Answer.

I don't want to have to answer to anyone. 

Let me elaborate.

Yesterday, I was gonna grill chicken which I decided to par cook in a stone in the microwave...which I've done several times before.  Well, Magnum had just come in, and he starts grouching about how the little spinning thing in the microwave isn't turning...bitchbitchbitch.  Sigh.  The spinning thing was turning, the bowl wasn't because it's too big...I know what I'm fucking doing.  So, we end up in a big tiff about it.  And, of course, this whole chicken thing was preempted by a "discussion" about a bill that I've haven't paid...which makes my mind immediately want to snap back at him about a dozen different "money" issues I have.  Then, this morning, there's another "issue", and he just called to lecture me about it.

I know how to cook chicken in the microwave.  I try to do the best I can with money...but I fuck up.  We know this already.  Duh.  And I don't need a fucking lecture everytime I fuck something up.  I spent my whole life getting lectured and bitched at by my fucking mother...and we see how far that got her.

Is this fantasy I have of moving back to Illinois, living on my own, with my kids...is it a fantasy that can come true, but once it does come true, will I regret it?  Like the grass is always greener in the midwest, until it turns brown because it's fried?  (I don't even know what that means, so don't ask.)

I go back and forth back and forth about this.  But, I shouldn't be, should I?  If I were where I'm supposed to be, wouldn't I be happy?

I know, I do this.  I run.  Things get rough, I run.  I always have.  But, I think I've always lived by someone elses rules.  I've never really been on my own...ever. 

And, even after having written all of this babble, I can't help but think that my leaving will break Magnum's heart.  I'm sure there's some psychological disorder to that thinking of mine. 

My days, in general, are good.  And, I can't wait for Magnum to get home.  Except literally as soon as he walks in the door, and sometimes before he walks in the door, the tension in the air makes it hard to breathe.  The stress level goes from happy to WTF in about .2 seconds.

I need to fucking be able to breathe.