On Sunday, I got up at 3.30am to drive to the airport and subsequently made it through the day in a stupefied daze. As I got nearer to home and to seeing T again, my guts tied themselves into some elaborate knots and the relentless nausea which has been my closest friend for the last 6.5 months returned. It is insane, but I am terrified of T. He has hurt me so much that I pretty much live in fear of the next time he strikes…
And he didn’t disappoint: One of my ex sisters in law reported that the New Ms T was officially introduced to T’s family this weekend. She was deemed very nice and welcomed with open-arms, which would explain why T was practically bouncing with joy… *Sick. Bag. Now.*
I know, I know, I should not let these things get to me, but the question is how? Because sadly, what with not being a Jedi knight, I am not geared with a triple strength Teflon-coated armour… So any suggestions?
After such a pleasant welcome home, getting back to work and into the whole kids-bills-meals routine felt very much like having to enter a swimming pool at 16°C. You try to pretend the water is at 36, not 16°C, you dip your feet very slowly, hold your stomach in and get onto tiptoes…Then you run late for the children’s drop off, have 63 urgent emails to respond to, and before you know it, you’re submerged, muscles seizing, struggling to catch your breath.
For a bit of extra cheer, the weather has decided it was late November, not July: This morning turned into a frantic trousers-hunt through our
ravaged methodically-organised wardrobes, and it is snowing up in the mountains. Oh, and of course I was late again for the children’s drop-off, which earned me a nice bit of eye rolling from one of the play-scheme organisers.
In 62 hours and 23 minutes, we are off to a family & beach weekend by the Med (not that I’m counting, obviously).
Morcheeba – Fear and love: