This isn’t a real post. Not sure what it is, actually. It’s basically just something I decided to scribble down because I realised that, for the past two weeks, I have been paying more attention to my acer laptop than I have to my family. Which I suppose would not be a problem at all, if only…
a) baby wasn’t constantly screeching at me to look at her.
b) my man wasn’t constantly shooting me accusing looks because the house could be cleaner.
c) my eyeballs and brain weren’t constantly playing up due to staring at PC screen for hours on end (laser vision).
And then there was the little argue me and Darkman had. He walks in after work one day, spied baby sitting in the middle of the coffee table, drawing all over her face with a (washable) felt, me curled up on the sofa with my lappy, not paying attention to baby drawing all over her face with a (washable) felt – and he exploded.
(EDITED PG VERSION OF ARGUE BETWEEN ME AND DARKS.)
He was all like “What do you do all day?”
And I was like “I’m working on my blog.”
He scoffs, walks into the kitchen, then yells, “These dishes are from last night?”
And I’m like “And?”
He then proceeds to bang dishes around, causing me to jump up and stalk into the kitchen.
“I’ll do them?” I offer grudgingly.
And he’s all “You spend too much time on that laptop mubs (our nicknames for each other.)”
And I say “I’m a writer, mubs. Just let me get this thing up and running.” In which his response is to scoff again. So I continue in a snarky way, “You said you were gonna support me in this. It doesn’t feel like your supporting me. I support you in your job.”
And he says “I get paid for it. You don’t.”
And I’m like “That’s not the point. I look after baby, too. That in itself is a fulltime job.”
He scoffs. Again. And now I am angry and ranting. “And when I become a rich and famous author, you’re not going to be complaining then, are you? It takes time to write a book, and time to write a blog. And I don’t completely neglect things. Babies always fed. Shes always happy. I take her walking everyday. And your dinner is cooked every night isn’t it? Who keeps you in clean clothes? Who listens to you when you blow arse about your job? Who keeps the power and gas on? Who was the one that got us this house in the first place? ME! That’s who! Get real, man!”
And he walks off in a huff, which I take as a sign of defeat, and I feel like I’ve won, because I am the man when it comes to winning arguments (except when he’s drunk. Then he wins every time.) So I should feel chuffed, but I don’t. I feel low as ant. Because…because…well, because I knew he was right and I knew I was wrong, but I still put up a battle as if to admit I was wrong would be the end of the world.
This is the case with me. This is one of the traits about myself that I find so exquisitely annoying.
He was right. Of course he was right. He almost always is. And when I stopped sulking, and forced myself to look at the seriousness of the situation, I realised just how much.
YOU KNOW YOU SPEND TOO MUCH TIME ON THE COMPUTER AND INTERNET WHEN:
– You wake up most mornings just after ten o clock
– You go to bed most nights at three o clock in the morning
– You find yourself getting sore eyes and headaches, due to staring at screen too much and also have bad case of insomnia
– Your baby is constantly screaming at you for attention, and you have learnt to ignore it
– Your man is constantly accusing you of ‘neglecting’ shit
– It is two o clock in the afternoon, and your baby still looks like this
– You put off doing important business in town, for example Centrelink Appointments, because you just want to spend time with your beloved laptop
– You walk past this a hundred times and know you should pick it up, but you don’t
– The socks that your baby left on the tramp are still there – five days later
– The sheet that you hung up on the line is still there – five days later
– This is what your shed looked like three days ago
– This is what your shed looks like – today
– You forget to eat
– You forget to sleep
– You forget to have sex
– You have a jungle growing in your backyard, and should probably get your shit together and call a mower man
In my defence, this is not an everyday thing, just once, oh, every couple of days.
That’s still awful, isn’t it? But, you know, I have never claimed to be perfect. So seriously…just shoooooosh.