Meanwhile Nutty is as perky as ever. Boyfriend on a Short Fuse took all the dogs to his parents for the day, which is his weekly fillial duty, and gives me a nice break. I was so happy that on his return Nutty sat in the kitchen watching me, waiting for his meal, just like old times! I gave him fresh chicken and chicken from the chicken soup with veg, olive oil with his supplements. He wolfed it down.
His mouth does look a real mess though. The tumour
seems bigger. I just hope that because it is
growing outwards rather then inwards it means a better prognosis. But who
knows. For now he is happy and comfortable and that’s what matters.
We had a horrible night last night. Boyfriend on a Short Fuse incredibly
bolshy. I was knackered but he insisted staying up late to watch a noisy film
then Match of the Day. But if I am cleaning up the kitchen (my life basically)
and have the radio on he storms in and pulls out the plug.
Other things that
drive me mad, he uses a new plate for every tiny thing so we run out of plates
and the dishwasher is over loaded. If a plate has a speck of dirt or water on
it he has a fit. Yet if he is mopping up wee, poo or Nutty’s bloody saliva
dribbled on the floor, he will use a kitchen cloth or kitchen mop without telling me, which is
then inadvertently used to clean up the kitchen. Go figure. I’m surprised we haven’t died of
some terrible lurgy by now (although I am hardly Queen of Clean and pride
myself on ingesting a certain amount of germs, but there are limits). He made
me take dogs out last thing, which is fair enough as he always does it, but he
had spent most of the day watching tv and I had been running around, chanting
for nutty, emailing, doing admin…. Finally, when it is time to relax in the bath with
newspapers I must listen to his caterwalling TV.
Why do men watch so much TV? It's like a drug to them. I know two men who got rid of their tellies because they were unable to ration how much they watched.
Anyway, eventually he turns off downstairs TV and comes
upstairs only to turn on upstairs TV. We are scratchy with each other. He is saying
what a good film is on the TV, and I am saying, `oh I have seen it at the cinema,
why don’t you ever want to go to the cinema?'
And then later he gets at me for
being mean for not paying an extra 200 quid to stay in a holiday cottage on the
sea as opposed to the one inland. And this was seven months ago. It sounds so petty
recounted. Anyway, we have a slanging match and I storm to bed saying `I wished I
had never met you’.
Even though today he is very calm and nice
I sometimes wish we had never got together. I had a good life before, a column in a national newspaper,
lots of friends. I never felt lonely like I sometimes do now. But we are together and
that is that. I don’t want to go it alone and when things are calm it’s perfectly
nice. No I don’t feel the same frisson but there is still the vestige, an imprint of something. We still fit together well when we dance, the trouble is, we never dance anymore.
I realised yesterday that we are together to finish
up some sort of karmic debt, maybe something uncompleted which we will finish
this lifetime. We are quite incompatible (although sometimes it is fine, we had
a nice dinner the other night), and I really don’t understand how we have stuck
together or what the secret of it is at all. It was never my choice but I just
got sucked in without wanting to, and once I was sucked in I fell in love
against my will and that was that. But
he can be sweet, every Sunday he visits his family and is very filial. Far more
filial than me I am afraid.
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