Daily Archives: April 21, 2014

Lying down in front of the bulldozers

For the long Easter weekend, I basically curled up in a ball with a pile of books, and when I had read until my eyes crossed, I’d cook. Or wash up. Or watch TV. Or go for a walk in the sunshine and fresh air – whenever there was some, in between downpours. Proper April weather for Blighty.

I noticed that if I was feeling ghastly and godawful, lonely, sad, missing H (yes, I miss H horribly when he’s not about. Damn it. DAMN IT), I would usually feel a lot better if I had a shower or went for a walk.

It has been nearly three months – three months oh my hopping cane toads – since I realised my marriage was over. And it’s been bloody stupid pointless limbo all the way, with a side-helping of rage and added extra feelings of helplessness and trappedtrappedtrapped. And yet here I am, perfectly able to perk up a bit and feel better if I use nice shampoo and go watch chestnut trees in blossom and people larking about in the park. I don’t know if this is a sign of my absolute shallowness or amazing resilience. We’ll go with resilience, because my counsellor doesn’t like it when I do myself down.

I don’t know how things are going to pan out at all anymore. I had hoped that my darling mother would have some Financial Assistance handy and right there, because she’d promised us Financial Assistance before, when we were still Us. But her assets are all entangulated and there is this seemingly endless delay and before you ask, no, I’m bloody well not prepared to rent – I actually genuinely will not waste any more of my not-very-much money on RENTING SOLO when I am trying to BUY and never have to be at the twatweasel mercy of a landlord ever again – and I am very not prepared to take a room in someone else’s house oh my God. I’m nearly 40, I’m an introvert, I am private and shy and people piss me off, I abominate loud noise and I have a ridiculous slew of food allergies that makes fridge-sharing fucking annoying, and I have enough books to build a sodding house. No. Not renting, not sharing. H may be my ex, but at least he makes tea properly and can and does cook.

As to why H is in the flat and keeping the flat? Well, because it’s a) rented, not owned, and b) he pays the rent on it. That was our deal. He paid rent, because he earned over twice as much as I did, and I paid bills and put as much as possible into my savings account for IVF and/or mortgages. So, actually, he’s being nice letting me stay.

Where was I? Oh, yes, panning out. Uncertainty of. Bewilderment. Confusion.

I have made a decision. I have decided I don’t care. The whole of 2014 can be a bewildered heap of bollocky-burp if it likes. I am not going to give a fuck. I am going to go to work, and come back from work, and eat dinner, and take showers and get dressed and undressed, and read books and watch TV and listen to the radio. I am going to write poems and bits of my novel. I am going to carry on emailing my mother listings of particularly non-horrible cheap flats. I am going to talk to my bank about mortgages. I am going to admire my favourite trees, and go to the theatre occasionally, and see my friends. And if the housing situation works out quickly, hurrah, and if it doesn’t, oh well, what the hell. None of this will be improved by my fretting myself grey-headed about it (I have a silver streak coming in above my right ear, which I am blaming absolutely on H and his shenanigans). None of this will move faster for stressing. And, and this is important, none of it will move slower just because I relaxed, had a good night’s sleep, and read a book for fun.

See? This is what a walk in the sunshine with clean hair does for a girl. Insouciance leaking in puddles all over the floor.