what sandra thinks

I fought with myself over this post. It’s hard for me to talk about this because it upsets me so much. But keeping it all inside is no different. It’s still there… making me feel shame, humiliation, embarrassment, and loneliness.

My husband is a nice guy. A good man.

He’s just not the right man for me.

I thought about ending the post right here, but I want to continue. And this will be long so feel free to bail now. No hard feelings.

I did have a stroke of genius, though. I will be splitting this post between H and I. This is part one… to be continued in my post for the letter I… which, lucky for you (ha), will also be today since I neglected to post H yesterday.

—

My husband has his moments. But he also has his moments, if you know what I mean. Okay, you probably don’t know what I mean. I will try to elaborate.

He does nice things. He takes care of us. He works a lot. Eleven or twelve hours a day sometimes. As I have not found a workable job since my layoff, we need whatever pay he can get. He doesn’t mind working overtime. I often wonder if simply he likes the time away from home. I don’t know and I’m not asking. He does like his job and coworkers, though.

He also takes care of us by being our tech support, our handyman, our trash guy. [You can laugh. That was supposed to be at least a little funny. But it’s true. This guy can fix anything. He has fixed phones, computers, tvs, washing machines, dryers, vacuums, dishwashers, you name it… and he takes out the trash.]

Like I said, he’s a good guy. For someone.

But…

I’ve got this whole constantly-annoyed-by-his-presence thing. I need to come up with a name for it. The go-away factor? I don’t know if I can adequately explain this… but I will try.

I might be exaggerating a little. But…

Basically, everything he does irritates me. Everything about him annoys me.

The way he leaves his mail or his (clean, thank god) clothes on the bed. The way he belittles me even though I don’t think it’s intentional. [Or maybe it is. What the fuck do I know?] The way he laughs. The way he spends on things we don’t need. [Fuck, I am on fire inside when he does this. We, even the kids, don’t need more stuff… we need more experiences and great memories. Save up for those, dammit!] The way he falls asleep on the couch. The way he is so set in his ways. The way he hovers. [Just move the fuck on or say what you want. Don’t wait until I develop psychic abilities.] The way he acts like a know-it-all. The way he doesn’t listen to me. The way he says certain things. The way he leaves a dirty glass by the sink instead of putting it in the damn dishwasher. The way he drives. Every-fucking-thing. Annoys. The. Fuck. Out. Of. Me.

Big, little, significant, insignificant. Everything.

At night when he goes to the basement [his space… I hate the term ‘mancave’… gross], I’m glad. When he stays upstairs, I’m disappointed. When he falls asleep somewhere that’s not our bed, I’m glad. When he comes to bed, I’m disappointed.

And all of this… the whole go-away factor… it’s not entirely because of him (but mostly… heh). When you’re not in love with someone or maybe when you even start to not like them so much, every damn little thing drives you mad. Our relationship is just… not.

And for that, I am extremely annoyed.

With him, sure.

But also with myself.

[But he still needs to get the fuck out of my way.]

… to be continued …

p.s.— Remember this will be continued in my next post. God, this was hard to write and post. I feel so ashamed and embarrassed. Although the next one may be even worse. *hides* 

©2019 what sandra thinks

Deep blue eyes. Thanks, Dad.

Excessive worrying. Thanks, Mom. Hmm… and Dad.

Dark circles under my eyes. Thanks, Dad.

Deep love for coffee. Thanks, Mom and Dad.

Late night cravings for potato chips. Thanks, Mom.

Love of all things cheese. Thanks, Dad.

Smarty pants. Thanks, Dad.

Talent for baking. Thanks, Mom.

Creativity. Thanks, Mom.

Big boobs. Thanks, Grandma.

But why didn’t I get Mom’s green thumb, Mom’s outgoing personality or Dad’s ambition? Oh well. At least I got that special gift from Grandma.

p.s.— This was a rough one. Better late than never, I guess.

©2019 what sandra thinks

Fuck. My favorite word.

But I’ve posted about that before.

Anyway…

I’m obsessed with this song right now. By Flora Cash. It’s about anxiety. So I guess it was written for me. I’m just kidding. I’m not that self-centered. They don’t even know me.

Well, you look like yourself
But you’re somebody else
Only it ain’t on the surface
Well, you talk like yourself
No, I hear someone else though
Now you’re making me nervous

—You’re Somebody Else

p.s.— Maybe using music was a cheat. But I don’t care. ‘I was just thinking’ about this song. This fucking great song.

©2019 what sandra thinks
[I am not the owner of any rights to the music (song, lyrics, video) featured in this post…]

I hide things. Not in a literal sense. Well, I guess there are a couple of things I hide in a literal sense… my chocolate stash, my adult toy. But the non-literal hidden things—they are mostly embarrassing as hell. I’m ashamed, in some cases more deeply than others.

Embarrassing things about me.
[The list will be short as I don’t think I can humiliate myself quite that much all in one shot.]

1. I am addicted to a certain app. I can’t stop. I’ve even paid to get rid of the ads, which, in this app, only takes them away for a month. If I continue down this road of addiction, I’m going to keep paying monthly which I really should not do. But I can’t help myself. It has already been three months. I’m too embarrassed to even share the name of the app. Let’s just say its target audience is not in my age bracket. Yet here we are.

2. I love this one pop artist. I’m too embarrassed to even mention his name. Liking him goes against everything I believe in where music is concerned. Well, maybe not everything. He’s undeniably talented, in my opinion. But I’m too old for him. Again with the age thing.

3. I have totally inappropriate celebrity crushes. I don’t mean Chris Hemsworth. He’s totally appropriate. My fantasies about him aren’t, but that’s another post. Not talking about Alex O’Loughlin either. Again, he’s appropriate, my fantasies are not. Anyway [I’m totally distracted now]… I’m talking about younger guys. I guess in my head, I’m still twenty-ish so my impure thoughts seem okay. But if I dwell on numbers, I feel like a creep. And kind of dirty. But… don’t worry… they’re all legal. I’m not a sicko.

Moving on…

4. Hm… thinking back to #2… and maybe blaming my daughter [at least a little] for this, I like a few pop artists. Or maybe pop songs is a better way to put it because I definitely cannot commit to 99% of these artists. [In some cases, I use the term ‘artist’ loosely.] Having been a music snob [or at least my definition of one] for most of my life [that is to say, ‘pop music sucks’], I find this incredibly embarrassing. I still find a ton of popular music to be total crap. It’s so bad it makes me cry. But some music I’ve come to enjoy is really really embarrassing. Sometimes, I won’t even leave it on the car radio if someone else is with me because no one can know. But if I’m alone, all bets are off. Fuck. What has happened to me?

I’m stopping now.

p.s.— No guessing! I’m not going to tell you the name of the app or the pop star or the celebrity crushes or any of the other music I’ve been secretly enjoying… so don’t even guess. My lips are sealed. Except to input the hidden chocolate.

©2019 what sandra thinks

When I was a kid, I didn’t always stand up for myself. [I still often don’t.] I’d let things slide. I’d go along with things I didn’t want. I figured no one would like me if I spoke up.

My daughter, though, won’t stand for anyone’s shit. [Much to my chagrin, not even mine.] She is a bit defiant and rarely afraid to speak her mind. Don’t get me wrong—she doesn’t share her every thought. That would be inappropriate. But she doesn’t let people get away with being nasty. She doesn’t just give in like I would have at her age [and even now]. She doesn’t say yes to everything like I would to avoid feeling singled out or left out. When someone is mean to her, she stands up for herself.

And…

She has confidence. Oh, she has her moments of self-deprecation and unhappiness. But I notice every single day, even when she’s full-on arguing with me, that she believes in herself.

And…

She loves to give people things. At every possible occasion, and sometimes for no reason at all, she wants to give gifts—bought or made. One time, she even handed me a few dollars and said, “Here Mom. Why don’t you go out and get coffee?” Just randomly… for no reason at all. I try to teach her to save her money. But she is so kind and generous… I don’t want to discourage that.

And…

She is outgoing. I admire this trait enormously because I am the opposite. I wish I was like her.

And…

She is tutoring a little kindergarten boy who’s not native to the US. He has trouble pronouncing some words, and she works with him a couple of times a week. She’s only 11 years old…

I’m so proud.

p.s.—  If I wasn’t so paranoid about putting my kids out there online, I’d post a picture of my little beauty. But you’ll just have to imagine. She looks just like me. Not that [most of] you have seen me…

©2019 what sandra thinks

Coffee.

p.s.—  I warned you about this. Some of these will be short, I said. Did you listen? I hope so or you get detention.  

©2019 what sandra thinks

If I had a nemesis, it would be bread.

I’m just like Oprah.

Except for, well, everything except the bread thing.

p.s.— I really want a hot, long, delicious… loaf of french bread. What were you thinking? Pervs.  

©2019 what sandra thinks