to me, at least. It makes me feel seductive for some reason, and I like it.)