Disclaimer: I am not trying to be fair here. I know and want you to know I am not presenting both sides. I'm venting, and this is probably a skewed view of how things happened, what was going on in the background, etc. You have been warned.

Disclaimer the second: This entry has absolutely no redeeming value. None. I'm venting. I'm upset and need say things that ought not be said under a roof, so I'm saying them here. You're all either my friends, or uninterested strangers. You're safe.

From what I understand, my heart condition is not stress-related. I hate it when SpouseKitty tells Kitten to not stress me out. If I go, it's because the artery just decided to go. Perhaps heightened blood pressure may exacerbate it, but I don't think so.

Still, I try to stay mellow. Even if it's not related, this has given me a different outlook on what's important in life. Losing my cool is not a good idea. If I'm to be remembered, I don't want to be remembered as someone with a hair-trigger temperature.

This is actually not an idle fear: my mother often said to me, "you must get your temper from your father." Given that my father predeceased me when I was at a very early age, this formed much of impression of him.

So, yesterday, I busted my hump cleaning up my in-laws' place. Among other things, I attacked the pile of papers to be filed. Actually, more than just that one stack, but other stacks around SpouseKitty's area.

SpouseKitty has chronic back pain and limited movement. Given that, she tends to clutter up the surfaces within reach. Obvious dishes I bus. Obvious trash I dump. Books I stack. Wires I organize.

Papers are another issue. Paper has long been a contention point between us. SK is very ... I don't want to say paranoid. She fears facing a situation where we need documentation and lack it. For example, an IRS audit.

So, to compensate, she sets a very low bar for "we need to keep this. We need to file that." 'We' is spelled t-a-e-r-K-i-t-t-y. That's fine. This is one of the things I do for love. I just don't do it as often as I should.

In the piles of paper were two applications for long-term care. I triaged them as "we should do something about that."

Today, I busted my hump doing laundry. Every bedcloth in the house has been washed. Every blanket, every pillowcase. Everything. The regular wash has been done, folded, put away.

This evening, a few of us at work planned to pull a prank on a coworker. So, at 8PM, we met outside his office, opened his door with a key left by his manager as her contribution to the prank, and filled his office with beach balls. Well, tried to. It only came up to knee-height, but that's still good enough.

Came back, showed the applications to SpouseKitty. She hit the roof. Turns out, she and I had partially filled them out four months ago, before I discovered I had a bum ticker. She was full of fury and recriminations.

"You have no idea how furious I am."

"It'd be a good idea to show some contrition."

"You had a sure chance of getting coverage before. Now, it's less than 25%."

"You have time for your blog, you have time for your story, you have time for your stupid prank, but you don't have time for what's really important."

Me, I faced it and accepted it. I pointed out that her being angry doesn't help the situation, doesn't make me any better at remembering my responsibilities. If anything, it works the opposite way, creating an aversion to thinking about it.

And, I pointed out that in previous tussles like this, I'd be in her face as soon as she got in mine. I give as good as I get, and she gets my goat every time. For me, the fact that I was speaking to her calmly, not just quietly furious, but truly calming and conversationally, was my show of contrition in the face of her offensive stance.

She didn't get it. She did calm down, in part because I refused to engage her. She said her piece, I nodded and asked her to go on. I didn't say, "vent it out," or "may as well get it out of your system." I wasn't condescending or snide. I just simply listened and nodded for her to continue.

She tried to trigger me, especially the part about the story. She knows how important writing is to me. The prank was another poke, another tweak. I refuse to let her. I will not be dragged down to her level.

Why is it that the people you love either fly off the handle, or make you fly off same handle with the shortest of sentences?

Yes, I'm angry at her. I'm angry at her for losing it, for giving into the short-sighted gratification of her own anger instead of trying to figure out how to make sure this doesn't happen again.

Kitten's first response when there's a serious infraction is to blame one of us, either for being unreasonable with rules, or for a side-issue, such as being in her room and violating her privacy. This sets SpouseKitty off in a bad way, and she makes sure Kitten understands that counter-blaming someone is a bad idea.

So, I didn't counter-blame her. I didn't counter-blame her mess; I know she'd say that she can't help it, that she can't move without pain, that it's unreasonable. She knows I won't look at it if it's so messy. I'm disorganized too, but a certain threshold beyond my own allowance and I get bothered by it.

I didn't counter-blame her for not setting up a clear protocol to communicate what is important. We previously agreed that one of the surfaces was to be kept clear, so if anything showed up on it, we knew to deal with it immediately. That lasted all of a day.

I didn't counter-blame her for not telling me it was critical in her eyes. Or, she claims she did. She claims she asked me and I said I did. I'm pretty sure I didn't, but that's a fool's path to go down the "he-said / she-said" head-butting.

I didn't counter-blame her. I'm not, either. I'm venting this in the anonymity of this forum, because I need my space, my friends. I don't need to be fair. I don't want to "see it from her side" or "tell her side of the story." I just want it off my chest. Thanks for letting me rant.

I feel better now.