Undone

Three days.
Three fights.
It’s hard to say which was the worst.
In the middle of the last, We sat down to talk.

For the most part, what She felt She got from

Oh well

We sit down as a family to redesign the garden. [Ed: Probably the most middle class, middle aged thing you will read this decade!] Each time I make a suggestion it feels like it is being over-ruled, especially by my Wife. I give up and whatever else anyone else wants, especially my Wife, that’s what is agreed.

I go to sort lunch. The same (leftover turkey) choice for everyone, except my Wife. (A mild PITA, but neither surprising nor problematic.)
Me: Are you ok for me to sort yours?
Her: Yes. If you’re happy to.
The whole family stays in the living room playing card games.
I start to cook. I’m ok with that.
Everything is on track. And with barely a word, She walks into the kitchen and

Thanks … but no thanks.

We resolved to try make-up sex a few years ago. It didn’t work. I think we fucked once and then retreated to opposite sides of the bed for weeks or months. I suspect that neither of Us is good enough at letting go of an argument and the hurt that goes with it, and there will always be some remaining bitterness that will stand in the way of remedial coitus.

However, what does nudge Us slightly together is a

2557 days later

Logging into my WP dashboard the other day, it was pointed out to me that I have been writing this blog for 7 years, and have published over 800 posts. It largely started as a way of documenting how I was trying to revitalise Our marriage, and more importantly Our sex life.

7 years ago, on Xmas morning, I presented my Wife with a

… said the pot to the kettle

It started with what I thought was an innocuous suggestion that I would continue the search for a particular Xmas present my Wife had been looking for, while She did the parenting shift. It seemed a logical distribution if labour to me.
Apparently I was trying to snatch the task away from Her. Her tone of voice was abrasive and irritable.

It descended into a fight.
And I descended into a bottle of whisky.

This is not a productive way to deal with situations, arguments, because my judgement and particularly memory fail as much as my voice is liberated.

I threw some more home truths at Her (or at least what I see as home truths) including that I thought She should

Booked

Since expressing the intention, 5 weeks ago, to leave my Wife, family, home and everything I’ve invested in in the last 15yrs, not much has changed. Except one thing: no kid deserves to have Xmas trashed because their father left just before, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to do that to mine, so I’ll be here till at least 2019.

In the meantime, there have been ups and downs: the ups have been brief and muted whilst the downs have been profound.

The night I announced I wanted to leave, one thing I threw at my Wife was

That’s what coffee smells like

She got home from work. With the early evening necessaries out of the way, and the room to ourselves …
[NB This is somewhat paraphrased, and the sequence is blurred but as accurate as possible.]

Her: I can’t stop asking if you’re ok.
Me: Nothing has changed.
Her: Since when.
Me: Since this morning.
Her: I’m not trying to say