Visitors & Easter

I was lying in bed trying to get back to sleep at 6.10 when himself decided to draw the curtain, making all further sleep effort futile.  

I was thinking how nice it was to have my father and Coellie here, since for a change I have had a bit of nurturing...I realise with horror how little nurturing I get.   I am afraid Mark is ill again, he has a stomach bug that has continued for 3 days - I would be more nurturing to him, only he is ALWAYS ill when any of my family come to visit, and sometimes when members of his family come to visit.  Needless to say, I was not prepared to nurture him since I was too busy cleaning and tidying and cooking. We had lovely day on Saturday - Ramsgate was en fete with the opening of the Great Wall of Ramsgate... and Pa took us out to lunch at the Belgian bar... then we went over to the Turner Contemptible and saw the exhibition, but missed the singing.  Saw a few people, had a cup of tea and came home. 

Yesterday was Easter Sunday - went to St Laurence, nice service, hymns, and a church member fainting during the sermon (not going down in the Spirit apparently).  Then the lunch after which I retired to rest.  When I came down, Coells had totally cleaned the kitchen, including the top of the stove!  What a saint.  I was so grateful.   We have tea (gummy simnel cake, chocolate things) and then watched tv - a bit of the repeat of the History of the Church series - had no idea what Syrian Christian missionaries set up churches in China in the 7thC... fascinating.  We had wine and crisps, but didn't bother with supper.  I had a small farewell piece of chocolate cheesecake (which the boys will be eating for days).

Boys were pretty good - talked sensibly, behaved nicely. 

It is strange having such a late, hot Easter - we were out in the sun with hats and sunglasses on Saturday.  No daffodils to fill the church... everyone around here obsessed with Turner C opening.   A second look at the art didn't excite me any more - although I quite liked the ideas behind the Conrad Shawcross work - and one of the Russell Crotty spheres was attractive... I still thought the Ellen Harvey work was far away the best.   Nice friendly gallery staff.  Just at the moment everyone's world is focussed on the Turner - but it will all be back to normal on Tuesday I suppose.

I have been praying about M - I don't know what to think - I nearly said something of a life-changing nature to him, but I heard a very clear message "Bide your time".  I found this reassuring, a sense that things would change somehow.  I just seem to have been biding my time for a while. 

Meanwhile, I have been wondering about my drug, Citalopram.  It does keep my feelings on a level plain, I don't get as cross, I don't have hissy fits, or get emotional, but I miss other things.  I used to enjoy my occasional visits to church more and feel very emotionally/spiritually moved by them, this doesn't happen now.  Does this mean that one's "spiritual" response is largely emotional?  and that it's dulled by drugs?   Or does it enable one to experience a clearer spiritual response, released from emotional baggage?  When I heard those words, I felt a positive sense of God still being there for me... despite a certain recent distancing (on my part).  Maybe the fact that I have been buckling down and trying to work on the domestic life is being supported.   I forgot to mention that M did not profer so much as a chocolate to me for Easter... I was quite cross, I said, in front of Coellie "I suppose I am less upset because I am used to it, but I don't see why I fucking should be."  I contented myself with that and some sulking.   

I never used to sulk, but recently I realise that a prolonged sulk is about the only thing that gets M's attention.  Actually, I don't do it to get his attention, I do it because I wish to impress upon his memory that I have been hurt, and that my pain and feeling of being neglected are now resulting in me shunning him.   Oh what a happy household we are!   Actually, my sulking is far nicer than anyone else's.  It isn't really sulking, it's just treating him the way he treats me, with a marked lack of interest, and scant enthusiasm.  Bloody hell, is it any wonder that I think J would be a better bet were he available (or interested).  Oh dear, I've made myself cry now, self-pity.   Even the Citalopram has its limit - it doesn't totally overcome hormonal misery.   Really the last two years, every period has seemed to be my last, and the latest one, that began a month ago, is still going on, in fits and starts, dying off, then getting refreshed, each time coming along with back pains and fresh bursts of hormonally induced feelings. 

Oh dear, he came in just then and said hello - so I said hello, rather grudgingly because I was crying a bit, but he didn't notice.  So that's all right then.

Did I say this was meant to be amusing?

In a way I shouldn't publish this, but no one will see it anyway - so what does it matter?  Arrgh - that's the crux: one says what does it matter? - not out of a sense of ataraxia - a state of being above and beyond caring, an emotional stylite - but because it does matter, but one has begun to believe one's feelings don't matter and are best stuffed away out of sight. Not very emotionally healthy "Ramsgate woman kills husband with Sabatier kitchen knife".   That won't happen.  M has never inspired such murderous feelings, perhaps that's significant, or perhaps I'm just not especially murderous, or just stick to words.

The thing about visitors - usually - is that we both enjoy them and have a nice time with them, as we did with the SoA dinner a couple of weeks ago, as we do when we go out.  It gives me a pleasant feeling that we have an existence as a couple.  Only this time, we haven't especially.  M is still ill.  He says he is going to Waitrose - I assume he is going to buy a guilt egg for me.... no, he's looking for medication. Well, I don't think you can buy immodium over the counter.  But he's milking it like mad.   It's not as if he's spending the day rushing to the loo.  He has slightly gripey stomach pains and an occasional prolonged visit to the loo.  He doesn't think it's worth ringing NHS Direct - so in my book this doesn't count as a proper illness.  He is using it to eat what he wants to eat - oh, bloody hell, now I'm breaking it all down into detail.  These are things I don't normally feel like going into.   But on this occasion, I feel guilty about not being a nurturing wife, so this is my justification.  "Why I stopped being nice to my husband"?  Could I sell this story to one of those women's magazines?

OK - I have spent an hour on this, very self-indulgent and naughty.  Publish and be damned!