My Equivalent of Taking the Stairs at the Sears Tower

I have two sleeves left.
That's all.
Just two little sleeves and I'll be finished with my sweater.

But I just can't do it. I'm stuck in this rut where each stitch I take is tearing my soul apart just a little bit. It's both physically and mentally exhausting. Every row I have to put my needles down and look longingly at the beautiful creation from the past few days. The perfect gauge stockinet stitch front and back of my Sweetheart sweater. It's smooth and soft, the darting gives it such a pretty fitted shape. I have so many fond memories of working and the excitement I felt getting each new step finished towards my goal of having this sweater finished in less than two weeks.
These sleeves will be the death of me.
I will knit, whether I want to or not. I just don't have the gumption to sit and stare at them hoping they will somehow spark some feeling of devotion like the rest of the sweater has. I am a woman torn. Torn between the love for her sweater and the hatred of these sleeves.
It's not that the sleeves are especially difficult. They are just long. I feel like I'm making a scarf. The pattern calls for measuring them in inches. You work even or increase until the sleeve measures said inches. For some strange reason, I have a mental block when it comes to working pieces in inches. Maybe it was just the letdown of the Microspun disaster that has me worries. If that was the case, however, I wouldn't have taken so long to finish that in the first place. Maybe it's just that the actions are so repetitive that I don't have the option of pushing myself.
(Let us note here that I just said I hate repetitive motions. I love knitting. Send me all the questions you have, but I won't be able to answer them. I know perfectly well that what I just said makes absolutely no sense whatsoever, but you must understand that I hate repetitive motions. And yes, I still love knitting.)
I think there is just one more thing standing between me and a finished sweater. Unhappiness at my current situation. I desperately need Chris to stand behind me while I finish this. Without some type of encouragement or excitement, I won't be able to care enough to finish and this gorgeous sweater will be thrown in a ziplock bag and thrown in my closet. Right now, the only thing he wants to hear is me running water for dish washing. I have been apprehensive about this situation from week one. I was under the impression that he would be doing the laundry, and I would be doing the dishes. He would cook, and I would clean up afterwards. So far, none of that has held true. I have helped with laundry every week, carrying laundry baskets, folding laundry. I also cook regularly. Yet, I still do all the dishes. I also have been supporting him for the past month while he tries to pull himself out of a hole he dug with his insurance, car payment, rent and gas. I have been paying for gas partially, and it kinda bothers me that he won't pitch in and help with the dishes. He might put them away on occasion, but usually I will just wash them and we use them from the counter. He expects me to do them almost every day or every other day and if I don't, he just complains that we don't have dishes to eat off. And we do. Plenty of them. I mentioned the fact that he might be able to wash them too if it bothered him that much, but he can't do dishes because of his germ phobia. Did I mention that I'm paying for the laundry as well? Since we moved in, I have been paying for laundry every week. It can be anywhere from six to nine dollars a week to do laundry. And I pay for it. He will pick up the living room every once and a while, but I am usually pretty good about picking up after myself anyways. I'm not sure I like this development. It really bothers me when I word harder than I get credit for. I hate when work is one sided and I don't like working when I won't get respect for it later. He just assumes that I should do dishes. That's not right. I can just let them pile up and when I want something to eat, I can wash something for myself. If he wants something clean, he can deal with it himself. I don't want to be like that. That's bitchy. But, it's like, what is he doing to show that he appreciates the dishes being done? He doesn't cook more often so I don't have to, he doesn't get dressed up and clean the house so that when I come home it's a nice surprise, he doesn't pay for laundry or dinner at a fast food place. He just assumes that I'll do them again because I have to. Because he wants me to. That's not fair.
That rant is over. Sorry it took so long. I really want to paint my nails, but I don't have any nail polish. Maybe I'll just go do dishes so Chris will want to talk to me long enough to say something about my sweater being done. Probably not. He's working, so if I start doing dishes, it will go unnoticed until we have dinner tonight, where he will ask me to help put dishes away so that he has room to cook, or ask me to defrost the meat so we can eat. Something along those lines.
Damn these sleeves and the problems associated with them.