get me out of this

I can hear him in the hallway, making excuses to no one. When's he's angry, or frustrated, his voice gets nasal, whiny. He's doing the last part of the chores. I'm out of the way. But he wants me to know how much he's suffering. He was a suburban kid. His mom cleaned the house, made his food, wiped his nose so that now he thinks he's allergic to everything.

There's a crash, followed by an expletive he habitually misuses. Who misuses expletives, as though there weren't enough to go around? He sounds like a midwestern churchgoer, dancing around the idea of actually swearing.

I swear to god I do not want to hate him. He's a good person. And I know, believe me, that the things that drive me crazy about him are really just me, feeling trapped.

At the moment there is literally nothing to do. We have no money, we have no furniture. We have a corrupt notion of a home that is really just four walls, and the being trapped is less figurative than it's been since I married him. I stare at the walls and imagine I'm alone, imagine I can go out and walk the streets and see things without having to drag him behind me, whining because he has to go to the bathroom or blow his nose or wants another latte or can't find a job. But I don't leave because walking with him exhausts me and I know he'd never let me go on my own.

I don't want to hate him. I want both of us to get out of this before that happens. Instead I turn it inside out, swallow it. I see what this lie of a life is doing to me and try to just hate that instead.