Husband decided that besides doing my yearly tax shit he would completely empty the contents of every single piece of paper work that I own and dump it the middle of the living room and sort it out. Window cleaning and washing down the huge Welsh Dresser and all its contents was included in this activity.
As you can imagine I was over the moon with suicidal feelings!
I do things bit by bit and slowly- he attacks chores the same way George Bush went into Iraq. The living room resembled downtown Baghdad, after crack addicted violent soldiers had been on a rampage
There was no piece of floor untouched by the mess and no where to actually step when I woke up. The sound of that fucking shredder had been going all morning, he shreds everything. I think he has just shredded my entire life. He then shredded all his own stuff and that included paper work going back to when we owned a bar together.
My husband would have been a valuable asset to President Nixon if only he had been old enough and American enough to be involved in US politics. This man leaves no trace of his existence; I swear if he dies I will be hard pushed to prove he was born!
“Go through all of those old diaries and see if there is any valuable info you need to keep” he shouted orders.
I looked at the shredder and wondered if it could take his big fat head.
So there I was washing windows, cleaning small ornamental cups and knick knacks and trying to work out if this is actually grounds for divorce. I hate this stuff.
There is an upside, he discovered amongst the many bank statements that people owe me cash…whoopee… now that’s a by product that I love.
Sometimes paper work and countless invoices get on top of you and you can get buried amongst it all and lose track.
That’s the great thing with emails; you can just delete them and keep the ones you need. Real paper work is fucking shit and I hate it.
Ashley was clever enough to fake sleep and hide in her room, which meanwhile does look like it had been bombed, fuck knows how she finds stuff in there…it scares even me. Her filing system is akin to just throwing her paper work high in the air and wherever it lands- is where it should be.
I am sure when she gets her own place she will be found starving and dying beneath DVD’s, letters, University work and underwear.
Husband is now in full Aspergic mode and as I write this he is continually holding up tiny pieces of paper and asking me to ‘Kill or Keep’…I am off to get drunk…and trust me…I don’t even drink. I may not be here in two days time, I am going to strap a canoe onto my back and fake my own death._