Current mood: Foul, filthy, and fetid

Run, my poppets, run. Run for the hills lest the miasma of my vitriol envelope you within its' inescapable funk. Good jeebus but I'm in a bad mood. I was in a fine mood. Piglet and I spent a very pleasant day planting pansies and ridding the fence line of accumulated leaves. (Yeah, we know how to rock the house round herr). But then my husband comes home. Why is it that my mood depends on his mood? Why can't my perfectly fine mood just continue along it's merry way without getting diverted by his ick? Why isn't it ever the other way? It seems that my good mood should overcome his bad mood, but nooooo.
I truly despise that I let his state of mind dictate mine. I consider that a weakness within myself. I'm trying very hard to maintain my identity in this marriage, my sense of myself. I've never been one to chameleon-ize (new word!) myself. We've all had those friends. The ones who instantly transform their entire personality to suit whoever they're dating. They start to like the crushes music, books, way of dress etc. But I've tried to be true to myself. Not rigid, to where I won't even try new things, but I don't dismiss my own likes and dislikes either because they don't suit him.
But for whatever reason, my mood will mimic his. We've been married ten years this September. Sometimes it feels like such a battle to have to constantly consider someone elses' opinion and desires in every decision that needs to be made. We need new living room furniture. Since Maximus is no longer here to loll his stinky 200lb self all over it, and Piglet is housebroken, we can get some good stuff. I have done all of the research, found the furniture that will serve our purposes and fill our needs and have laid all of this before him in an orderly and simple manner. If I wait for him to get his ass up off of our really-broken-in-well-because- he-never-gets-his-ass-up-off-it couch and go try out some furniture, you know when I'll get some furniture? When frickin Ethan Allen himself shows up with a tree and a hacksaw to make me some is when. What'll happen is I'll get fed up and pissed off (better than pissed on!) and go buy the damn furniture myself and he'll whine and piss and moan "But I didn't get any say so". Boo Hoo. And just how did I get off on a tangent about furniture? I believe I was lamenting the sad state of my wedded bliss.
Ten years and it's still this hard. Still takes this much energy and life force just to get through the day without saying something that shouldn't be said. I firmly believe that you can't unring a bell. We say things to the ones we love that we wouldn't say to a stranger. So I try to be mindful and only say things that I would want to hear, but that are also true. I usually end up not saying much at all.
I will note that it's easier since he's medicated. I sedate him when he gets home and don't have to deal with him, so yeah, it's better. I kid. A few months ago, it got so bad between us that Piglet was starting to notice. I gave him an ultimatum. He either got a script for an anti-depressant or I would have to ask him to leave until he could learn to control his moods. So the prozac is helping, actually quite a bit. So while it's better than it was, it could still be better than it is. For you ladies who've been at this longer, does it get any easier?