I want to move

I’ve decided that we need to move.  TheMan is completely against it, of course.  But this shit is getting out of control.  Anyway,  TheMan says we don’t have enough money for a down payment, he doesn’t have another job, blah, blah, any excuse is better than none.

However, I have a plan.  I’ve decided that we can sell our house, take the money we make (which would be just over $30k) and go anyway.  We’d have enough to rent until we found jobs and a new house.  It wouldn’t hurt anyone if I found a job.  Shit, when I was living and working in Canton I was making just a little less a week than he is now.  I could work a little harder.  Right?  I mean, we wouldn’t be as well off as we are right now, but we’d be doing ok.  And if he got a job on top of that we’d be downright sweeeeet.  I’m sure there’s someone somewhere that would hire him.  We don’t have to live in this soul-sucking burg forever, regardless of the idiocy his mother spouts.

I’m not one that likes my life laid out by someone else.  I’m 33 years old, for the love of Isis, and have been independent since the day I turned 18 (no really, my mother helped me secure an apartment so I could move out the day after my birthday).  I don’t need any goddamned busy-body control freak telling me I can’t do this, this or even this.  Fuck that.  My own mother knows better than to try that shit, this woman needs to learn that too.  Honestly, the whole situation is driving me to my limits.  I don’t have pretty limits.  Trust me on this one.  The last time my mother tried to act stupid I didn’t talk to her for two years.  I don’t have time for that kind of crap.

I’m not going to go into what’s going on, because, well, I don’t want to get myself all kinds of worked up again.  My health can’t really afford it.  But the way things are going right now TheMan and I could very well be headed for divorce court.  And I don’t want that shit.  I want to stay married.  Hell, when I said my vows I meant that shit.  I promised that if I ever got married I’d stay married no matter what.  Of course, I didn’t think my MIL was going to end up being Marie Barone Plus.  And I didn’t have any idea that my husband’s balls were still in a jar on his mother’s mantle.  I was kept out of the loop on that one.  I swear.

Ok, I get it.  You don’t believe me.  I’ve got proof.  When TheMan and I got married MIL didn’t show up.  She didn’t so much as send a card and/or flowers.  She didn’t reconcile herself to our marriage until 4 months later.  And now, she doesn’t acknowledge our anniversary until May of every year (We got married in January).  Because of this I had no fucking idea what I was dealing with.  Of course, I’ve since learned differently.  But it’s not her fault.  It’s TheMan’s.  I shouldn’t even blame her…except….Shit!

Ok, I’ve got myself riled up now.  Not fucking good.  I’m going to trawl realtor.com to look for a new and improved homestead for my family.  Oh!  And to top it off we so didn’t win the lottery.  That sucks big fat donkey balls. 

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