*

The Mr (on the phone to me): Where did you leave those coupons?

Me: On the kitchen table. (Like I said I would.)

The Mr: OK I see them.

Me: You're not going now are you? (Holy Hell I'm going to freaking kill you if you say yes.)

The Mr.: Yeah.

Me: You're going to leave the kids home alone? (You freaking idiot.)

The Mr.: I'll only be gone 30 minutes. They've stayed home alone longer than that.

Me: The store is open until 9. You can go after dinner. Plus, you said you'd make dinner (and why do you have to be so freaking selfish?)

Later: Wow, I feel like I could have gotten much more aggravated about that conversation. I guess the mood stabilizer is doing its job.

As I get closer to home the anger builds. I walk in the house and barely talk to anyone. And when I do talk I'm short and pretty much act like a raging bitch.

 Fuck. This sucks. I hate feeling like this.

Me: I thought you were going to make pizza since we have to leave soon for No. 1's concert.

The Mr.: I forgot.

Me: Of course you did. (Because you don't ever remember anything. Jeez! Do I have to hold your fucking hand for everything? Why do I have to do fucking everything around here? This place would fall apart without me.)

The Mr. (later, at the concert): You OK?

Me: I'm tired. And aggravated.

The Mr.: I can tell.

Me: (Well it's all your freaking fault! Of course you can tell! All my anger is directed toward you!)

The next morning, as I'm driving to work: Wouldn't it be nice if I were in a car accident? Then I can just check out of life for a while. Sit in a hospital while someone else takes care of me. But noooo because when I got home the house would be in such disarray that I'd feel so much worse.

At work I'm fine. Which is one of the hardest parts to deal with. The uncontrollable, unprovoked rage toward my family that spills out of my mouth like vomit.

Driving home I anticipate the anger that I know is coming. It's not as bad as I thought it would be and I cautiously try to act "normal." I know that much of the tension in the house comes from my wild mood swings. And the pressure of that makes the mood swings even worse.

The Mr. sees that I'm trying, notices that I'm not acting like a lunatic, gives me a smooch and takes the pizza out of the oven.