I've been really bored and lonely this past week.
Wait, in all fairness, we were very busy last weekend. I wasn't bored. But we were busy out with other people, and doing other things. And then Sunday I can't remember what we did, but I'm sure we were busy. Or Ian was.
Then Sunday night Ian went out. Then Monday Ian went to work. And Monday night he went out. And Tuesday he went to work. And Tuesday night he went out. Then Wednesday he went to work, and Wednesday night we talked about watching a movie, but then he went downstairs (something to do with a computer), and then he was on the phone (and there was no movie…) Then Thursday he went to work. And Thursday night he had to fix his sister's computer (downstairs.)... So finally it's Friday (almost.) But it's too late. I've already had my meltdown. Twice.
I'm lonely this week. I'm bored this week.
While Ian is at work, I wait for him to get home. I do the laundry, I tidy, I get dinner ready, all the while trying to think of things he would like me to do around here… I think about the things we need to do around the house together, and places we need to go on the weekend. If the opportunity to go out comes up, I do… But with no job, I have very little money to spend and going out seems a bit pointless. People say "Oh, how come you didn't get anything?" or "Well I'm sorry you didn't find anything…" and then I feel bad for saying I would go, just to get out...
Then Ian gets home, he eats the dinner, he usually does dishes (if I ask), and this week, he goes out. Or he goes downstairs to work on a computer.
I'd like him to say "No." Once, twice… He says he doesn’t want to have to do all this stuff. Or he doesn't want to do it right now. But other people want him to. So he does. And I sit here.
And after four days I feel a bit melty. And I melt. A bit. You know, the weepy "pay attention to me before I melt down…" drama before we crawl into bed…
And then, the next night, when the next computer finds it's way into his evening plans, I melt down. I feel like stomping. Like screaming. I'm crying, saying, "You have no idea what it feels like to be me, sitting here all day, every day!" He says of course he does, it must be very hard. But he doesn't. He goes out. A lot.
And is it his fault I have no job? Is it his fault I'm lonely? Is it his fault I'm bored? No, of course not.
But it's hard. He's the only one I have to talk to here. And he hasn't been here this week. And that's part of the problem. And when I told him so it failed to make a difference in his plans. And then I felt ignored, neglected, and utterly alone here…
But can he be held solely responsible for how I'm feeling? No.
This is an awfully big weight to place on his shoulders.
So what does a person do?