joyful, joyful or sorrowful, sorrowful?
I thought, yesterday, at least I'll be able to write about... The crisp blue sky, cold hands finding warmth in the clasp of TA's, walking along the river, shopping at market, cooking (and eating) pies and celebrating the turn of the season by reading cookbooks and thinking of Autumnal delights (safely ensconced in our room, pretending the rest of the flat doesn't exist). I thought there's no need to mention the invasion of fruit flies that Temp Housemate unleashed on us by not bothering to throw her rotting fruit away and then making it worse by overstuffing the kitchen bin and leaving it lidless (we have waste disposal, but will she use it?). Neither will I dwell on the distinct possibility that our flat purchase is about to fall through (the vendor's solicitor still hasn't sent our solicitor the paperwork); even though it was choosing paint colours and planning wardrobes that kept me sweet tempered enough to just about prevent myself going thermonuclear when I discovered that M&J had attempted to sublet our room from under us, despite the fact that TA and I are the only ones on the lease. I won't bore people with the sad state of the bath thanks to Temp Housemate's inability to rinse the hair she's shaved off down the plughole (I clean it every time she has a bath, but somehow it's difficult to keep up) or the state of semi feud we find ourselves in because I had the temerity to clean up sister-in-law's mess in the kitchen. Really, there's no point using the UB as a soapbox to proclaim my belief that unless all dishes have been dried and put away and the draining board wiped down then you haven't really cleaned up after yourself. And certainly this is not the time or the place to milk the bile that collected in response to discovering that Temp Housemate had been watching The Bill three(?) times a week even though we don't have a television license. No, I shall write purely about happy things. I shall not mention that Temp Housemate has invited her boyfriend to stay for a week even though Housemate M, in whose room they are staying, is back on Wednesday. And certainly, I'm sure no one wants to know that Temp Housemate now seems to have become de facto Perm Housemate, without a deposit, a lease update or anything approaching a conversation to ask TA and me if it's okay.
I was totally committed to only writing about berries and nuts and celebratory goodness, if only to relieve the doom I feel every time I approach the front gate of the Palais. But then, guess what, this morning TA - who has been the rock my sanity has been holding on to by a fingernail in this deluge of disaster - told me that the mystery pain is back and that he's going to need to see a doctor again. He thought last night he could feel a lump - a hernia? - but locating it (by prodding, no doubt) made the pain unbearable. And where is there for all these thoughts to go? If it wasn't so bloody awful it would be rip-roaringly funny. And, selfishly, I'm not sure I can be strong for TA now; in fact I need him to continue to be strong for me. So you'll have to forgive the lack of beauty and happy appreciation of life's joys in this post, but the news that he's sick again has just about pushed me over the edge with worry and despair.