Sorry about yesterday's hiatus. The CFO and I were fighting. Now he has the plague and is too weak to fight. Sorry? Schaden-what? No, not me. I'm too busy biting my tongue to stop myself saying "All THREE of us were like you feel now! NOW DO YOU SEE WHY THE HOUSE LOOKS LIKE A HURRICANE IN A LEPER COLONY??? AND WHY I WAS NOT RECEPTIVE TO YOUR SEXUAL OVERTURES IN THE MIDDLE OF WEDNESDAY NIGHT???"
It's a strange thing, fighting, when you've been together as long as we have. The choreography feels so well worn, we need the same kind of notation they use in newspaper reports of chess matches. I almost feel we could just exchange a written game plan before a fight gets underway to save time.
CFO: silent disapproval
E: inflammatory statements
CFO: self-righteous accusations
E: burning sarcasm
CFO: neutral overture
E: neutral response
Fight over. Draw.
(actually, and with dismal inevitability, this sounds more like a Pokémon combat than a chess match)
However formulaic it is, most times it feels like the end of the world while it's happening; like we we were never meant to be together at all and like we can never make each other happy. We're a holiday romance that's fifteen years past its sell-by date. We don't agree on ANYTHING - music, discipline, education, money, relationships, how to cross the road, how to make scrambled eggs, where to live. Even how to argue. Neither of us is prepared to compromise. We're both bloody minded and determined. It's a fucking disaster.
Yes, by the same token, as soon as we start fighting, however good the reasons, however strongly I feel I'm in the right, I just want it to be over. I don't really care anymore what it's about. I want to be able to sit on the sofa with him and watch crap tv and snark about French journalism and share chocolate orange sticks. That's a good sign, right?
Back later. The children are being painful. I have just promised Lashes that if I haven't stopped typing by the end of Bottletop Bill, he can kill me. It seems fair.