First things first: My teeth are all still intact. No cavities and the dentist said, "You do such a terrific job on your oral care!!!" Thanks - I try! I was in and out in a 1/2 hour but it would have probably taken less time if the hygienist an I didn't yammer on forever.
So I get home yesterday - do my prep work for dinner and then sit down to watch some recorded shows. Jim's home and hanging around. Around 4:30, Anne called me and I noticed that Jim was sitting on his laurels when he should have been getting shit done in the laundry room. So I give him the signal to get a move on. He gets up, I finish my phone call and continue my watching. And then I hear cussing coming from the garage, which I ignore because that's what you do when Jim starts up. A little while later I hear ruckus again and then a bit more cussing then nothing. I finish watching my show and get up to start dinner. First, however, I check the garage and see Jim is no where but, huh, there's crap all over the floor...like a little bomb went off. Or maybe someone threw a hissy fit for some reason. (I love it when Jim gets like this!) So I ignore and move on to the kitchen. About 5 minutes later Jim ambles down and I say, "What's wrong?" Jim says, "I can't find these screws I need." Oh, okay that makes sense why you tore the garage apart...NOT! Gee maybe if you didn't leave the place with crap scattered everywhere you'd be able to find things! I did not say any of this. I simply said, "Dinner will be in a 1/2 hour." He went his way, I went mine.
Fast forward to dinner. Jim comes to the table and sighs loudly as he sits down. I'm still getting things on the table and as I sit down, he sighs loudly again (as though I hadn't heard his first loud sigh). We proceed to eat...I finish first and notice Jim is nibbling at his meal. I nearly ask him what's wrong (again) but I decide not to because this is what Jim does. See...if I'm an expert on Jim and I think I am, he's doing everything he can to NOT work in the laundry room. And he's trying to get my sympathy and "permission" to take (another) night off. And I'm not going to do it.
So I get up and I do my dishes and Jim finally gets up and brings his stuff over and sighs loudly again and I ignore it. We go on like this for a while...I watch the news, he sits down and cuddles up in the big chair and then I get up to go to bed and read. Jim says not a word to me except to say, after I toss the remote at him, "OOMPH!" (It hit him in the belly) "I didn't need that!" Me: "Why...what's wrong?" Jim: "My gut is killing me." Of course it is.
This morning I got up and he's in the guest bedroom. He said he couldn't sleep all night because his bladder is killing him - like he has a bladder infection and he's got diarrhea (sorry for the detes). Now, I know I seem like a hard-headed bitch who doesn't care a fig about how Jim feels but this is what he does. He pussy foots around and sighs and pouts and moans when he doesn't feel well (or wants to get out of something) rather than coming out and saying, "I'm sick" or "I don't feel well" or "I'm not up to working tonight". He wants me to coddle him and read his mind. It's like he just met me. UGH! I'll be interested in seeing how he feels tonight.
Okay - sorry about the downer, mean Muir saga...sometimes you just have to get shit off your chest. Happy Thursday...we're almost there. Later!
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