I'm a Terrible Boss.

I've realized something this week after I had a bit of a meltdown from forgetting to take a day off for weeks and weeks and weeks. I realized I'd gone at least 15 days without taking a full day off, and also, the economy has several of my clients putting me off when it comes time to pay me for my work. Last week, I had to pursue my pay from four separate gigs. One check was lost in the mail, and I had to order a replacement. The rest were late to varying degrees. I found myself working and working and working, responding to emails from folks hounding me about deadlines, with absolutely no money in my checking account to show for it. I ran around collecting money, hauling my laptop with me and writing whenever I had a minute to stop and open it up, until I felt like I couldn't speak English anymore.

I'm a terrible boss.

Being self-employed, I have no one to blame for my horrendous work conditions but my own self. I wake up early and work. I work all night. Sometimes, I don't give myself a lunch break. I won't give myself health insurance, and I won't pay myself for as many hours as I work. I underestimate my worth and set my hourly rate too low. I over-commit myself. I won't let me have a day off.

I had to go on strike this week to get me to give myself a day off. I decided on Thursday night, when I was staring at a document and fighting off tears because the words had stopped making sense, that I had to step away from the work. I closed the computer at 6:30 on Thursday night, went to my meeting, and didn't open it again until Saturday afternoon. I went to yoga on Friday for the first time in two weeks. I slept in. I cleaned my house. I went to an art gallery with my husband. It was wonderful.

I've got to remember to be as regimented about taking a day off, at least one full day every week, as I am about working. I am my own slave, and I don't work well when I'm exhausted. I've realized that I've not gone a day without writing in years. Years. If I've not been writing for work, I've been writing for pleasure. I don't want to kill that part of me, and I'm starting to see that it needs a break now and then.

So listen, Self, I'm not going to take this treatment anymore. I'm going to demand a reasonable schedule, enough sleep, yoga a few times a week, and regular meals. I'm going to go to meetings, and I'm going to stop working past 8PM. I'm going to say "No" sometimes, and I'm going to set deadlines that work for me. If people don't pay me for the work I do, I'm going to stop working for them until they do...and if the work is late, I'm not going to sweat the deadline. And that's final.

I Can't Afford You.

My husband may be too expensive for me.

We have had an ongoing battle of the air conditioning for well over a year now. I push it up, and he pushes it down. Last night, he came out of the bedroom, seemingly wounded, and told me that he’d REALLY appreciate it if I’d leave the air conditioning set on a reasonable temperature instead of changing it like I always do. I reminded him that our air conditioning bill had been $120 last month, and I can’t afford a $120 air conditioning bill. He said he’d be glad to turn it up during the day, as long as he got his “fair share” of having it turned down at night.

The rest of the story is at The Second Road.

But I'm Also Grateful.

I'm wary, yes, of my husband's comments earlier tonight...but this other thing happened today that was very special.

He gave me a $50 bill. He went to work even though he doesn't feel good, and he worked all day and earned $50. He brought that $50 home, and he gave it to me.

There's so many parts of that experience that are really big for him...going to work without feeling good and working through his detox sickness...making money and having cash in his hands...choosing not to use with that money...choosing to give the money to me. That's big stuff, and I have to acknowledge that it's development.

He's trying really hard to do something. I'm not sure what it is, and I don't think he knows, either...but he's trying. His face looks like it hurts to be him tonight. His body feels sweaty all over, and he's weepy all the time. He's having a hard time, but he's fighting to get to the other side of this stuff, and I'm grateful for the work he's doing. I hope it sticks.

$

Money. I found out today about another way that I'm going to be tighter on money. It's a problem I'm facing all by myself. My husband didn't help create it at all. He adds to the stress of it by being unable to contribute to make up for my financial shortfalls, but in the end, this is all mine.

I am struggling to find work, yet I'm always at work. I'm always looking for an ever-elusive job. Is anyone hiring? Anybody want to take a chance on a junky's wife? I'll only blog a little at work, and otherwise, I'm quite the workaholic perfectionist maniac. I'll do anything you want, especially for health insurance. I'd wear one of those Statue of Liberty outfits and dance by the side of the road with a sign if you'd give me health insurance.

I'm trying to keep my head up. Things always work out. I haven't had my power cut off yet. Hopefully, things will work out.

I am afraid, though. I'm afraid. Failing to provide for myself financially is my worst fear, and I thought that I'd beaten the worst of it. I beat myself up about it a lot. I tell myself I shouldn't have bought my house, even though I bought the house with the understanding that my husband would be working, contributing, helping. He'd always done it before.

I'm so tired.

The Spiraling Argument.

"Love really is all it's cracked up to be. It really is worth fighting for, worth being brave for, risking everything for. And the trouble is, if you don't risk everything, you risk even more."

-Erica Jong

One thing I've always loved about my husband is the way he fights. In past relationships, I'd always feel like the relationship was on the verge of shattering every time we'd fight (I'm not codependent, shut up). Whenever we fight, even when it's nasty and he's being his petulant, whiny, addicty worst, I never doubt that he loves me or that we're not going to get through it. Our arguments can get really bad, but they always end well, and we always end up working through something important.

Our fights function in something like a spiral...we start out very far apart, and we circle and circle around each other...he yells and I cry and he cries and I yell...but eventually, we come closer and closer together until we merge.

We had a big one this weekend. I had been holding it in and holding it in and waiting and waiting to see if he'd ever get it together and get some bill money to me. The first week he was working, he gave me about half what we've agreed would be the amount he'd give me each week. The second week, he gave me the same amount, but the he had to borrow a bit of it back for methadone. This past week, he gave me even less.

Because he's working for family, his schedule is very flexible. We both agreed that this flexibility would be a good thing. He's been crazy for a long time and out of work for a long time, so having a chance to ease back into being a grown-up by working for family, having coffee in the morning and a great lunch with people who love him, and being able to get there late or leave early occasionally is a great gift. And it's become a gift that he's gotten really good at taking...

Every day last week, there was some reason why he wasn't able to work more than 2 or 3 hours. His mom stopped by and they talked for a long time at lunch. He sat in the morning with his cousin and talked about the weekend's game. He and his uncle had gone to the hardware store to buy supplies, and then they stopped for lunch, and time got away. He didn't feel well, so he could only stay for a few hours and then he got a ride home. Etc. Etc. Etc.

At the end of the week, he'd managed to pay for his methadone, throw a few bucks my way, and buy himself coffee every morning. He's feeling great about himself because he's doing so much better than he was two months ago, and he was pretty shocked when I let him know that the pink cloud that's puffing out his ears wasn't working on me. I'm still pissed, and this better isn't good enough.

He freaked out for a while, pouted in that special addicty baby-fied way, yelled that "NOTHING IS EVER GOOD ENOUGH!" for me, cried about how I make him feel like an ass hole even though he's trying very hard to be a good husband for me, and I yelled, cried, and stomped around with him. I recognized that I was behaving like a crazy person when he retreated to the bedroom to pout and I was sobbing on the couch, and I called my sponsor to get some sense talked to me. She pointed out that it's a beautiful day. It was a beautiful day. I loaded up my doggy and we went for a very long walk. We talked to each other. I talked to myself and to whatever higher-power would listen. She sniffed the grass and peed a lot. I felt better. I got home, and he was better.

He'd thought about the things I'd said, and he acknowledged that I was right. He's not doing enough. He wants to do more. We found our centers, separately and together.

Faster.

It's not happening fast enough.

We're better. We seem to be on an upswing. He's attending meetings. He's saying things like, "I'm excited about NA because I've realized that I don't only have a drug problem...I have a life problem."

This is what I want...it's what I've been hoping for. It's the place I want him to be in, the place I want me to be in. And the best part is, he's coming up with these things by himself. He's become interested in meetings because he knows he needs help, that he can't do it on his own, that fixing the mess his life has become is going to take more than just quitting drugs. Kicking heroin was quite a feat, but heroin was a symptom of something much deeper.

I know this. I know he's doing the best he can at the best pace he can handle...but I want it more, and now. I want him to work, I want him to finish all 12 steps and be fixed. I want it now.

Now now now.

Damn it.

I am so fucking scared of this little, wavering hope. I am afraid to acknowledge that things are better, and when I do, I am angry that they are better...but still not better ENOUGH.

I want our finances to be better, more than anything. I'm glad that he's working on himself and getting stronger and growing, and I'm glad that I'm working on myself and getting stronger and growing. I'm not glad, however, that every damned paycheck is gone as soon as I get it. I'm tired of living hand to mouth. I'm tired of scrambling to make my bills. I'm tired of being the grown up, of the bills being all my problem. I've been doing that for far too long.

I was very frustrated last night about these things...I tried to look in my Nar-Anon literature about "frustration," and there was nothing there. There was nothing. I was more frustrated. I thought I'd find 50 pages of crap I could read to help me straighten out my brains, and there was nothing. I'd like to register a formal complaint.

There's a meeting tonight, though, and that's good. Sometimes, I feel like I get my mind cleaned out there. I've gotten much better about letting go of stuff...but the money stuff is so very tangible, so very hurtful and present and scary...but I've learned to let go of things I never thought I could, and so maybe I can figure out my way around money woes as well.

I was thinking of finding another job...but I love my job. If I leave it, I'll resent him for it. I should plot some scheme to make money, or to work another day, maybe somewhere part time. I know, though, that I need a lot of time for ruminating right now. This time in my life is hard, and I've been trying to be patient and forgiving with myself. When I was younger and in a better head space, I could work like crazy...two or three jobs would be fine. I don't want to do that anymore, especially not now.

But, reality is reality. I've got to learn to live on its terms.