For my next trick...

LBJ asked my "Is it just the sex that's a problem?"
I hate it when she makes me think... sigh.

No, its not "just" the fact that Wifey and I have only made love, or had sex, once in the last 3 years. Although, by any standard, that is not an active sex life, it it?

There is a lack of interest and concern in our relationship. She and I don't seem to have anything that matters to us both. We don't want the same things. And worst of all we see unable to talk about it.
Symptoms are things like the way she turns the television on without thinking. Even if I'm in the room listening to the radio or music before she comes in. When I point it out, she doesn't turn the telly off, she sort of grumbles an apology and "uhms and ahhs" of a few seconds while edging towards turning it off. I usually end up turning off the radio.
A year or two ago I was in the depths of my first big depression and I realised there was a pattern. I was working, going shopping when I got out of work, getting home, creating a meal, washing up, and then, with what was left of the evening, relaxing. On the same day She wasn't working, staying in bed most of the day and when I got in asking "What are you doing for dinner?" She was too tired to cook having just done a whole shift, including night work, and needed to catch up on her rest. On a day when she was working and I wasn't it was different - on those days she was too tired to do any shopping after work, but I had the"whole day free" so it was my job to shop, cook, clean. Now I have to stand there and say "What are you cooking?" and refuse to cook to get her to make a meal. Even so it will usually end in a take-away or a ready meal... and I will probably get a call 10 minutes before its ready with "Can you just help me to make gravy/wash this/fix that/take this?" God forbid I should need help when I'm cooking! Even if I do I daren't ask for help because the hostility is not worth it.

And that is just the way it goes in everything else.

A bill needs sorting, things need organising, we need to drive somewhere - my job.
It used to be that the laundry was her area - but since the washing machine broke, I'm the one that goes to the laundry.

And then she can go and organise me a fantastic birthday or Xmas present... We can have a great day together. But I'd rather have a cup of tea brought to me without having to ask (and without a huge sulk if I do ask for one), or a sandwich at lunch on Saturday.
Maybe I prefer the small things over the big gesture.
Maybe I can't get over these things.

Back on the night shift.
Feeling crap.
Felt appalling yesterday.
Perhaps I should be back on the Prozac...

Late meetings.

We stayed with friends in London for the weekend. A collection of lates... Late Birthday drinks, late Xmas meet up, and a lot of late nights.
Last of all was a visit to LBJ. She was all smiles, looked great, gave me a great pressie (I love it!) and bought me lunch.





Just wanted to say that...

Birthday thoughts from The Future.

Just before my birthday I opened the door to the knock of a woman from Parcelforce.
She handed me some letters and a package. I thanked her and retreated to the kitchen table to open the package.
I was expecting some CD's as a friend had asked Wifey what I'd like and I'd given a list of a few classic albums I'd like and was told to "expect a package". But this box, of about 30cm on each edge wasn't something you'd pack 2 CD's into... "Curiouser and Curiouser", said Alice.
"Get out of my house, Alice, I've told you before you're not to break in, it's illegal!"

Crap jokes over with I opened the box and found exactly what I didn't expect.
A Kilo of pick and mix.
A Kilo.
A KILO!
What the...? A Quid's worth I could have coped with, and would have been really nice. But a Kilo?
The slip of paper has the money paid on it (V Poor Internet shipping place!) and... its about £15 of sweets. How many foam shrimps can I eat? Not that many, tasty as they are... And there are only so many "Love Hearts"a man in his 40s can consume without vomiting... And trust me - the amount in the box is way past the vom-line.

I'm still pink-candy-shell-shocked.

I don't do Valentines.
Added to the fact that it is close to my birthday, and I can't get a table in a restaurant that isn't massively overpriced (and if you can eat it is all covered in chocolate because it's "romantic" - yes, including the fish and steak!)... Its just not worth the effort.
Instead, I'm enjoying the Winter Olympics.
There is something great about a sporting event in which the British have no chance of getting a medal in. We haven't even got an "Eddie the Eagle" to amuse us, so we can watch and just enjoy the spectacle. Dutchmen flying on skates as fast as a human can go without a machine or an animal. Scandinavians flying through the air. Central Europeans and Orientals sliding down and over various forms of frozen water - and nowhere is a Brit to threaten to raise the nations hopes, only to have the cup of victory dashed from our lips at the final hurdle while the tabloid hacks sharpen their nibs and begin the recriminations.

Pity, contempt, anger,pride, shame and revulsion.

I popped into my local city centre this afternoon. While I was there I saw something that filled me with all the emotions above. And it was such a petty little thing.

We have several charity shops in the city. Lots of good bargains and things its impossible to believe that people bought in the first place. My favourite is a bookshop that is supporting a hospice.
I was in there, browsing as usual, not really looking for anything but enjoying the shelves and shelves of books.
As I turned I saw a man in his 60s move sharply away from a shelf and into a corner. I didn't think anything of it and carried on. The battered plastic bag he was carrying rustled, then and he turned past me, and headed out of the shop, not stopping at the desk. As he left I looked at the shelf he had moved away from and there was a large space where a book had been, and it dawned on me as to where it was. It was in his bag.
I wanted to say something, but wasn't sure enough. I left the shop and walked in the direction I'd seen him go. He was in the Oxfam shop a few doors down. He was heading for the door, from near a shelf, his hand in his bag, not stopping at the till. Then on to a third shop. I followed him. He went in, and I stopped at the window.
I realised he'd sussed I was watching him as he stood inside the door for about 20 seconds holding it shut. Very odd. I went into the shop a few moment later and kept an eye on him. He kept an eye on me, and didn't do anything.
He left, and so did I. He was outside yet another shop, but turned away quickly when he saw me. I walked up to him and said "I saw you."
"I didn't do anything!" he said, which I thought was a very odd response from someone who hadn't done anything.
"Its pretty low stealing from charity shops, isn't it?" I asked him.
"That's the sort of thing you would do!" he replied - again, not the response I'd expect.
"Should I call the police?" I asked him.
"You want to watch what you accuse people of." He turned and walked away.

I returned to the hospice shop and told them of my suspicions. They were grateful for letting them know, I'd have gone into the other shops too - but I hadn't seen anything for certain, and the time between his visit and my arrival was increasing. They wouldn't have remembered him.

I guess he steals from charity because its easier. Volunteers, not regular staff, probably no cameras, and they'd probably let you pay rather than call the police. Maybe he thinks that he deserves the stuff, and not the ill, poor, disadvantaged people the shop supports so he's justified in stealing. Who knows.
All I know is he knows I saw him.
I feel pity, contempt and revulsion for him and whatever his bitter, nasty little motive is.
I feel proud of myself for confronting him.
I feel ashamed and angry that I didn't act sooner, and that for fear of making myself look silly, I didn't just call the police.

Its another series of nights - so the posts have been delayed. Sorry, Loyal Reader(s?)

I'm 42 today. Other than the Douglas Adams reference, its not really a cause of celebration. I feel a complete failure. Poor job, poor marriage, no money, no prospects.
This came out in a conversation with Wifey, and I think we are finally starting to get to the point of resolution or revolution.
"I don't want to lose you from my life, but I don't want to spend another 20 years being as unhappy as I am." She said "I know."
She doesn't do face to face confrontation very well. I told her to try. If she can't talk, she needs to write it down for me. She's thinking about it.

Another day, another crisis.

Wifey had another day at an internal interview/assessment thing for internal promotions today. We had to be there at 8:45 - and its only about 20 miles. We left over an hour early and were late by a good 20 minutes. So not a good start - she was a cat on white hot bricks before she'd even got through the door.
I picked her up later. And she was in pieces because it had, as I thought it might, gone particularly badly. She's been massively hyper all the way home, telling me how she froze all the time!
Now we are going to go out for dinner in the hope she can get drunk, and sleep.

The Observer Book of Medical People : Number 27, The Neurologist.

We had a short wait. I had barely scanned the paper I'd bought, and I certainly hadn't had time to start the crossword or the Sudoku before her name was called. We were brought into a very small office containing an odd looking man in a casual, short sleeved, grey shirt, worn without a tie and a garish waistcoat. He had the look of Mr Bean about him, which didn't exactly inspire confidence - but he spoke in a manner that gave a little more confidence. It wasn't a long consultation, though. There was a chat, a "touch your nose... hmmm", a spot of scribbling, an "I don't think it serious, but we'll book a scan" and a "goodbye".

It was all over so quickly, we were outside looking at one another and saying "Was that it?" for ages. We debated going back in to see if we were supposed to wait for a scan there and then... but decided that we had been dismissed.

Am not sure what to think at the moment.

Visited The Teacher today. Found she's in a similar situation to me... I guess the big new house, child and starting a business together with her husband made me think they were at least content.
Funny how stuff can slide right past you without it being obvious.

So I spent some time advising her on how to deal with it... Its so easy to tell someone to do something that you can't do yourself.

Had a conversation with Wifey the other day. I'd popped into her work to see her as I'd not seen her at all and had to drive home to help out with a few things... Silly waste of time, petrol and... Everything! (never mind - move on.)
Anyway... I'd gone in and I was sat with her in the rest room having a coffee and a chat. We chatted about nothing much but I could feel a big weight bearing down on my psyche. It was all getting too much to bear as she waffled on about not much at all.
"We need to talk about this relationship" I said rather suddenly. she muttered an "I know", but nothing much more was forthcoming.
"The whole thing is in trouble. Money, sex, marriage - all are in real trouble, we are approaching the very end of the line here, Wifey."
She looked at me blankly. "Lets not talk about it here" She said, not unfairly. I didn't want to talk about it there and then, where her workmates could walk in at any moment.
"Trouble is, you don't want to talk about it here or at home, or anywhere else." She shuffled uncomfortably in her seat. "I wont talk about it in a box, I wont talk about it with a fox, I wont talk about it Sam I am!" I said in a moment of, what I modestly considered, comedy genius.
"Ha, ha, ha!" she said slowly, and not unfairly.