So much happens, I can't keep up with myself. July 16:   First day of symptoms of what appears to be a sexually-transmitted disease.  Repeated attempts at over-the-counter self-treatment follow.August 17:  Husband has a nighttime outing with family, so I decide to sleep overnight at my parents' house after a long day of work, since my husband won't be home anyway until very late.  According to my husband, something bad happened at midnight.  Although he hasn't used cocaine since before our wedding last June, he had an outstanding debt with a drug dealer.  The dealer, without warning, came by our house, knocked on our door, and demanded $800 "or else".  He made off with $700 and a ring of sentimental value to my husband.  (Thankfully, it was neither the engagement ring nor the wedding ring, or his head would have rolled.)  My husband overdrafted the necessary cash from his account, so he had to confess to me the next morning so I could cover the debt for him.  I ultimately covered him with $400 of our wedding gifts, a $200 cash advance, and $18 interest before the advance was paid off.  I am upset that some scummy, potentially violent person knows where we live and has seen the beautiful luxury apartment my father rents to us, with all of our important and valuable possessions, and I am disturbed that he could show up at any moment with who knows what weapon and attack us or extort money from us. August 21:  Doctor appointment to investigate my symptoms.August 23:  I start a week-long antibiotic regimen.August 29:  Doctor's assistant calls me at work, on the recorded telephone line that my boss listens to, and tells me I have gonorrhea.  Hopefully the antibiotics have already taken care of it.  I immediately call my husband and tell him he has to see a doctor, too.  He obliges and goes immediately.  His doctor treats this "partner" case as "probable exposure" and prescribes him antibiotics to cure gonorrhea.  Later that evening, we have our marriage counseling hour.  We spend the entire hour talking about the incident with the drug dealer and never even get to the point about me having gonorrhea for six weeks.  When I complain about my husband's perpetual failure to contribute anything towards our living expenses, the therapist blames me for using a patronizing or paternalistic tone of voice when informing my husband that the rent is due on the first of the month.  In my opinion, it is the content of that statement, not the tone in which I say it, that is paternalistic, so there is no way to say it non-paternalistically.  If my husband would just contribute responsibly like the 27-year-old man that he is, I wouldn't have to explain things that any 18-year-old should know and be responsible for. August 31:  Payday!  I get about $950.  It all goes towards rent and a partial payment on our utilities.  I am covering 100% of our living expenses.  I also buy us some groceries on credit.  My husband also gets paid today.  He should be getting about $650, but of course I never see a dime.  He does not offer to reimburse the $400 of our joint money or the $218 of my personal money that went towards the drug debt.  He does not offer to contribute to the rent.  In an attempt to obey the therapist and avoid paternalism, I refrain from mentioning that the rent is due.September 6:  My husband finally starts TAKING the antibiotics for which he received a prescription eight days ago to cure the gonorrhea he passed on to me.  It was my paternalistic daily nagging that had this happy result, because he kept insisting he was "forgetting" to fill the prescription.  Oh, in his defense, maybe he really was forgetful--because he's asymptomatic, lucky guy.  When I was suffering symptoms of gonorrhea, the only thing I could think about all day was when I could take my next antibiotic pill.  But you'd think my husband, asymptomatic though he is, could remember that we have an STD by virtue of the fact that I have refused practically all sexual relations since our honeymoon.  You would think he would be concerned about that.  September 10:  My husband lists today in our shared calendar as our "2 yr living together" anniversary.  He'll get home a little before 9 p.m.  We plan to watch a movie.  Unfortunately, my office has a minor crisis and I won't be home until 9:30 p.m.; I call my husband to warn him.  He cheerily says this is fine.  When I get home, I am surprised to see that he is not there yet.  He strides in after 10 and says, as always, he is too tired to watch the movie.  I try to tell him that, for various reasons--including that my office is in a crunch and needs me to stay late--I don't want to see our therapist tomorrow but he is too tired to grasp what I am saying.September 11:  I call my husband from work and tell him I don't want to keep the joint appointment with our therapist tonight.  I'd rather that my husband take the hour to talk to her alone.  I can tell that, with these few words, I've triggered a depression in him, the sort of depression that causes him to take drugs, cheat on me, mope around the house, leave rotting food everywhere, and not snap out of it for days.  He calls back and admits that he used cocaine again last night.  That's why he was late coming home.  He knew I wouldn't be home until 9:30 p.m. and he saw an opportunity.  So he drove to the house of the same drug dealer who, less than a month ago, beat on our door and threatened him.  He took drugs and now he owes money to the dealer again.  He is hysterically crying and dysfunctionally depressed.  I call him repeatedly from the office and convince him not to stand up our therapist, but to have a short phone session with her instead.  The counseling via phone helps him a little.  When I come home from work at 10:30 p.m. he is mumbling into the phone with one of his best friends on the other end, one of the only other people who knows about his addiction. September 12:   Tonight is the start of the Jewish New Year.  My husband isn't Jewish, but he's making a new start.  He tells his parents about his cocaine problems.  They understand the severity and urgency and want to help him and me.  He told his parents that he owes the drug dealer $500.  How did he manage to spend a $650 paycheck plus an additional $500 in less than two weeks?  I have been selling my used books just to raise a few extra dollars on which to scrape by!  His parents and I are going to decide whether to help him pay off the drug dealer or not.  My husband is dropping out of one of his classes this semester; tonight was supposed to be the first meeting.