JandA

J and A – I use janda combinations for so many things. I put our initials together for a combined myspace log in. Geebus. That was a bit ago. Anyway, I’ve used it ever since. I say J and A in my head when I type it. Not janda. I say J and A because it reminds me that J is with me. Me. No one else. I’m with him. I choose to be with him after 30 years. I love him so much more than I did 3 decades ago. I didn’t know what love was back then. I loved him, but I had no idea that there were so many levels.

He became my best friend early on. He continues to be. We parent the same way. We share the same political beliefs. We like the same kind of friends. He plays sports. I watch. He has become the Cleaning Master. Some chores are split up according to who has a penis (spiders, snakes, something high up, something dead, something smelly, leftovers to garbage because it makes me gag, snow removal, car repair, do you get the picture? Then there are vagina jobs. Growing those babies, breastfeeding, puke, pee, shit we share. Blood – totally his. I faint.

Discipline used to be me. Now it’s him. Both I guess. No, him. Abilify has left me completely neutered. I take it for my temper, but it dampens every bit of it. I have a hard time getting fired up. Safer that way. But that has turned him into the mean guy. I don’t mind. I was the bitch for so many years – the kids’ younger years too. When they needed discipline yes, but not from the bipolar mom with the nasty temper. I never hurt them. I just yelled when they fucked up. And sometimes just for being kids. If only we could have our minds now at 50 and the body of a 20 year old – that would be perfect to raise a child. But we can’t. And I can’t go back those first 15 years and medicate.

Anyfucking way – where was I? Oh yes, there are also regular chores that are shared by both us – except with my nighttime hours and the depression, I personally don’t give a shit about chores right now. I’m such a clean person, and it kills me that the house is in need of some love. J A S O N comes home every night and helps me cook. He cleans the kitchen, bathroom, living room, and does laundry. I try try try to do shit during the day, but I’m so worthless. I did start a load this morning. I’m trying. Baby Baby Baby – maybe if I remind myself that I’m almost a grandma, my head will stay above water.

Where was I? What was my point? The point is, my husband and I don’t have the perfect marriage. We fight. Not as much since we are managing to pay the bills on time, but we still fight. We also make up. Quite nicely. Some things are perfected with age. The longer we’re married, the better the sex is. Go figure. Ain’t that the way it’s supposed to be?

If J ever leaves the A, ……. she probably won’t make it.

Too many fucking spiders.

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