2016-05-30 - 3:30 p.m.

I'll Take Root Canal for 100, Alex

I don't know if it's menopause or what, but I am a raging bitch today. I'm just mean. My personal thoughts have shamed me. I am full of venom!

I can't say it's menopause, because periods. They're still here...but they're getting weird. They're taking 60-90 day breaks now and then. It could be that this viciousness is simply the opposite; period trying to come back before it's time, and bringing with it a nice case of early-onset PMS. Whatever. I feel like biting nails. And because I think this diary is private, I'll tell you why, even though it makes me look like a giant douche.

My in-law's.

My broken, grieving in-laws...who have lost their son and are sad, and in despair...are seemingly looking to me to DO SOMETHING.

I hate going over to their house. It's no secret. Well, it is from them. I use my work schedule as a shield to keep them from expecting more, but I did that when Mike was still here. We'd go up there together on the weekend when my husband was alive because being with him was being **with him**, regardless of where we were. Even then, I didn't really love to go. For that matter, neither did he...because of his mother. His mother is an invalid, a chronic pain patient, an energy vampire. She does nothing but cry and complain...and it has been that way for decades. She's only been an invalid for 5 years since a debilitating stroke in 2011 brought on by diet coke and chain smoking...but she's been a tired, miserable malcontent as long as anyone can remember. Now that Mike is dead, she's more miserable than ever, and his father is, too. They're both depressing as hell.

I know they can't really help that, and I do feel terrible about it...I do. I love Mike's father and I've tried to love his mother. I have to admit, I love her an amazing amount considering the fact that she has been quite unfriendly to me over the course of our relationship. She has been purposely nasty to me, so for me to have any consideration at all for her is a miracle. It's pity and I won't deny it...but she's earned pure DISLIKE, so pity is an upgrade.

So now...Mike is gone...and it seems his parents are looking to me to step up and be their ...whatever. I'm not sure what they want of me. They have another child but, he was also treated despicably by my mother in law as he grew, being made aware at every turn that he was NOT her favorite child...and as a result he bolted at his first opportunity, and moved to a neighboring town upon graduation. She is not guaranteed a visit on Mother's Day despite his residence being a mere 25 minutes away. He's trained them to expect nothing more. I, on the other hand in my 5 years, have shown them that when it is a time for celebration, I will spearhead an event. A grill out. A holiday meal. A birthday party for dour old mother's inexplicable ability to dodge the grim reaper for another year...which, incidentally, I solely shopped for, cooked her favorite meal, bought her a cake and gifts, made everyone show up...and received, in return, some nasty weight-related insults delivered under the guise of a "joke" by the birthday girl herself. Nyuk nyuk. You're lucky I don't serve you the Oleander Special, crone.

So. They EXPECT. Now that Mike is dead, they expect no less. I suppose I am still expected to do something, for everything...and I don't WANT TO. I am struggling in my own way. I am the one without a partner, missing the love I had, my Mike, my friend, my person. I am adjusting to being alone, holiday by holiday. Each one new, each one acutely different without him. I know they are going through it, too, and I know it's got to be awful for them and I feel broken hearted for them, despite my grudge against my MIL. I DO understand that it is sad, and hard, for them too. But I can't FIX it for them! And I resent them expecting me to! It's a struggle to force myself to go there for a cup of coffee. I don't wannnnnt to. I'd rather get a root canal.

Today is Memorial Day. The weekend, the usual time I feel compelled to make an appearance over at their depressing, dark, smoke-flavored house of misery, went by without my arrival and the guilt of it is tugging. So I sent a message, letting them know I meant to come by, haven't had the chance, and am working today (and I am, it's not a lie...) so any Memorial day doings are not happening for me today. FIL responds:

"I guess we can have our own Memorial Day from now on."

Meaning, "I guess I'll just sit down here in the dark with Depresso The Clown and forlornly eat Ritz crackers because nobody is going to cook as she is miserable and I am too bereft of life and belly fire to try, so, since you're not going to do it for us, all we have left to do is sit here in the dark cursing our existence and waiting for the sweet release of death."

So now I'm sitting here, drinking a drink and hoping it takes the misery out of the fact that I am, indeed, going to go over there and spend some life-sucking moments trying to feel less like a jerk. I have a cold watermelon I'll take along with me. I do not. Want. To. Go.

I need to move away from here.

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