Insane in the membrane

Not to the surprise of anyone, I started crying AGAIN last night. This time it was about work. Actually, it’s usually about work. Or at least it usually starts out about work then snowballs into something else entirely to where snot is dripping out of my nose and I’m hysterically crying over how much I hate my hair. I swear I’m starting to turn into the Sanjaya girl.

Clay and I had plans to be uber productive last evening and clean out our cars (ha!) and go to the park and let him hit softballs at my face to prepare me for next Tuesday’s game. Unfortunately, our agenda was thrown into the wind when Clayton came home from work and found me crumpled on the floor in my good floral skirt, wondering out loud why I was such a freakin’ failure at life. He asked me what would make me feel better. The two things that always make me feel better: shopping and comfort food.

 “How much shopping are you wanting to do?” he asked cautiously. Was it just me or had the color suddenly drained from his face?

 “ … Until the pain in my heart goes away,” I replied dramatically, starting to change into my sweats.

He sighed. “There goes our savings account.”

Two tank tops and a play session with beabull puppies at the mall later, I was doing okay. In fact, I came home, made dinner (pizza = amazing comfort food), did some laundry, and went to the gym.

See, Clayton? All this cost you only $26.78. Ha, I kid. Actually, I’m doing okay because I have the best husby in the entire world who has every confidence that if I’m just patient enough, I’ll have the career I want. *sigh* Patience isn’t a virtue; it’s a gene. A gene I think I was born without.

I need to start using my perfectionist powers for good and not evil.

Anyway, dragging Clayton around the mall for an hour asking him what colors and fabrics he likes really made me realize how much this man puts up with. He hates shopping. He absolutely hates it, but he always goes with me. Always. Even when his eyes glaze over and he stares off into space, he still makes the effort to spend time with me as I scrounge around the clothing racks looking for my next fix. It makes me feel really bad about all the ways I know I annoy him.

Things I know that make Clayton contemplate divorce: 
  • My perpetual whining that I need new clothes. I could have gone shopping just last week, but I have this fantastic ability to convince him that I just have to have a new pair of jeans. I can win any argument. I should have been a lawyer.
  • My weird habit of picking the most random songs and singing just one line of them over and over and over and over and over and over and over and … you get the idea. Usually, I choose the jazz version of “Poker Face”, but just this week I was running around the apartment singing, “Gypsies, Tramps, and Theives”. I don’t even know how I know this song, but I do. And I like to let everyone know it.
  • How I laugh myself into a tizzy whenever I use a thick British accent to say, “The Chronicles of Narnia”. I did it once when we were watching the movie and I thought it was so freakin’ hilarious it begged to be repeated over and over and over and over and over and over and over and … you get the idea.
  • How all my habits that annoy Clayton somehow involve repeating an action or saying something over and over and over and over and over and over and over …
  • That I can’t for the life of me remember that the Cypress Hill song goes “Insane in the membrane”. I always say “Insane to the membrane” and my incorrect use of the lyric makes him go berserk. And believe it or not, this one comes up a lot in our house.
  • That I can take something as minuscule as a hang nail and instantly turn it in cancer. Most recently I discovered a small stye-like bump on my eyelid. On Day 1 it was a stye. Day 2 it was a cyst. Day 3 it was a tumor that was going to keep growing and impair my vision and when I go in for surgery to have it removed, they’ll accidentally stab me in the eye with a scalpel and I’ll go blind.
And Clay? My one, solitary complaint about him is that he leaves every single drawer and cupboard open in our house after he takes something out of it. I’m not sure what his logic is behind this odd behavior, but I can only assume he just really, really wants everyone to know what we have in our kitchen at all times.

That’s it. That’s the one thing he does that really gets my goat (that expression is so stupid).

Sorry babe, looks like you drew the short stick in this relationship!


  1. LMAO I know what you mean! Shane always leaves cabinets and drawers open too! When we were living together we had signs in each cabinet that said "I am the cabinet please close me when you are done" .... that didn't work either.


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