Well its all pictures and no sound in our house at the minute. Actually it is blissfully peaceful. I could go into the sorry tale of why husband is not communicating with me - but I am the bad guy. I know I air my dirty laundry here like a fishwife - but I will put into a few syllables: me - drunk. Very. Misread a situation. Angry. Texts. Dismember doorbell. Lock up. Sleep soundly. Husband home. Lying in 3 foot hall until 6am. Angry. Door bashing. Not speaking. There you have it. I have apologised. By text. We have communicated through 3 texts (mine) and 4 grunts (his) since Fri evening. I go out, come home, he goes out. Sproglet runs between us and thinks it is a game. I wish I could be more bothered. But I have too much to do - what with organising a whole house move and all. A job to find. You know the small things in life. The cold winds show no sign of thawing. He claims that he won't speak to me for a week. My birthday is next Monday. Will he be talking to me by then or should I try and get some gals together for a cocktail or 5? Mind you, who the hell does cocktails on a Monday night anymore? Tis a school night after all...
The strange thing is that normally my birthday is like a week long event that builds to one helluva climax. But this year I'm just like.... yeah, birthday schmirthday. It all feels like too much of an effort. Is odd. I feel removed from it - almost like it has no bearing on my life whatsoever - which is great I guess, because if I ignore it - does that mean I can stay 34???
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