This is what I had for breakfast:
- Two wholemeal pieces of toast with butter and honey.
- Two hard boiled eggs.
- One mug of black coffee.
It will suffice to say that I am very pleased with this meal, and grateful for my blessings, and it is the first proper filling meal I have eaten in two days.
Yesterday at the gym I spent an hour sweating out of every pore on my body, and I positively reeked. I finished 1.5 litres of water, and when I got back I was ravenous. But there were lessons to plan, clients to speak to, assignments to complete, clothes to iron, and a husband to spend time with.
Spend time with him.
I got very upset because he didn’t acknowledge me when I walked in the door. Just carried on talking to his mother, and his sister, and the goddamn goldfish, and his brother, and his brother again, and upstairs and downstairs.
I was tapping furiously away, dissecting Wordsworth so harshly (I don’t understand the massive hype over the fellow. He strikes me as a selfish person. Maybe I haven’t read enough of him. Who knows.), writing about nature and the ‘inner life’, while my ‘inner life’ was boiling and sizzling away.
I was waiting for him, you see.
By the time he flopped onto the bed, I had wrapped up the first assignment, and was replying to some clients. I turned to him, finally hoping he would see me properly, but he rushed out to brush his teeth.
I went to make his sandwiches for his lunch tomorrow.
By the time I got into bed, he was in that drowsy state where all you can do is mumble.
This morning, he turned off my alarms, and snuck out before I was properly awake.
“So you can sleep,” was his whispered explanation.
Doesn’t he know that I don’t care for sleep when I know I won’t see him all day and only for a few proper seconds come the night?!
I got a kiss, though, and a tight hug that smelled of freshness and leather. Then he was gone. A puff of car exhaust, a flash of white reversing light, a rumble of an engine. He was gone to traverse the country, fight through commuting traffic, to make a living.
Tomorrow, again, his work will claim him first. Then his family will claim him. Then all I will have is a sleepy, drowsy hug and another whiff of perfume in the morning.
I miss my husband. I wish he cared more about prioritising me, as I do him.
I’m cross with him, because he needs to acknowledge me. I am his ruddy wife.
I’m sad and hurt by him, because to me, caring is showing you are happy when you see someone after a long day. I don’t need him to sit and chat with me for hours. Even looking up from what you are doing, and saying hello, and smiling at me, would suffice.
I rush home from wherever I am when I know he has returned. Should I carry on doing that, while he ignores my existence? Am I being melodramatic? Is it too much to ask, that you give your wife a hug when you return, like you used to do?
There are no excuses. None at all. Just like when I try to make excuses. If I can’t have excuses, neither can you.
Maybe he feels awkward in front of his family to display any sort of affection towards me, but I’m sorry, he does it to everybody else. His mother, his siblings.. It’s been two years. I don’t care about your embarrassment. If I can’t see you at all during the week, the least you will sodding do is give me a darn hug.
Well. That turned into a rant, didn’t it? Oops.