The last straw...

Well, maybe not the last straw.  Not yet, anyway.  But we are definitely reaching the bottom of the pile.  And as my patience wears thin, the reasons for my intolerance become more and more ridiculous.  And I wonder if it is I who is absurd, or if it is those around me for putting me in this situation.  

This morning, a morning just like any other, except I get a view of MIL in the hallway in her underwear.  (Maybe that's why my stomach is upset...)  It's my house, and I don't do that.  Even when I need to.  *shit* I left my bra in the dryer.  Let's get completely dressed so I can run around the corner so that I don't accidentally flash my MIL.  Why doesn't she return the favor?  Huh?  

She is convinced that the step to our front door is too high (its the same as all the other doors in our house and across AMERICA!-but whatever).  So, she waits for me to leave, so that I can do the difficult task of pushing the garage door button.  She could leave without me, she just doesn't!  So, I come out of my room at 6:55, to put away my coffee mug.  She is already sitting in my chair.  Waiting.  For me.  To finish.  I usually leave at 7:15, that's when I told her she needed to be ready.  I sigh and run back to the bedroom to do make-up and fix my hair.  At 7:08, I come out and take the dogs out before putting them in the cage.  When I return, she's standing in the hallway (blocking everything as usual).  "I still have shit to do, Fucking leave on your own!"  I want to scream.  I don't, I open the garage and go back to what I'm doing.  Why does this annoy me so much?  I don't know.  Maybe because last night we are trying to solve the problem of the house to yard ratio we have created on our new property.  The foot print of our proposed house is too big.  So, Will suggests we move some bedrooms upstairs and convert it to a two-story.  I angrily thrust my hand in the direction of our spare room where his mom currently resides.  Oh.  That's right.  Can't build my dream house the way I want.  I have a 55 year old child to look after.  

Have you ever though, dammit, I am tired of having to struggle.  To fight.  To overcome.  Then people give you this bullshit about how it makes you stronger.  Maybe I don't want to be stronger.  I'm already "two-year-long-parents-divorce, raised-my-disabled-sister, walked-to-school-and-work-for-three-years, paid-for-my-own-education, fought-to-get-this-job strong."  I don't want to be any stronger.  I've been through enough.  I'm tired.