“All alone! Whether you like it or not, alone is something you’ll be quite a lot!”

H and I argued last night (a pointless, fruitless, miserable sort of argument – ‘how could you do this to us? To me?’ ‘I don’t know.’). Actually, I was fighting because I am so very, very sad and no one can hug me or make it better. Well, H could, if he found a spare TARDIS and nipped back a few years and told his younger self not to be such an appalling bell-end, but the BBC is very careful about not leaving evidence of alien technology about, and it’s not really going to have happened.

After said stupid exhausting business, at about two am, H went to bed, and I went to the bathroom to ablute. And of course, because it was two am and I was doolally with tired crying, the lavatory blocked. And I looked at it, and seriously contemplated leaving it and maybe burning the flat down on my way out, and then I went to get the rubber gloves.

Because it was now 2:10 am and I was doolally with tired crying and the stupid thing was thoroughly blocked, the rubber glove turned out not to be long enough and in a moment of comedy nauseating horror, the contents of the bowl flowed down inside it.

After unblocking the toilet, throwing the glove out with extreme prejudice, and scrubbing my arm and hand down with soap and water so hot it turned me scarlet three times in a row, I got into my own bed.

H, in one of his regular fits of benevolence, had put a hot-water-bottle in it earlier, before the stupid row. I stretched out my cold feet to embrace it and tried to relax. And, the water being warm, it took me several minutes to realise my feet were in a puddle.

I scrambled out of bed, flung the punctured and widdling hot-water-bottle in the kitchen sink, and rushed back with armfuls of clean towels. The water had soaked right into the mattress. Of course it had. It was 2:30 am and I was tired and miserable and had just had my unwillingly naked arm up a u-bend.

I found the spare hot-water-bottle in the bathroom, covered in dust and fluff, and remembered belatedly that it was spare because the stopper was broken and needed to be screwed and unscrewed with pliers and/or brute manly force. I subdued it eventually, scrubbed the dust off, filled it, and re-retired to bed, freezing cold and stiff as a freshly excavated mammoth calf, at 3 am.

I slept on what had been H’s side of the bed, which was weird. I say slept. I dozed, irritably, on H’s side of the bed. When I woke at 7 am (why 7 am, you bastard internal body clock? WHY?), I was lying right on the edge of the mattress, as if aware that I was in someone else’s space. Even though H was safely ensconced on the futon in the study.

And it dawned on me, again (this sort of thing is always dawning on me these days) that this was it, now. Any sort of stupid middle-of-the-night problem was entirely mine and mine alone to deal with. No more unblocking the loo while H dealt with the wet bed. No more having someone to whine to about it all and then cuddle up against. The only reason I needed a hot-water-bottle in the first place is because the backs of H’s knees are no longer available for feet-warming duties.

And I had a little cry before I dozed off again.

19 responses to ““All alone! Whether you like it or not, alone is something you’ll be quite a lot!”

  • Mina

    One cannot expect habits of years and years to vanish in a couple of days because of velociraptors. Or most any other reason. The only example I can think of is giving up smoking because of throat or lung tumour. And that is when the motivation to live is strong enough.

    I suspect there will be many occasions in the future when the absence of the limb H from the life-unit May-and-H will be sorely missed. And accursed. And blamed. And source of innumerable tears and sleepless nights. And I do not think you should fight it, because it will make things even more difficult, and god knows they are difficult ENOUGH as they are. You loved him, May, and atill do. You will miss him. You already are. It will be tough to get used to live without him by your side. But time, that sweet bastard time, will take the edge off. And make you forget. And new routines will make up your life. And most probably you will still miss him, but a bit less painful.

    There is a steep climb up ahead of you. But you will not spend your life forever in this sorrowful pit of dispair and loneliness. I cannot guarantee you that, of course, but chances are on your side on this one.

  • NotSoNewtoIVF

    I’m so very sorry life is so very hard xx

  • Bachelor's Button

    Oh, May. I wish that I could give you a hug. X

  • twangy

    Lavatory, hot water bottles, traitors all!
    Blasted fecking yokes. For the bonfire, they are.

    So sorry about this night of shite. (no, phone. Not “shore”. Actual shite.)


  • Moira

    Oh Hun. What a night. I was going to use an expletive but I thought it might remind you of the loo incident …

    I’m sending hugs. A million of them . Hugs after hugs

    Huge hugs

    And anything else you need x

  • Moira

    Also, I think living in an abode with someone in your situation feels much more lonely than living literally alone 😦

    But you know this x

  • Poi

    I’m a lurker whose heart hurts for you, and finally unlurking to say this:

    Even amid this terrible, excruciating situation, your writing is still brilliant. I mean: “and it’s not really going to have happened.” Just brilliant, and proof that the May of you, and your humor, are still well intact, and shall remain so.

  • infertilelady

    I wish you a warm, dry and toilet-problem-free evening xx

  • bionicbrooklynite

    I am very much known to be in the time-machine market myself. If i do come across one, you have first dibs on borrowing it.

  • illanare

    My heart aches for you. I wish I could do something more useful than this, but as I can’t – thinking of you.

  • Hairy Farmer Family

    Oh, HONEY! How… how… HOW UNUTTERABLY BLOODY AWFUL! Toilet AND a wet bed? Jesus.

    (This http://www.argos.co.uk/static/Product/partNumber/4500812.htm is, bar books and a couple of nice dresses, the BEST thing I own…)

  • Mel

    Of course, I first needed to click on HFF’s link since I too am a partaker of the nightly hot water bottle. And now that the warming blanket has been considered…

    It’s life changing. The new night routine, I mean. All of it is life changing. This is the new normal. And we’re here for you as you murk your way through it (that is a combination of muck and work, though also harkens dark experiences).

  • Jenny F. Scientist, PhD

    1) AY YI YI.
    2) My parents have one of those bed warmer things. It’s warm! Also cozy.
    3) I have now learned a new word.

  • Valery Valentina

    Oh Tardis, if only.
    Yesterday a very old Top Gear episode aired, and the special guest was a good looking Scottish lad who had auditioned 26 times (not sure for which role though). And now was Doctor Who.
    Thinking of you

  • chickenpig

    Alone physically, but as long as you keep this blog conduit open, you aren’t totally alone. I just wish I lived around the corner so I could have come over. Or better yet, you could come to my place to hang out and eat ice cream, cry, and bitch. Thinking of you.

    PS you are too awesome to be single forever. Hoping that there is a silver lining in this mess somewhere.

  • Carole

    Ah, May. Such a miserable situation, let alone late night loo unblocking and bottle malfunctions. You poor old thing. I would certainly get that heated undersheet thing as recommended by HFF. After my Mum died, my sister got my Dad one and he very much appreciates it. Far safer than all that muck-about with boiling water!

    As you got together with H so young, perhaps you haven’t ever lived alone before? Because it can be rather wonderful and probably not half as lonely as you fear. I look back on the few years when I had my own tiny studio flat with a lot of affection: there is nothing like coming home of an evening, shutting your own front door and knowing you can now proceed to do, eat and watch exactly what you jolly well please without having to consider anyone but yourself for a single moment. It’s so relaxing! And I can’t help thinking that you are going to need a lot of relaxing after this very, very god-awful period. Fingers crossed that the perfect little place is found soon.

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