Billy is asleep in hubby’s room. With him, but on the floor. I feel terrible. No one called back today whom I had called last night (family). I feel very pessimistic. Maybe it is pot withdrawal from last night. I had two months of smoking a bit of pot if not three without any incidents in emails or socially awkward online interaction. But then I fucked up. Hubby seems so unhappy here. And he takes absolutely no responsibility for any of it. It is all my fault, everything in the last 27 years, according to him. Including his smoking pot and his moods. Tonight he asked me if I was telling him to go buy pot because I wanted some. That is bs. Another ploy to say I am responsible not him. He really takes absolutely no responsibility for his choices and moods and life.