Apparently, the hole that had been hanging onto my emotions for the last week or so has spit them back out at me. But, they are gross and covered in phlegm.
I’m not even mad about anything that makes a whole lot of sense. I’m just wicked pissed.
It’s all coming back to the never-ending struggle for control of my kitchen. MIL has a bunch of things that have “sentimental value” that she wants out there and wants to use. And I’m giving in where I can. I took all the flatware we got for our wedding out and replaced it with hers. She’s got crappy crap all up in my cabinets and you couldn’t fit a shot glass in there cause they are just so full. But, while she needs 10 of her Christmas themed coffee mugs out for use 12 months a year, she only ever uses 2 of them. I cleaned all the piles of food she has brought in over the last week and as soon as she saw there was a clean spot, she ran out and bought more candy. Which I don’t need, and have specifically asked her not to buy because of the Seroquel binges.
I don’t want to be the kitchen nazi but my OCD is just getting worse. And I feel kind of shitty (again/still) about complaining that there is too much food. But, the majority of it will go bad. She will eat 3 tortilla chips and then run out for a new bag of a different flavor and the first bag will go bad. Go grocery shopping and then drop it all off at a food bank if you feel compelled to shop. Don’t bring it here where it will be wasted and make a mess and make me crazier than I already feel.
Some of the food thing has to do with hubby. She wants to make sure that her baby has every food option that he could ever possibly want. It doesn’t matter that I’m trying to get us to eat healthier. It doesn’t matter that he’s been gaining weight and he doesn’t want to. And it doesn’t matter that I continually ask her to knock it the fuck off (I say it nice though) She practically shoves this shit in his mouth.
I’m pissed off that I’m even pissed off. It’s ridiculous. I know that my feelings are justified, but what am I supposed to do. She’s not gonna change, so I’m gonna have to modify my expectations. But I don’t know how, and I’m pretty sure I don’t want to.
I feel like a petulant child.