Post 336: From pastures to pheasant-strewn lanes and dinosaurs.
After waking early and struggling to go back to sleep, I waited impatiently for my Darling to wake.
The first pills of the day wash away the nightmares and night pains that spoil my sleep and leave me exhausted.
The Dorset idyll is certainly not lost on me, but the daffs and daft pheasants are not enough to allay the fear that at any moment we could be wiped out by a local young farmer on four wheels of some kind.
It’s not their fault — it’s me being a bit of a townie.
But I’ve really upset my Darling today, and though we get through it in our own special way (hopefully), I’m a disgrace to myself for letting myself down.
It’s not fair that I keep heaping the bad moments of life on her every day. In fact, day after day I’m apologising for mistakes Moore and more, and I’m fed up with myself.
I’m not looking for sympathy, just empathy. I already know I shouldn’t be too hard on myself, but how can I not?
She walks back from the supermarket with a massive bag of food for Sunday roast, and I know I shouldn’t be doing that. I should be more of a man than I am — but of course I can’t.
Boy oh boy.
In seconds, my overprotective need wrecked a lovely day to dear old Dorchester, with its dinosaur, teddy bear and terracotta warrior museums tucked away where we left them so many years ago.
A time when I protected my Darling and little boys as they wandered around in awe of the huge exhibits.
A time when I didn’t have the time or money to sit in a local pub in the sunshine shooting the breeze.
A time when I could walk from the supermarket with four bags in each hand and find it more of a simple exercise than an impossible, now a banned activity.
Everyone’s being nice as I fall apart from being a dad and a man. It’s tougher on the inside, even if you can understand the outside.
I’m tired of saying I can’t make those steps. It infuriates me.
It infuriates me too when, as bad as I have been to her, my Darling helps me to bed. Just like that song I mention so often…
Good night.
PS
My grumpy heart has had atrial fibrillation and a high heart rate now for the last seven bloody hours. I’m fed up. It piles more inadequacies on top of an already long list.
Come on, heart — give me a break.
Nite,
Mr U.
