Is plastic lucky?

Dave, if you say 'touch wood' and then touch plastic (Not even plastic that looks like wood. Just plastic.), I don't think it works. Sorry...

Not really, no.

Skippy: You know when you're writing something, and you just think 'God, this is so...'

 

Unfortunately Skip, if you don't finish your sentences, I have no idea what you're talking about.

Psychic iPod Strikes Again

I've often thought my iPod is psychic, but I've just experienced another example of its powers. This morning while brushing my teeth, I was musing on how Counting Crows and Barenaked Ladies reside in the same box in my head, and generally if I'm in the mood for one, I'm also in the mood for the other.

 

I just put on my iPod to help me concentrate while reading a piece of work through, and selected 'American Girls' by Counting Crows as the first song of my random playlist. The second song? Obviously, Barenaked Ladies 'I'll Be That Girl'.

 

Out of 2235 possible tracks. Spooky.

Weirdness of pigeon

I'm watching a pigeon that is sitting on a rooftop and nodding sporadically, but always in time with the music on my iPod. It is much paler than it's companions.

 

And apparently has better hearing.

Exciting new technique!

To avoid logging into this blog at work, I'm experimenting with posting by email. This will allow me to vent more fully about the woes of sitting with Skippy and Ermentrude, while not having to worry about IT becoming aware of the blog's existence, which would be rather awkward.

3 weeks

Over the past 3 weeks, Tom and I have been trying to be less dependent on each other, and more focused on doing what we want. This is part of his attempt to work out what will make him happy (which makes me suspect he isn't entirely realistic about what 'happiness' means). It's a really strange situation to be in, because I'm not sure most of the time whether I should include him in my plans or not, and he doesn't seem to know what he wants or expects either.

The biggest effect of this new regime is that we don't plan to eat together during the week. This is hardly ground-breaking, considering that during a normal week I'm out on Mondays and Tuesdays (Italian and knitting), and he's often out with work at least one other evening. Also, he's really getting into the way we ask each other questions (or rather the way I ask him things - he's as tactless and, quite frankly, patronising as ever). Apparently, 'Would you like to see this film with me?' is hurtful, as it makes a refusal sound as though he doesn't want to spend time with me, when actually he just doesn't fancy seeing 'Burn After Reading'. Er, really? If someone says 'No thanks, I don't really want to see that.' to me, I just assume they don't want to see the film, not that the concept of 3 hours in my company is abhorrent to them.

The other major problem I'm having is that he seems to be projecting emotions and reactions onto me. We did some housework, including a trip to our storage unit, earlier today. This is never my favourite pastime, but I got on with it, didn't bitch and even made some jokes about the runner we passed sans socks. From Tom's perspective though, reluctance was 'radiating off me' and he sniped and snarked at me until I left him to it when we got home. Fast-forward 40 minutes to a big, blazing row which cleared the air a little, but left me totally drained. He's at work now. I just wish that he would talk to me if he thinks I have a problem with something. I'll tell him if I do, but if I don't know that he thinks I do, that makes everything really complicated.

Crisis

I created this blog partly as a way to let off steam about my inescapable and infuriating colleagues, but mainly as an outlet for the other things I can't say in real life. My marriage has never been simple, and I figured that writing about things as they came up would help me work through them better. It turns out, when things are coming up, it's all I can do to keep my head above water, hence the 5 week hiatus.

Things seem to go in a familiar cycle:

• we have a few weeks of just 'normal'
• Tom gradually begins to withdraw, staying out late, not turning up when he says he will, picking fights where there is no fight to be picked, insisting nothing is the matter when asked (frequently, though not to the point of nagging. I am very careful about this)
  
• me trying to stay calm and not make a fuss because he has a lot on his plate. His plate is always fucking overflowing
• me slightly losing it and making him explain what is going on
• we have a really intense few days, going through whatever it is that's wrong
• we feel incredibly close
  
• we have a few weeks of just 'normal'

...rinse and repeat as necessary.

The last few weeks have been particularly bad, with the added bonus of his mum's ropey health rearing its ugly head. Tom is trying to deal with not having dealt with things in the past, mainly his sexuality. It's a little easier for me because I've been expecting this forever - I never thought that his bisexuality would just go away (which he, apparently, did), so I always assumed he would need to work through what that meant for him. He claims that when we got married, he made a decision to 'bury' that part of him, but he didn't tell me. If he had, I would have told him that that probably wasn't going to work.

It's now 5 years since he had an affair, and 4.5 since I confronted him about it. I never thought it would take this long for him to realise that he needs to work out the implications, but at least he's got there now. We've had a lot of late nights talking about the whys, whats, whens, but nothing is resolved yet. I don't want to push him, because I know that under pressure he panics and lashes out. I also know that it's not fair on me for him to keep me dangling.

Hills

Walking through the fog on top of a hill, knowing there is a cliff yards from my feet felt strangely familiar. I could feel the space, but not see it.

Muffled in drops of water that were not quite falling from the clouds I watched silent birds emerge, first as shadows, then solid and flapping.

Catching up with the wind

Work hit me around the head with a shovel and dragged me into the barn, not letting me out until I had sheared all the sheep and dealt with a crazy yokel or twelve. I might be taking this slightly bizarre metaphor a bit too far...

Anyway, a week on holiday followed by a trip abroad with work, followed by a trip to visit friends, followed by a bank holiday leads to not enough time for the really important things in life, like sleeping and blogging. On the other hand, it does feed the soul. Or the nasty corners of the mind with fodder that can be used for the blogging. I have a lot I want to talk about, but the secret nature of this venture means I can only do it at home (I don't want work to be able to trace this - I'm not exactly complimentary about some of my colleagues), and I don't want anyone I know to find out about it. Tom has to be out before I will log in. And recently, he has been here. A lot. Which is lovely. It just means I don't get an awful lot done.