Goodnight, My Dear One

Well, now. Everyone is asleep. Everyone except me, of course. My children look like such angels as they dream. My heart swells with love as I watch them rest. Every day of having them has been such a blessing to me. I could watch them all night. It would be better than going to rest with him.

Oh, many would say that he is a fine husband. He does not drink too much, he does not sit around unemployed and he does not chase women. Those things are all fine, and men like that are few and far between, I'll agree. However......

When a woman works outside the home, raises a family and tries to keep up with tending house, is it too much to ask that her husband pitch in, rather than sit and play video games, watch TV or surf the Internet? Yes, I understand that he works full time, but so do I. I do not ask him to do it all. I only ask for help. He simply states that he did not make the mess.

Does it shame or embarrass him when people come to our home unexpectedly, and it is a mess? No. We are not so advanced as a society that people look at the husband, as much as the wife, with scorn when her home is not "company-ready" at all times. I am the one who looks bad, but I refuse to do all the work by myself. He does not care how people look at me. Why do my feelings matter so little to him?

I find it oddly funny that he could imagine that I enjoy his touch. He knows so little. How can he believe I bear any more love for him? Perhaps, tonight, I will end the sham.

You see, I can so easily load the gun. I can put in the clip, chamber the bullet and flip the safety. I could empty it into him before he feels the first shot. No, no...that's too quick. I want to tell him why he's dying. He deserves to know.

Perhaps, I'll get the kitchen knife and some duct tape. I'll have to tape his mouth, so he won't wake the kids. Too bad. I'd love to hear him plead and swear he'll appreciate me and help me and never take me for granted again.

I could start with his wrists, then his ankles, then I can watch him bleed, pleading with his eyes, while I explain to him that he slowly bled the love and compassion for him from me. Finally, when I'm tired of watching him bleed slowly, I can slit his throat and watch him choke on his own blood while the light leaves his eyes.

I wonder if any man knows what it is like to be taken for granted. I wonder if any man understands what it is like to be so unappreciated or to feel as if the one person who should care doesn't.

Yet, as I look at my kids' faces, I understand that it would harm them to lose both parents. I would not be able to get away with this. He would be dead, and I would be in jail. I doubt he'll ever know that they save his life, every night. He'll never appreciate them for it.

Oh, well. I should get to bed. I have to work tomorrow, and the kids have their usual activities, which I will have to manage by myself, again. Sweet dreams, darling. Sweet dreams.