I know it's time to be medicated when....

I think I'm a shoe in for the loony bin. Given enough time I'll pass through those carefully guarded doors-- I'm thinking it's much like leaving the US and going into Canada (because that's closest to us) for a visit. "See ya! Don't let our patriotic door hit you on the way out!" But then, if you try to get out of Canada and back into the US, all kinds of trouble hit the fan. I'm probably exaggerating here, since both times I've been to Canada, the leaving and the coming back were easy. The point is, it's easy to walk into a loony bin. It's not so easy to walk out.
But I digress. This is the second week in a row that Dan has been gone. Things (children) are starting to grate on my nerves. I'm about ready to take a hammer to the fish tank just so I don't have to listen to the steady burbling of the water through the filter. Funny story about the fish tank. When we first got married, we talked about what kinds of pets we'd like. I said a bird or a cat. Dan said, "I don't like birds and I don't want a cat. Haven't you always wanted a fish tank?" I said no, because we'd had one growing up. We'd been married for three years, when for my birthday, he got me a 30 gallon fish tank. "I thought you said you'd always wanted a fish tank." Hmmm..... I should have known that selective hearing would quickly outweigh the romance. We've named the tank Homer and I have yet to clean it. That was my condition. I don't clean it. Ever. So, I stick to my guns and as the water evaporates I go crazy from the running water sound. At night, in the dark, when Dan's gone, it takes on a malevolent chuckle and sounds like men talking in our house. So the hammer. A good idea? Yes, no?