I miss my daughter so much. We homeschool but I rarely see her these days, since my husband is laid off and I have to work more to make up the difference. We made close to the same salaries, but since he also had our benefits, we’re treading lightly, trying to make it and barely keeping our heads above water, dodging phone calls every day (I know we shouldn’t, but it’s so damn depressing to just say, “We still have a bank account in the red”).

My husband’s not teaching her or even really playing with her much, though; in fact, every time I poke my head out of my office—even on gorgeous days like this—he’s watching Monster Trucks or Deadliest Catch (really, I know it’s sad that Phil died, but how many times does he need to watch it?) while she attempts to sneak off and see me. Meanwhile, he’s yelling at her all the time for stupid stuff—in a voice that would terrify Cujo.

After four weeks, I still have to remind him to feed her lunch, to be sure she washes her hands. The other day I couldn’t even find him while she was playing outside by herself and “really hungry, Mommy,” so I brought her in—in the middle of working—and fed her and he didn’t even bat an eye. And he hasn’t been that much help around the house save for things he wants to do; the constant asking it takes drains me and I’d save time and agony by just cleaning everything myself—but if I did, I’d have no time to work.

I’m also doing all of his applying—from unemployment to jobs to setting up interviews—for him. I’m just getting fed up with it! I don’t even want to sleep with him, something I was looking forward to the weeks leading up to his layoff. It’s not the fact that he’s not working for pay that irritates me; it’s that he’s not pulling his weight. When I was laid off, I kept busy the entire time—from our daughter to the house to laundry and our aunt and appointments to—well, to pretty much everything I do anyway, work or none. And I did all of that plus applied for jobs, built a portfolio, took odd projects, and even volunteered a little. And it was sheer happiness, boy, I’ll tell you; if we could get regular checks for taking care of all of the people around us—as people in childcare and nursing facilities do—I’d simply do that. I got a lot more sleep doing that, anyway.

I know how lucky we are; he gets unemployment checks, I have unlimited work to make up for the difference (which is, unfortunately taking a toll on my health once again, as it did back when I was an editor with unlimited work), we have a home and food and friends and, for the most part, our health. It just seems like when I was laid off three years ago, it made us so much happier, not tenser.

My friend tells me that maybe he’s depressed, but I don’t think he is; I’ve seen him depressed before and this isn’t it. Then again, guys do attach a lot of their personal happiness and feelings of worth with their jobs sometimes. I do try to remind myself of this when I feel like screaming at his face; in fact, we aren’t fighting at all. Most of this is just taking up residence in my body like angry little soot sprites—just more demonic than the ones in My Neighbor Totoro. I have tried talking to him about helping a bit more, though, and he just huffs or rolls his eyes like a teenager.

I really think he’s stretching his legs after many years of working for “the man,” which is great; if he could just do it while cleaning up after himself and pitching in a little, I’d just really appreciate it.