It was great coming back home last Thursday. She had had the time to cook a roast lunch for her mates but not to pull back the rubbish bins from the street to front yard where the bins live - a distance of five yards. Clearly this is my job.
An uneasy peace now reigns in the house. We talk but not very much, we do not argue and are friendly to our son.
You see that is another reason why I am in this mode of not really caring any more. Because I have held back from criticising her for so many years and just accepted whatever came my way, I find it difficult to be confrontational now. And, increasingly, I found myself losing my temper at my son as a surrogate for my frustrations with her - and that simply is not fair. So, now, by expending no energy on her, I find myself better with my son.
Was watching TV the other day and a comedian called John Bishop came on talking about love and marriage. He mentioned how he had gotten divorced after about 7 or 10 years and put it rather graphically: 'after 7 years, you wake up, you look into each others' eyes and say, "why don't you fuck off and live somewhere else?"'. So, as I suspected at the beginning of this blog, this is not an uncommon story.
I suppose we will get over this episode but it will not be at my expense.
I am taking a couple of days off next week to do some work around the house - maybe we will talk then.
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