Why the Shit Days?
What's been going on that has been making my life so shit so far this year was trying to parcel up stuff from my home, and put it into storage, so I can sell the flat I bought five years ago with Wickedex.
I tried all last week to do it, but it was too depressing. Immobilising. The furthest I got was renting a storage container in a warehouse nearby. I had to get Wickedex to promise to come over and accompany me to pay the rest of the fee, because I was pretty sure that if she weren't there holding me to ransom, and calling me to account, I'd have spent the day under my duvet feeling sorry for myself instead.
Now, she's taken two weeks off work to clear out stuff from the flat, for me to put into the storage container. So she's here every day, when I'm not.
None of this stuff will ever be entering this house again, so it all has to be sorted into boxes that are mine and hers. When she fucks up or doesn't do it fast enough, or stays in bed half the morning instead, I have to bite my tongue, because one doesn't criticise people who aren't one's partner. I have remind myself that it took me a whole week of moping to do nearly nothing.
So if she packs a box that would be too heavy for two blokes to carry, let alone me unaided, I have to do polite bloody things: like ask her to pass it to me, before I take it down four or five flights of stairs. If she doesn't bother to tell the estate agent the house will be ready for viewing in a week: instead of snapping grumpily at her about it, I have to put on a kindly face, and wonder when she thinks it's best to ring the agents?
It's also a huge strain having to see her every single day. Knowing that she's been in my house alone. Going through all my stuff. My stuff. Making decisions about whether my stuff is worthy of me keeping or should be thrown away.
She gave me a break from the constant contact that was grinding my soul into grit over Christmas, and it was ace - I could stop being angry with her, and get on into the next stage, where I miss her, and I've lost my best friend.
If she's here every day, I can't afford the emotional leeway to miss her. Which makes it harder yet again to move on. And it's gruelling to keep having to remind myself that although she's someone I get on well with, whom I can talk to so easily, I shouldn't get too comfortable. She's not really my friend.
Added to that, nine years of irritating habits can't be forgotten overnight. Excuse a short whinge here: I can't gripe about this one anywhere else. Although she still owes me #200 for groceries from before she left, although she got right on my tits for never doing enough housework, particularly for not washing up once since last June.... when I got home I saw she'd helped herself to a meal, to a chilled drink, to my coffee. This in itself would have been reasonable, had she said something about it. But, to leave shit all over the kitchen, shit on the floor, shit on the chopping board, shit on the hob, on the kitchen surfaces, then go home again, leaving all my stuff in fucking stupid pissy boxes in the hall that I hate and that I trip over, and to not wash up or clear the dishes she used ...... that was really fucking hard not to rake up old arguments then.
Two weeks of this. With five extra projects at work starting at the same time. Anyway, that's why I have shit days, and shit blogs at the moment.
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at 6:53 AM GMT
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