My Dane Cook moment

so, tonight I had the "nothing" fight.


Let me just say at this point that I don't intend to use real names if I can avoid it. unless I'm thanking you for something, you get a fake name. I'm open to suggestions (for those of you who are concerned). My lovely man I will call "Indy", because of several in-jokes, but also because he reminds me of Indiana Jones. Rowl. My sweet baby I'll just call "Nibblet" because that's what we call her. It fits too.


I'm tired, cranky, cold, and have a tendency to let grievances build up, so I'm also full of petty, minor grievances. after passively asking for some help (basically, not saying "help me with this" but instead saying "oh, poor me. I need some help") I got pissed and did the dishes.
that I was told not to do because Indy would do them sometime in the evening.

which has been said before.

but those nights are not this night, and I saw that it was 830pm, we hadn't had dinner, the kid was fussy (and fuzzy) so I just did them. but I snapped at Indy about it. let's just say that his world was all sunny and good, and then he walked into the kitchen where tsunami force aggravation was being used to scour not only the silverware but also his ears.

now his solution was to walk away, let both of us cool off, and get the table set for the awesome pizza we ordered (wha? we're lazy). except I don't cool off during the down time. I use it quite productively to tear into myself, make excuses, find new and better ways of being nasty, and basically fan the flames of anger.

I slam some laundry around (a particular skill of mine) and then come out to eat. I'm aware he took the time to cool down, but I'm eating pizza thinking I'd rather be working or reading or crying in the bathroom.

anyway, he calmly tells me why I'm off base (mostly legitimate, I admit) and I chew furiously, managing not only to bite my own stupid tongue, but also both sides of my cheeks. then I open my mouth to explain my rational reasons for being upset, and instead out comes this vitriolic spew of excrement. and I couldn't stop. it turned into a "nothing" fight. all the sudden no matter what he said I was spitting and cursing.

the worst part is that we didn't go anywhere with it. I even ask him to help find a solution to the housework problem, but it fell like the Hindenburg. and then we didn't talk except to say "excuse me" or "do you want me to feed the Nibblet?" now he's gone to bed and I have to decide what to do. an hour ago I felt that it would be best if I just kept things to myself, just faced life as if I were alone dealing with the baby, the house, work, bills, whatever. that way I'll be grateful for the things he does, I don't have to ask him for help anymore, and when there's a problem, I know who to blame.

because it's me, right?