I was just getting him changed from his day clothes to his p.j.s. I'm tired. Getting him in and out of the restaurant in the wheel chair isn't so easy. At the restaurant, before I even finished eating, he said, "I can't wait to get outa here." So we're back home. The apartment needs straightening up. Earlier I mentioned to him that I would give the place a good cleaning this weekend. I was just in the midst of undressing him, and he says. "Look at this effin place." (It's a bit untidy.)

He can never just withhold a ctiticism. He has to remark on every single thing that I haven't attended to. He can never think, "She's tired. I won't comment on the floor needing vacuuming. She'll get to it." No. He has to pass a remark on everything and anything that isn't just so. When I first took over doing his housework for him, the kitchen floor was beyond dirty and he had roaches. I cleaned his kitchen and bathroom floors on my hands and knees. I've brought in a professional carpet cleaner 3 times in the past few years. I rid the place of crap he hoarded. The bugs are all gone. Just the other day, I cleaned his living room windows and hung up new curtains that I had ironed.

He never knows when to just shut the ef up. He can do nothing to help. He can't even dress himself. I do everything. And he looks around to see what I'm not keeping up with. He's too lazy to even shave himself, which he could do, if he would make the effort. But he makes zero effort. So I shave him. I comb his hair for him because he acts like that's just too hard for him to manage. About the only thing I don't do for him is spoon-feed him. (Though I have to cut up his meat for him.) But he has to look around to see where there might be a few things piled up that needs sorting out. Tonight there is some disarray on the dining room table. So he has to start, right while I'm in the middle of changing his clothes.

He never thinks to himself how my life is being affected . . . never thinks that I get tired of being here . . . that I want to go home . . . for more than just a few hours. I told him thst. He says, "You can go home now." He has this delusion that I'm just here because I love being here . . . that he does not require anyone being with him. The man can't even get on and off the toilet without help.

I can't take it anymore . .. the not being appreciated . . . the fault-finding with anything that isn't tended to promptly enough. The other day he was whining about his rose bushes needing pruning. Rose bushes are an awful lot of work. He has ones that grow like weeds. I've spent hours over the summer trying to keep up with them. Soon I have to do them one last time before the real cold sets in.

Sorry for ranting. It's how I feel when he nitpicks. I get so demoralized.