Believe in the Flowers.

Carol of the Zombie Jesus!

More specifically, I hate it when he acts like this.

More often than not, recently, Colin has been getting into a very deep depressive funk where he decides that all of our money problems are not only his responsibility to fix alone, but are also totally and completely his fault. He doesn't decide this because he ever has the facts to back it up, but because it's more convenient for him and gives him one more thing to be depressed about. The worst part is that when I try to tell him that we're in this together - we got into debt together, we'll ride it through, and we'll get back out with each other - he takes that as his cue to throw the blame my way, and though he'll never admit he's thinking it because he says it isn't worth mentioning, he's fairly sure that all of this is now MY fault because I obviously have no interest in finding a job and am not actually trying. Okay, well, right this second I'm not trying. I'll admit that.

There's a sense of martyrdom about him: if it can't be totally his fault so he can feel bad about it, he can't take any blame at all and thus it must be my problem because I am the only other convenient person. I tend not to appreciate this stance, because while I have no problem understanding that yes, some of this is my issue too and I am just as responsible for our financial turmoil as he is, I DO have a problem sitting back and taking sole responsibility for all of this crap. However, the only time I can get him to admit that yes, he is thinking this is my fault for not finding a job yet, is when we're having a horrible argument - the same argument we tend to have when we find ourselves in the hole - and thus when it actually matters, it doesn't get brought up. Naturally this means it's cannon fodder for the next big two-day fight.

So now while he sleeps instead of trying to fix his issues, I'm going to get a shower and go back out and attempt to fix some of mine again - with any luck, by finding a job. Thus far, no dice, although I've been purposefully avoiding the fast food chains because I've seen what the golden arches have done to Colin and I'm none too enthused about getting fryer grease burns all over my hands and arms. But it seems like this is one of those situations where my options are becoming increasingly limited, and my best choice is to simply bite the bit and do the shit I don't really want to do. I realize I'm being a bit emo about this whole thing, but I'm doing my best not to go overboard with it. There's only space in this small apartment for one crying emo kid, and I don't want it to be me.