Waiting for Asshole

This one is just me being neurotic. Why do I wait for him? Every night starting at 5:30 my life revolves around him.When is he going to be home, is he going to want to eat, is he going to be in a good mood? The list goes on and on. I know I should just do what ever I need to do, but for some reason I can't. I have to wait until he's home and then I fixate over what he needs. Over the past weeks I have not given a rat's ass where he was and I was very productive and happy. Now after only a day I am back in my rut of waiting and waiting for someone who really could care less about any of the things that I feel he cares about. I don't know if this is what I think a good wife should do, or if I think this is what he would want me to do, but I have to stop it. I am constantly thinking about whether he isn't coming home because of something I did or if he is lying dead on the side of the road. Logically he is just working late, but in my twisted mind I can't believe that. I always have to have some other reason for his behavior. I don't know why I think men are so deep. Most of them are not. I know mine isn't. He just doesn't think about things the way I do. He doesn't understand that when he's not home on time it drives me nuts, even though once he gets home I act like I didn't need him to be home or I complain that his being home has somehow caused a problem that didn't exist while he was not home. No wonder men and women are always complaining about each other. Just by being we drive each other nuts. I need to stop fixating on imaginary roles for myself and concentrate on doing what I need to do to be a happy productive person.

I think I would go completely insane if not for my kids. I can be at the end of my rope ready to throw in the towel and all of a sudden they say something so off the wall I have to laugh. For example Eddie kept asking and asking for a slushie at the drive-thru window. I told her they were expensive and I didn't want to spend that much on something she wasn't going to finish. She kept asking and I kept saying no. Finally after many promises that she would finish the whole thing I agreed to buy her one. She ordered a strawberry slushie from the girl at the drive- thru who, by the way, had to listen to our entire inane conversation about slushies. When it came Eddie was so excited she thanked me over and over again. I handed it to her, she took a sip and said, 'This tastes like gunk. I am going to drink it all up, but it tastes like gunk.' I asked her what she meant by it tasted like gunk and she said it was slushie bushie. I guess that was supposed to explain everything. After a few more questions I learned that slushie bushie meant that the girl must have made it too slushie and all of the flavor was whipped out. I decided that this story alone was worth the two bucks for the drink which, by the way, is still sitting in my car completely full. So, for all of you out there who ever wanted to know if slushie bushie was a good thing - we now know, it is not.