Sometimes I want to run away and be myself... today is one of those days. Already.

It's not even 8am and I am so frustrated that I just want to drop Llama off with Bucket at work and go to sleep. Alone. And probably in a hotel room, because this house looks like a pigsty. Remember how I said it was like living with a wild beast? I was wrong. Living with Bucket is like living with a tornado. A hungry, messy tornado. Combine his tornado-ness with our tiny house and the Fisher-Price showroom of a living room, and I cannot take it. It's frustrating to clean up, because I know at 5pm, he will walk through the door and leave his shoes in the hallway, his pants on a chair in the living room, a hat on the kitchen counter, and a shirt on the bed. Then he'll put wrenches and pliers on my counter, right where I'm trying to cook, and he'll get mad when I move them. He'll open the mail and leave the junk on the table instead of throwing it away. And I'll just walk behind him cleaning up until I get angry enough to go on strike, which only means that for a week I'll let the mess pile up and then I'll have to clean it all at once.

And Llama doesn't sleep. She got up every. single. hour last night from midnight to 7am. That means I don't sleep. Bucket can't hear her cry, somehow, even though she's across the hall. That is, he can't hear her cry unless I'm trying to follow the instructions from her doctor, which are to let her cry for 5 minutes when she wakes up, then go in and soothe her without taking her out of the crib, and then leave and let her cry "as long as it takes." Then Bucket hears her and pokes me. When poking doesn't get the results he's looking for, he starts telling me that it's not fair to her. Then he goes in, turns on her light, takes her out of her crib, and brings her in bed with us. Because he doesn't care if she ever sleeps on her own. He's not here half the time, so what would it matter to him? And when he is here, he's not the one to get up with her. He's not the one with the feedbags hanging off his chest. Which, by the way, she does not need in the middle of the night. She's just used to eating at night (because I didn't stop this when I should have...), so she thinks she should eat five, six, seven times a night. And Bucket thinks it's mean when I deny her.

I am so crabby today. Probably because I don't sleep. And Llama is crabby because she doesn't sleep. Bucket's a lucky man; he gets to go to the office.