I can’t quite believe I’m sitting in a train, commuting to work. It has been near three weeks since. Have been through a madness of sickness and caring for those sick, to the tones of coughs and complains bordering on borderline insanity. To emotions running high, higher, and beyond. The kid has suffered ear-drum infection throughout, V has been in and out of Slagelse Hospital with a cruel neumonia. She’s been tremendously weak throughout; going to lie down every other minute, being up half an hour before having to go to bed again. Generally a very sorry sight, never less so than when she feared – and rightly so – missing out on the Norway boat-trip she arranged for herself and K and her mother. At least K got to go, and had a terrific time. That’s all that matters. Yesterday, then, we got N to the ear-doctor and had his ear-drums punctured (one already had by itself), relieved the pressure and he sleeps better at nights, though is still not entirely well.
It has been endless days of the little one sleeping poorly, getting up and trying as best to keep things moving in the right direction, working like crazy to meet deadlines imposed on the basement-firm before V fell by the sickness wayside. Not a time to stop and catch my breath. Has been ages and ages since I last found a bit of time for myself.
Put the company up for sale, well first through an initial valuation-process. I don’t want to do this anymore, live this frantic life of having to stand battlestations ready for every incoming e-mail bomb, to go from work to tending to my family to another work, to do nothing which suits my fancy whilst those around me do only that. Keeping and crowing a company is soul-destroying business when you have kids that need you there, and there’s forever things to do and mails to respond to and deadlines to meet, and a wife without a job for the 7th year running doing not much to alleviate your efforts. It may seem cruel, but that’s how it feels, I’m sorry to say. I look around at some of my friends with wifes who seemingly handle as much as to allow their husbands, who even do not have a company to run besides their regular job, time to relax and lie down on the couch when they get back from work. I think of all the chores I do, hours into which I could’ve spent on other things, for example alleviate some of the stress in working towards a deadline, or even do something I consider fun doing. She’s not a gardening person, but she does voice complains when she can’t stand to look at the un-mown lawn. She can’t find any space in the kitchen, but when I go through the things I throw half of them away because the food’s too old. She wants a freezer in the basement but can’t clean out the one in the fridge, first. She can’t find anything and can’t remember where she put anything, but still insists on piling everything on top of her desk and bringing in more stuff without throwing the old stuff away. The paperwork, she trusts in me to do all her paperwork for her, allergic to clear envelopes and unwilling to learn how to deal with it. I could go on and on. All of that which I help her with, if she had the abilities to take care of it herself I would have many hours at my disposal in which to do more with the kids. They are the ones who suffer, since I cannot put a stop to either of my jobs as we live on those. So what time I give to her is time I take away from my children. The knowledge of which feels real shitty. I wish she wasn’t as incompetent to living, that she’d assume more responsibility. She’s asthamatic and complains of dust, but it’s impossible to clean entirely from all of those knick-knacks she brings back. She’s someone who needs as few things as possible in her life, but she keeps bringing it in – but as soon as something is not in her line of sight, she forgets about it. I’ve brought out loads of presents and other stuff ‘for later’ from our closets, that she forgot she had bought.
And in the end I’ll do nothing about it, complain to the anonymity of these pages. It’s not, after all and at this moment in time, something which bothers me more than I can vent here, and feel better for a while. But I do wish things will get better, that she would assume greater responsibility and not complain so much, that she would set aside her own priorities of writing her novel, and putting together a crib-display for christmas with people made of rocks, and whatever she does for herself, and focus more to help out someone who doesn’t have priorities for himself, who haven’t for a long time had priorities for himself. She has never fully been able to appreciate the stress of the situation I’m in, one man providing for the family whole. If I found myself without a job I would first and foremost lay down a belt-tightening budget, see to it that it’s kept, look at how I could save on house-hold stuff like power, water, clothes. Because I would know that this would help out in a time when the one with the remaining job was keeping us afloat. But she has done none of this, rather carelessly kept on her regular spending habits and even pressed me to buy her courses on alternative health, which she will undertake and I will take care of the kids meanwhile! I had to, didn’t I, when she gets her sights on something like this that she wants, she’ll simply go on and on and on until she gets it. More wants more, I know. Never was this more true than in our relationship. I’m disappointed with her, I’ll freely admit – to these pages only. If at the beginning of our relationship I’d been informed I’d have to pay off her student loan, her private consumption loan, fix her problems with the IRS, that she would go unemployed for years and years, yet still make many demands for money and time, that she would willingly and without concern have someone else pay for her way in life yet still complain of lacking, well Ï’m not sure I would’ve allowed the relationship to continue. Being not very rational at that time (horny, rather) I probably would have, though. Besides I’ll never know, but I do know that she has allowed herself to fall considerably in my respect of her, and that she must feel in the slightest way priviledged. How many women can go through their lives like this? All her friends are working as pedagogues or similar, what do they think of her behind their back when they meet and she’s still without a job, years and years they’ve worked and she hasn’t. My friends voice their support in my favor, that they can’t believe I don’t press her more on the subject.
I could go on, couldn’t I. Time to focus, now, go to work and try and forget about this shit. 7 o’clock now, so I guess in 3 hours’ time her first phonecall of the day should go in.