My tears taste saltier than fried chicken.

I attempted fried chicken for the first time in my life tonight. I'm a bad, bad wife for not making it sooner, or am I? This is Michael's favorite meal that his mother makes, and you've always heard the saying "The way to a man's heart is through his stomach." So I found a recipe, bought some chicken, and went to work, and dang, that was a messy, messy production. Well, after 15 minutes of bubbling in the deep fryer, it was nice and crispy on the outside, and the pieces I checked looked nice and done on the inside. Michael came home, complimented the fried chicken aroma floating through the house, and sat down to the table. Apparently one of the pieces, somehow or another, didn't get as "done" as the others, and it was the first piece I picked up, and all I could say was "I'm sorry, but I can't eat this. I won't tell you what I saw, but I can't eat this." I started crying, ran to the bedroom, and plopped down face-first onto the bed. Michael was hollering "What's wrong?!?!!" and he came into the bedroom and he was like "Um, is it safe to eat?" I honestly didn't know after THAT, so he got me back into the kitchen, we sat down again, and all I could do was talk about what a failure I am. I can't even make friggin' fried chicken. The other pieces of chicken seemed fine, and he ate 3 pieces of it, so I guess it was okay. He kept telling me over and over how good it was, but I still feel like he was saying it just because I'd had such a crappy day. Sometimes I hate being a woman because PMS can truly make you feel worthless, lousy, fat, poor, pathetic, stupid, forgetful, retarded, oh yeah, and did I mention worthless? I mean, if it weren't for Travis & Jacob being here all day to be my little rays of sunshine, what would I do? Travis always finds a way to make me laugh, and Jacob is always smiling and doing new things. Travis always loves me, no matter what I do, no matter how many spankings he gets, no matter how many times I tell him "NO". It just seems like the whole world is against me at times. My mom did come by to see me today after school, and she brought me a new shirt she had bought me over the weekend, and we talked for a little while, and I told her how bummed out I was feeling, and she said we'd go do something together soon, with or without the kids, and she even told me I could come clean her house and make $50 a week. At least that way I'll have money to buy "me" stuff, like makeup, clothes, etc. And then my mom even told me that she admired what I did in my house (the painting), and how she never would have the nerve to do anything near that magnitude in her own house, simply because she could never do anything in her house to please my dad. So that made me feel good, I guess. Sometimes I wonder if my mom thinks I live in a state of depression. Seems like every time I see her, she's asking me if I'm okay. I used to think I was depressed BECAUSE I HAD to work and wanted nothing more than to stay home. But now I'm really beginning to come to the conclusion that I am depressed because I am just depressed. People that are truly depressed aren't depressed because of ANYTHING...they just are...it's a chemical thing in the body. And sometimes I think EVERYONE is depressed. I only know of 2 or 3 people who are bubbly and happy and smiling every single time I see them, and those are the people that make everyone else want to vomit. I'm so glad I have friends with problems, lol.