I'm sorry but I can't write nice, cheery blog posts at the moment. Everything is too grim. Mr G and I are rowing all the time, I am crying every day. I have book ideas to come up with - my last chance of reviving my writing career at the age of 67, not having had anything new published for eight years - and he won't leave me alone, in peace. Won't stop inviting people round which means I have to instantly drop everything. He won't even tell me when they are coming.
I have a manuscript appraisal of a long, serious book to do, which entails annotating the manuscript on the screen, plus writing a minimum of 2,500 pointing out faults and suggesting improvements, my horoscope column to write AND the book ideas to think of, before I go to my sister's for a week on August 8th. I haven't seen her for two years. I wanted to leave the weekends free to concentrate on the books. There are only two weekends before I go away. He knows this.. and now he says he's going to throw an early birthday party on one of them. It's not his birthday till September. And I've lost yet more precious time that I desperately need for writing. Oh, and now he says he's invited friends over this coming weekend, too, and again he didn't consult me. I just can't cope any more. I am trapped here. I can't find anywhere to move to and even if I did find a house or a flat to buy, so I could get my stuff out of storage at last, the process takes weeks, or even months. I don't know what to do, I am completely unhappy and I can't cope.
I am sitting typing this with fleas hopping up my legs and biting me. I wanted to get the whole house fumigated but he won't let me, because it's HIS house and the fleas don't bother him. (Yes, we do put stuff on Flad, but there's a stray that keeps coming in.) I've just found one in my bed! I have sprayed and sprayed, Hoovered and Hoovered. I can't relax because I am constantly on red alert, trying to catch the buggers before they bite me. And then there's my tooth. Can you imagine having three and a half years of only being able to eat on one side? The antibiotics have helped a bit. I have another appointment at 12.30. I shall probably infest the surgery with fleas.
Mr Grumpy is home all day and doesn't work, apart from doing the odd driving job for his mate the butcher. Of course he wants his friends in. I, on the other hand, am still working and need him to show some respect for my office hours. There is a lifestyle clash going on here. But I still think he could show me a little consideration. He's known me for 15 years. He knows I'm a writer and editor. I don't need to retire just because he has.
This morning's row was because I put the washing-up bowl, dish drainer and sink tidy in the dishwasher for a quick wash, as they were filthy and greasy. He came in just I was taking them out and told me off. I shouldn't waste energy putting just a few things in, and Quick Wash isn't hot enough (they came out perfectly clean, so sucks to him!). I then made the fatal mistake of reminding him it was my dishwasher and surely I could wash things in it if I wanted to. I kindly got it out of storage and let him use it when his died three years ago. Now he says he's going to buy a new one, disconnect mine, leave it standing in the middle of the kitchen and I can take it back to the storage unit.
How the hell am I supposed to do creative work in such a disruptive atmosphere? I really think this relationship is over. Yet... he has said two or three times, very accusingly, "I wouldn't abandon you if you'd had a stroke.! So what am I to do?
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2 weeks ago