Wednesday 19th March 2008 You won't like me when I'm angry

Wednesday 19th March 2008.

Today Jane Doe is pissed off. She is disgruntled and in a bad mood with the world at large and Russ in particular. Settle in for a major whingefest.

Firstly before we get onto the joy of Russ and his snot production, let me vent my spleen over work.

I have just been merrily chatting away to a couple of mates on MSN, playing Foxy bingo and fiddling around on the writing and reptile sites, all on work time and while being paid for it. This is good because my wonderful boss and benefactor knows about it and couldn't care less as long as the shop work is done, targets met and customers are happy.

What is bad is when my in-work social life is brought to a sudden and miserable end because BT have cut me off due to the fact that the sodding bill hasn't been paid...again. Procedure is, I get the bill, I send it off to Head Office with my weekly paper work and they pay it.

Only they don't because Maria-lazy-arse-admin-type-person can't be bothered dealing with it, files it away and forgets about it. She does this with the first bill and with both subsequent red reminders... and then, when the shit hits the fan (as it has twice in the past) she tries to wriggle and squiggle and say that the bills were never sent to her in the first place. Jane-Doe- pissed off-manager-type-person has become wise to this and covers her proficient-at-all-times arse by faxing copies of all bills complete with dates to her immediate superior. Tomorrow morning, first thing, my mobile phone line (because I can't use the shop phone) is going to be red hot because Maria-lazy-arse-admin-type-person is going to get a rocket up her inefficient posterior.

Russ is doing my head in. He has a man cold. In fairness he has got a pretty bad cold .. but, but, but, but, but, but .. he hasn't moved from a prone position for four days, while I have had to do everything.

Some time ago Russ took it upon himself to take over all of the housework. I work eleven hours and he works twelve hours .. but he only does four twelve hours to my six eleven hours .. and then every couple of weeks he gets eight days off the jammy swine. So, he started doing the housework. It caused problems because he didn't do it the way I do it. Eventually we came to a mutual decision that I'd resume all domestic chores for the good of all concerned.

However apart from when Tia or his parents are coming round, he does nothing. He'll do a bit of shopping for me since my car went bang but as far as household chores go, he has gradually done less and less until now I do everything. I have swung full circle and come to resent this. I am a temperamental woman, I know I didn't like him doing the chores .. but I have changed my mind. I am entitled to do this.

After seeing Rick at the weekend I had a big old bubbly surge of love for Russ. Seeing my two-timing ex again made me realise what a good man Russ is ... but my little glow of affection didn't last long and the aww, turned to ugh when he snotted.

My resentment rose on Sunday. He came from having Tia at his house at eleven. I made him a brew, he drank it and then announced that he was going to bed. While he slept from eleven fifteen to five I did four loads of washing and all the household chores that needed doing. I woke him for a meal at five. He ate it stuffing his mouth and eating like a pig and then put his plate on the floor and went back to bed until eight o'clock when he came down and asked if I was ready for our Sunday night out.

Hmmm, well enough to go out, eh?

“I thought we might get something done around the house instead tonight,” I suggested.

“I'm not well,” he spat at me indignantly, “I thought that was obvious.” He said it like Victor Meldrew and it was very funny, though I couldn't see that at the time .. only Marty appreciated it, and curled up like a malignant caterpillar on his sofa and roared with laughter which didn't go down well with either me or Russ. Marty finds it hilarious when Russ and I snipe at each other and says that it's better than watching a sit-com. I find that offensive, which only makes him laugh at me harder.

We went out Sunday night, had a good night, and yes it was obvious that he did have a cold. He hit my bed in the early hours of Monday morning and has only moved out of it since to eat. Yesterday for lunch I made fresh ravioli with a home-made tomato and basil sauce and pan fried broccoli, shredded cabbage, onion and courgette in butter. Five hours later I presented him with a full chicken roast dinner because Marty asked if I'd do one. He wolfed both meals down and then said, “Right I'm going back to bed.”

“Oh, okay, night then ... you're welcome.” I might as well have fed him pig-slop.

He called in sick at work last night.

This morning I got up and saw to the animals before leaving for work. I hadn't had time to do the pots from last night, the floors were un mopped or swept and I hadn't even got around to taking the rubbish out. He's been at mine all day and I bet the work is still all waiting for me when I get home.

He has got a cold.

I'm feeling taken for granted. But because he's ill I'm not blowing a gasket... not yet. We'll just wait and see if things improve once he's stopped filling my house with germs and contamination.

Tissues...ugh.

Now bear in mind that I have two, well one, phobia with two elements. I can't do vomit or snot.

Russ is flinging snot all over the place as though he's relishing it. This morning there were dirty tissues on the floor by the bed, on the dressing table and under his pillow. The only reason they weren't dotted around downstairs is because he hasn't been there. There was a big wet stain on his pillow case where he'd either wiped his nose or coughed something up ... now that is not on. What if his pillow got switched with mine? I left the bedroom baulking. I did have one parting shot, I asked him to pick up his dirty tissues and change his pillow. I'd like him to change the entire bed, even though I only did it on Sunday during the brief time that he was out of it to eat. If he just changes his pillow, or worse, pillow case then it won't match and that will drive me nuts .. and what if some of that snot has hit the quilt cover ... it's no good ... I'm going to have to change the bed again when I get in tonight, there's no way I'm sleeping in that as it is.

He is normally meticulous about his personal hygiene. He showers every night when he gets in from work or every morning if he's been on nights. I suggested yesterday that I run him a bath, but he said that he didn't feel up to it. I know that it always makes me feel better when I've got a cold even if the thought of making the effort is a tough one.

When I went to bed last night I took him up some hot milk with honey and whiskey. He reached out his hand from the depths of his sweaty pit to touch me ... not a chance, I thrust his drink into it and flew. He blows his nose on tissues and then doesn't wash his hands afterwards. He handles things, cups and cutlery ...and me, or he would if I got near enough. It's like being with somebody radio-active.

I know, I know, you're reading this and thinking, that poor man, he's lying on his death bed, feeling like crap and she's being an absolute monster with him and treating him like a leper .. but you be next to him when he turns his head in the night and breathes his germy fumes all over you, and pick his wet snotty tissues that are all heavy and horrible up after him and lie next to him when he hasn't showered for four days ... it's horrible.

And ... it's all right being all judgemental and thinking that I'm an unsympathetic bitch, and you're right I am, the whiney voice that makes him sound as though he's going to peg out and die at any second is getting a bit trying. But ... after I come down with it tomorrow or the next day when it's incubated, will I have the luxury of four days in bed while he does everything for me?... I'm bloody sure I won't.

Feeling like a cow now .. mental note to self that when he rings tonight to ask him sympathetically, and without the merest trace of sarcasm, no matter how tempting, how he's feeling and then make the appropriate noises in reply. And tomorrow when he comes in from working nights, I will wake.. and roll over towards him .. and instead of growling at him (believe me, I don't do mornings) I will smile brightly and be sweet and girlfriendly.

I will go to sleep tonight in my clean snot and sweat free bed thinking of all the good things that he brings into my life... and tomorrow, if I wake up feeling like shite, God help him.