You’re dismissed, woman.

I wish I could catch up and individually write up The Daily Post Prompts. I can’t manage it. I’m just sorting out my own internal issues. My emotional bag can only fit a certain much. It has, there are just too many conversations, considerations and feel in it to be known with.

Seriously, sometimes I am frustrated with myself. Like how silent I can be when DH is around just because he physically makes me less anxious, worry-wart and calms all my brain agitations.  But how cruel enough to have all frustrations when he’s not around, telling myself that I AM, WILL, SO GOING TO TELL HIM HOW I FEEL ‘RIGHT NOW’ WHEN I SEE HIM and it just all descend into nothingness when he is around.

It absolutely unfolds itself in the sequence of this…

“I’m so telling him right now! NO! I mustn’t. But I need to. NO! NO! MUSTN’T. MUSTN’T, MUSTN’T, MUSTN’T.” Mutiny, this.


Oh woman. Just eat it in. Sh-sh-sh… Just eat them all in. It’s not the right time. Yet. It’s okay. You can do this. Swallow. Quietly. Be still, my heart.


Then I forget what it was; or… I want to tell him, and I don’t know how… The qualms when I do, with only 3% is delivered…


And the 3% that comes out, so professionally approached. Emotionless. And ultimately, how I disgrace myself with me. I’m a piece of sh*t.


This self inflicted notorious farce cycle repeats itself. So violently.

But yesterday was different. My level of self-tolerance was short. I had to endure the bantering from his friend’s wife for her receiving late-payment notification letter from the bank for something that is registered under her name that DH took on – I had nothing to do with. Unwillingly I put on the superhero cape on, stood on the precipice, borderline on my borderlines, and took it on. I was crap. I sent him a message that took so much longer to get through the thick forest.

When finally it did, he responded to my question and tells me their 4WD for forest trail has broken down so they’d be coming home on a tow-truck. He asks me to pick him up at a spot. He gave the time. I got there on time because he has established this thing about having his expectations met vs my short-comings (i.e. lateness) (with ongoing things like traffic jam, no vehicle available, having to stop for gas, my need to have a cigarette first, the cat wants suicide by refusing to move away from the driveway, my lack of motivation, repetitive explanation of things that only got half-sentenced into his head each time I say them where I then begin to shout thinking because my voice is too small and then he thinks I’m so rude to raising my voice to him (WTF hahaha), apart of having to manage 3 kids to handle/argue/negotiate/scream/listen to beforehand).

I waited. They ran 15 minutes late.

It was hot, borderline thirsty, hungry, borderline grumpy. You could still feel the heat even in air-conditioning.

The car radio has been broken for the past few months and the CD has been playing the same series of song for over and over since December 2016. So I shut the CD player down. Sick of it. I meddled with my phone and played on Spotify out loud enough to satisfy myself. With limited headroom decision, I began talking to myself, singing, screaming, going under emotion and above it. I entered my Digistive Zen moment. Restless fat feeling with low libido but ready to scratch some walls from being under serviced. Yes, THAT feeling.

He finally came through, got in the car, and had to ask (Well, I felt like, it was A QUESTION, really), “Why are you playing on Spotify?”

…I mean, he had to ask right; because he has got a functioning radio in his pickup truck, right? Is there no logic to why I chose to Spotify myself? So I should be okay listening to the same thing each time I drive like, EVERY TIME, right? I wasn’t asking him to listen to what I chose to listen in the first place. And every time I make a decision is always the one that leaves no room for him to comment because I am the only decision-maker for it, right – because he is not present. And the rest of the other sinister things I digested in my head just shat through. He had unmoored, unleashed the beast in expressionless me (which I know is even more scarier in the I-have-no-sh!t-clue-of-what-may-happen-after-this category) with just that one question. So do so kindly receive my hospitality, final sentence and load of crap – take it like a man.

But really, to think what it took for me to be able to just say it! All the feelings, endurance, patience, dissatisfaction, worry, unhappiness… I mean, being able to draw out what I stored in my emo bank crap was WONDERFUL! But to think that it all had to be in collaboration with 5 days of water-cut to be able to be out in one sitting is like… I mean, I had to be under that intensity scale to actually be able to literally throw myself up to him! It took so much and so long…

I’m just this maze of sad stuff, isn’t it? Be like…


Yeah woman. You’re dismissed.


Author: momsthetruth

Her own worse critic, full of love and full of walls. She can't digest her own brain + emotion combo, with the littlest emotional bin EVER. They all just must be out, somewhere; sometimes imprinted into the walls of her blog etches.

2 thoughts on “You’re dismissed, woman.”

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