Oh woe, woe is me

It’s been a bitch of a week.

Item – H and I are still less than charmed with certain aspects of each other’s behaviour right now (all the other aspects are adorable). H is shilly-shallying about booking an appointment with the counselling service, and I am being self-righteous about it despite the fact I have done absolutely grand fuck-all about finding a counsellor of my own, because do as I say, not do as I do, that’s why. Meanwhile, H is in a permanent low-grade sulk, and I haven’t had sex for nearly a month, and I can’t begin to unpick how the two are related.

Item – For the record, I’m not the one who’s avoiding sex round here. That is not our relationship dynamic. I am given to understand that we are unusual, but there it is. I want more sex than H does. When stressed, he avoids sex and seeks cuddles. When stressed, I avoid cuddles and seek sex. I am basically a bloke with tits. Apparently. Especially according to the Relate website which is one of the most patronising, stereotyped, unhelpful, and just plain scientifically, biologically, and emotionally wrong things I ever did read on the subject. How the hell do they think reading that makes a woman with a higher-than-her-partner sex-drive feel? How isolated, abnormal, freakish, lonely? How do they think it makes a man whose not as randy as his partner feel? Eh? Did they think at all? And these are the number one people supposed to help relationship issues? No. Just, no. Not going to a Relate counsellor. Not now, not ever, not if it was an ultimatum. No. Jesus. Seriously. It’s 2012.

Item – On Wednesday, I struggled through the day at work with increasingly unpleasant, err, gastrointestinal distress. I wondered if I’d eaten one of the many (many many bloody Goddamn many) things that I now appear to be allergic to (the HELL, immune system?). I was well enough to go out to dinner with my parents that night, but the next morning, well, basically, I was just about ready to leave for work, and The Lower Bowel, It Objected. I spent hours of that day in the bathroom. Hours. (About 50 minutes in, I thought ‘and that is why they invented iPads’).

Item – Anyway, my digestive track appears to have got a grip again (hahahahahaHAHAHA). I said to H, perhaps this is actually some kind of IBS? and he pointed out that, technically, he has the IBS niche in this household covered, thank you, so I’m back to recounting my allergens and glaring suspiciously at labels. I can’t see us doing IBS as a joint hobby working out very well.

Item – Therefore on Saturday we were at the shopping centre (mall to you transAtlantic types) looking at toasters (we rock so hard) when I noticed a lacuna in my vision, and people’s heads getting peculiarly (horribly) distorted as they stepped into it. I blinked. Now I had two lacunae. BUGGER. Migraine. H bustled me into the nearest chemist and I choked down two liquid ibuprofen capsules while standing in the queue to pay for them – the sooner I can get aspirin or ibuprofen down me when the aura starts, the better chance I have of heading off the Skull-Crushing. We went back out onto the main concourse and I considered the overwhelmingness of the noise, and the visual distortions, and the growing sea-sick feeling, and decided I was going home. We live about 10 minutes walk from said shopping centre and I had about 20 to 30 minutes before Mjölnir plunged out of the stratosphere into my parietal lobe. H would have to look at fish in the supermarket without me. And off I wobbled out into the rain. I bumped into the main doors (twice, like a pinball), four passers-by, a bus-shelter, a bollard, and the table once I’d got home, but I made it, and had even constucted a nest consisting of blankets, pillows, blinds drawn, and lap-top playing factual literary programmes from Radio 4 (no laughing, is vital) very very quietly before the first great crushing onslaught. I am a very lucky migraneur. I wasn’t sick, and though it felt like someone was scraping out the left side of my skull with a sharpened melon-baller for a few hours, it had faded considerably by 6pm, after the application of paracetamol and more ibuprofen. I still can’t say long words without buggering them up, and I’ve corrected the spelling on everything I’ve written today at least twice, but the headache! Is! Mild! Yay!

Item – So today H decided to up the ante and poison me by feeding me taramosalata. I was about two mouthfuls in when it dawned on me that taramosalata is, in fact is supposed to be, 40% breadcrumbs. I love taramosalata. H knows I love taramosalata. He got it for me as a treat while I was lying in the dark remonstrating feebly with Matthew Parris for dissing W.H. Auden. BASTARD SON OF A BASTARD BASTARD’S BASTARD. The gluten, that is, not H, or Matthew Parris, or even Auden. H also bought me tulips, so he can stay.

Item – My step-father said something on Wednesday that made me so boilingly cross I don’t know what to do with myself. Which is awkward. As I love the man dearly. But I think it needs a whole post to itself, so I shall post this one and go see if I can make tea without pouring boiling water into the filter jug and then milk into the kettle.

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7 responses to “Oh woe, woe is me

  • a

    That does not sound like a good week. Chuckling at your iPad comment, though.

    Both of you get to a counsellor! I mean, I know you can muddle along OK, but it would be better if you got all this stuff worked out.

    And, my MIL, of whom I have been fond, did something to make me boilingly enraged. I still can’t think about her without wanting to scream. I don’t know what to do with myself either, but I suspect it will be difficult to avoid my husband’s family for the rest of my life. I’m willing to take on the challenge, though.

  • manapan

    That is totally why they invented iPads. Hope you are feeling better soon, both physically and in your relationship.

  • Emily Erin

    I hope that your migrane leaves quickly and quietly with it’s tail between it’s legs. And I hope that you’re able to find a good therapist, both of you. For the record, you are not alone in being more randy than your spouse. I agree that the Relate website is out of another’s decade’s sensibilities, and should therefore be dismissed completely. I hope that things begin to look up soon over there.

  • Everydaystranger

    You had me at “looking at toasters”. My word, I do love a bit of toaster shopping. I want the one that is see-through panes of glass that magically toast your bread WHILE YOU WATCH. It’s like pixies being let loose inside of a heated appliance or something. Magic, man. Total witchcraft.

    I feel mega sympathy for the migraines. They are the worst, and when you have one the whole world is wrong, it’s all at fault, and it needs to simply go away and lock the door behind it.

    I too quietly echo the therapist. And Relate does have a few good ones, to boot (ignore the internet advice they give. Also their decor. Just close your eyes until you get in the room (which will have mis-matched furniture).)

  • Hairy Farmer Family

    Relate? *quietly walks to the wall and bangs her head* If that had been my first experience of therapy, I would have hammered my way out of there with the (Shannon is entirely right) mismatched furniture. I still get cross thinking about it: it mostly just achieved a transference of the object of my rage! But I am ENTIRELY prepared to believe that there are Relate counsellors who approach their work a little differently. There were enough ‘generally’s and ‘tends to’s scattered about for me not to take exception to their spiel on sexual relations, but I suspect my non-offence centres on the fact that I am the epitome of half of the couple they are describing – and there is something awfully visceral in the way we all want to be conformist with our sex drives. Even when we (you. me.) are such determined, rejoicing non-conformists with absolutely everything else in our lives, and the hoi polloi can all go hang. That would maybe be something to unpick in counselling – ‘isolated, abnormal, freakish, lonely’ are such powerful words to use when applied to a (and I don’t wish to trivialise in the slightest, but there ARE worse things that can go wrong between people sexually) pair of differently-geared libidos. The sex being so intrinsically linked to fertility the last few years: Oh GOD, just SO desperately unhelpful on every. single. level., and it’s hard to see how things can improve without that being addressed in some way. That was one burden that I clearly remember IVF lifting for me, which is a rather dubious positive note, but a positive all the same.

    Your ‘sharpened melon baller’ phrase had me cowering in my seat, wincing in horror. There is no such thing as a lucky migraneur, sweet girl, unless it be me, who gets the aura and the disorientation but no pain, hallelujah. You are horribly unlucky to get them, and they suck balls. They are high on my magic-wand list to cure, when I get it. I forget if you have had any joy with the array of anti-migraine drugs kicking about? I’ve never needed to recourse to them, but I’ve heard that the cure can nearly be worse than the disease. Which is saying something.

    This household is a Do As I Say area, but the buggers that live here are all Do As I Do – which is shriek ineffectively back at me. You & H are, at least, altogether further along the evolutionary chain than we appear to be, in Attempting Discussion.

  • Korechronicles

    Have been missing in action as the conflict between WordPress and the iPad while I was swanning about on foreign shores was such that I could not comment without being logged into WP and WP was being an utter bastard about letting me log in via the iPad. It was when I was tempted to drop iPad into the loo after it ate a long, thoughtful and witty comment that I decided I should be a grown up for once and take a commenting break that was clearly being forced upon me. So I did.

    I have being reading along however, and am sorry that the trials and tribulations Chez May and H have continued unabated. And Bastard Migraines should just bugger off and die. I have endured the gamut of their evil over the years and for the last two have had to put up with a new version, which my GP informs me with a winsome smile, are known as Atypical Migraines. There aren’t enough typical ones to go around?

    These are very sudden onset, no melon baller pain or aura but massive iron band round the head feeling of pressure and hours of vomiting. Like you, an ibuprofen and/or paracetemol, taken at the earliest moment has always been sufficient for me to cope. But when you throw up said drug within five minutes, the whole exercise is rendered pointless.

    This is my long winded way of saying that said GP prescribed a magical nasal spray version of S.umatriptin that I got to use when one of these nasties threatened to derail my flight to my recent holiday destination. I had not used them before but the thought of chucking my guts up surrounded by sleeping business class passengers had little appeal. OMG! They are absolutely magic. There was a little bit of a metallic taste at the back of the throat but the pressure and nausea immediately f****d off like they had been touched by HFF’s magic wand! Ask for some…hopefully the NHS can provide.

  • Twangy

    May. I have been reading, on the tram which, while it does not lend itself to commenting, does make me nod in agreement in public, like a loon, quite possibly, and makes me think about things. The point being here I am at last, in the comments.

    Yes. Toasters: get one that levers the bread up into view thus avoiding the need for Potentially Dangerous Poking with Fork. Lurve toast. Even non-gluten.

    Also, yes, on Relate’s half-witted approach to libido splitting on gender lines. My twinkly counsellor said he felt the sexes are far more similar than we ever think, and the attributes of the individual are the most notable aspect of any comparison. The husbandio has Been Seen of late, and it is a relief not to be the only outlet for his feelings – which is good, because (perhaps like H) I am inclined to get sad and shut down when he gets angry, because I was brought up all Shut Up and Bear It, and Laugh It Off, and also to Make Everything NiceNiceNice for Everyone, so when he gets angry or depressed, I feel a failure, because what? I can’t make him happy? MY OWN HUSBANDIO?
    And so on. I hope I didn’t just go on and on about me-me-me? I mean it in the spirit of offering a useful parallel or just comparing notes, because I so appreciated H’s honesty on the subject. (Hi H! Be well.)

    May the migraines go for a long walk off a short pier and ne’er be seen again.
    xx

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