This is the first day walking without assistance. My weight has steadied out at 88.5 kilos for the second day and the house is a fucking sty ‘cause everyone left everything because they knew this day was coming.
Walking hurts like a rock in my shoe, even with the gel pads made to make walking easier. Without them, it hurts like a knife in my heel. Ergo, walking costs spoons. I have to sit and rest when I can no longer stand to stand.
However, despite goddamn painful feet, I have: swept the debris on the floor into piles, put a load of washing on, put two loads of dishwashing on, put out the garbage and the recycling, and re-swept up a pile because Shiftless is a goddamn fat, lazy, insensitive arsehole.
When I started sweeping, I knew I could only do it for so long. I could not sweep delicately around debris piles like Shiftless’ shoes and socks, so I took up a policy - if it looked abandoned, it would be swept.
I knew Shiftless was awake [music at an appreciable volume] so I knocked on his door and told him to gather his shoes and socks before I swept them.
Shiftless, in his fine tradition of ignoring every last thing I say to him, ignored me. I swept up his shoes and socks. Mayhem rescued the shoes, but left the socks to be tumbled about in cockroaches, dirt and debris.
Shiftless finally wakes, I gave him the “I told you so” speech. Shiftless pretends he’s deaf and roots through the quasi-neat pile after his socks like a pig after a truffle.
I apologise for that remark.
Pigs are way neater, politer, more considerate and smell better than Shiftless. And you can train them to help you clean the house.
At the time Shiftless was doing his bad pig impression, my knees had decided to go on strike after I had to sit down and sort out the overflowing garbage bin, so I couldn’t put my weight on either leg. I could not, as far as I knew, stand up again. I was trapped on a bar stool and watching an inconsiderate dick scatter my hard work to the four winds.
So I yelled at him. Loudly.
Hubby noticed, but said nothing.
I can only hope and pray that Shiftless gets a brother-to-brother lecture on the way to work about being less of a prick to a wife who’s doing the best she can with fewer spoons than normal.
Hubby has me for the rest of our lives together.
Shiftless is only staying until he can afford to move out - or I finally snap and dump all his shit on the footpath and change the locks 'cause I’ve had bar of him.
So tell me, dear readers - am I already justified?
