I hate him. I really do.
I can do nothing right. He rarely yells at me. And he has never hit me.
But I am so sick of being made to feel like everything that goes wrong, no matter how minor, is my fault.
Today, we are sitting here. Well, I am sitting. He is lying on the couch. Watching golf. Of course.
He starts to snore. Suddenly. Buttboy and his friend go banging out the front door. They wake him up.
He goes back to sleep.
I change the channel and start playing the Xbox.
Brat calls me on the walkie – like she is supposed to – and wakes him up.
Doubly my fault because he now realizes I have changed the channel.
He won’t even speak to me at this point. I asked him if he wanted to watch his golf, he gets up, bangs his way into the bedroom and is now taking a shower.
I am so tired of everything being my fault. We had been doing so well. No major problems.
Then yesterday, he just started acting like I am some kind of idiot.
I really need to get out of here. If I had $40, I would be on my way to We-Fester’s house. At least then he couldn’t bitch at me anymore.