I crawled weeping exhaustion fumes from my bed this morning, to go get my wheel fixed, for the car test tomorrow.
Except, the guy told me to bring it in to have a look at it, and today the other guy said, oh no, we don't do that, it might be all right.
And then my husband's cousin, who is a wonderfully sweet panel beater said, it won't be alright, I'll see what I can do for you. And I went off on my errands, posting things, lodging things, and met Mark, who I've known for ... 19 years? and had a chat on the street while he stood there with two cups of coffee he assured me he could microwave. I don't know who the second one was for, as he was bemoaning the fact that he can't meet a woman who doesn't want children. No one understands his desire to not have children, he says, everyone sees a single 35 year old man and assumes he's gay.
Ok, I will admit, I'd wondered if he's gay. He has a Michael Stipe quality to him. And he's very sweet, and gives the best, warmest hugs of any man I've ever known. I wish we met more often. If nothing else than for the hugs.
He's thinking of emigrating. Getting away from our government and all the whining about them. And the job with the mental health services that gives him little reward or value. Canada maybe. I hope things come good for him, he's one of the good people.
Then I met the tattoo artist I've known since he was a boy as well, standing outside his pretty shop, smoking, and laughing at me eyeing the post box with suspicion. Broke the news of my unseparate separation for the second time in thirty minutes. I hate having to tell people who knew us before we were married. I feel like we're letting everyone down. Mark said he thought we were one of his success stories - not his, I mean, but the example of the marriage that could, I suppose. But no. We are not. We are a failure story.
Damon is good to talk to as he's relentlessly cynical. No need to pretend to be positive around him. Lots of the businesses in the town are in danger of closing, he says. Small town life is over, for now. It's true, the place was dead. No cars on the road. Closed signs.
I must stop worrying about word choices and comma placement and go do some more work. Tick tock.
3 comments:
Oh honey. I hope your day brightens.
Don't let someone else's words define you in any way. You're changing your circumstances. That doesn't make you a failure. (I'm sure you know that, but I just needed to say it.)
I think that's one of the reasons that I didn't tell people for ages after I moved out. It seemed like an admission of failure.
When I do tell people now, they are all so surprised and it's embarrassing to admit that it happened over 18 months ago.
Perhaps having to move out of the flat will stop it from feeling like a transition.
This is permanent and now Im looking for a new home.
Having read this all in the wrong order, I am going back in to catch up x
Post a Comment