Today is one of those days that make me feel like buying a giant eraser. Or hitting the 'Delete' button all the way to the first paragraph.

After six years, here is where you and I stand:
1 house, mortgaged, paid for and still being paid for by me
5 dogs, largely taken care of by you
3 cats, those are all your responsiblities since I hate cats
2 cars, on two separate accounts

In the grander scheme of things, that's what it boils down to.

If we split, the only points of discussion will be the cats - and you'll have to deal with those, and how many dogs I keep.

Everything else is cut and dried.

Here are the things that make me feel like giving up:

1. You seem immutable to any change whatsoever. Progress is something that sits in the realm of fairy tales when it comes to improving your quality of life and financial standing + future. Someday you will invest in this, someday you want to buy that. Some day. But some THING tells me those are just pipe dreams you are incapable of reaching due to your own inertia.

2. But on the flip side, you envy my position of being the financial provider. In fact, you plain and simply hate it. You resent that I make more than you because it makes you feel like shit. Well, deal with it. If you actually gave a bloody care about the house, then maybe I'd let you pick door colours. But you don't. Oh yes, you do the dishes and call the gardener, but if something breaks down I have to tell you to ring the bloody contractor. And you wonder why I don't ask you when I am picking new wall paint. I didn't think you cared.

Actually, I think the crux of my constant (of late) wanting to end this all is this feeling in my gut that you, deep down in the seat of your emotional cave, have built up such a wall of resentment for me that you cannot let go. And your internal coping mechanism is already edging you to leave. So one eye is on the door. The foot is tracing the line, poised to take flight.

The only thing stopping you is something to chase.

I don't deserve this.