It's some obscene hour of the night and the coyotes are howling and yipping at the chickens and the poor cat out in the shed. I'm sure it's coyote-ese for "damn, that smells like dinner" and "Wow, how can I get a nibble of that?"

I'm just depressed. I can't stop being mad at my husband. He wants sex and I would like sex, but I don't like the idea of every time I get a massage, a pat on the butt, or any kind of touch that it's a come-on. That's how I feel, though. He shaves, makes the bed, and never is it just for the sake of being shaven (which I like) or for having the bed neat (which I also like), but it's for the express purpose of getting some.

He thinks he's being all generous inviting me into the shower to "help him out" but all that does is leave me swinging in the wind and as much fun as that sounds like, it's not my idea of a great time. It double sucks that it does not occur to him that he could join me in my shower and do something like that for me. In fact, it has never occurred to him, ever.

And that's the thing. What I might like or need or be interested in, simply does not occur to him.

What's worse, is that tonight we got into this conversation about Jennifer Garner and it ended with,"Well, she's not exactly my type, but I'd do her." To which I snorted,"But you'd do anyone." He agreed.

Stupid man.

Then somehow sensing his stupidity, he said he wouldn't do just anyone because he was married. It was more that the institution was there, not that he loved his wife, which is what I'd really rather have heard at that point. I know I should just shut up about it because let's face it, he's a man and he backpedals badly. Well, and there's the whole thing that I am pissed off at him for saying he'd support me in grad school but that he dragged his heels and was a butthead about the whole thing.

I'm scared about the new semester. I'm scared about it becoming the total fiasco it was last semester.

I'm stressed out because Russell isn't doing well. I just dropped his medication dose because he is on so much friggin' medication that even if he's fucking up at school, which he is, I can't justify it in any form any more.

We took the chickens off his responsibility list because he's been underfeeding and underwatering them and they aren't producing eggs, and we've shown and show him, and told him and told him, and it's not getting through. All he has to do is work on school and care for the cat, which he was also doing badly. I told him I'd find a better home for the cat, but I love her so much that I can't bring myself to do it, so I'm just checking on her when I'm out feeding chickens and making sure that her litter's changed and that she's got food and water, and that he actually let her out.

Mike's stopped snoring, which means I'm keeping him up. He knows I'm sad and upset, and he knows I'm writing about it, but he has to work tomorrow, so I need to go lay awake in bed a couple more hours next to him. Nothing good comes out of fretting about things at this hour, but I am out of Ambien and Benadryl, so I'm frittering away the wee hours in flannel.