I spent considerable time today talking to the Honcho and it was predictably disastrous. He is incapable of saying anything placatory. His mouth just cannot form the words. I give up. It is depressing. I love him and we want each other but I won’t accept his terms and he won’t accept mine and we stall, over and over again, and each time there is a bit more accumulated resentment and frustration and each time he brings less to the table and acts like I ought to be happy with it.
I am not happy with it. I feel physically and mentally weak and exhausted from trying to deal with him. If my leg were in working order, I would have done a lot of walking over the last couple of days, instead I feel physically heavy, slow and run down. Anyway, I think we have once again reached stalemate so that’s it for a few months until something changes or one of us wants to try again.
I have a bottle of special Dalwhinnie 15 y/o single malt whisky and some pretzels, anyway, so fuck him. We might have Leeroy Jenkinsed our relationship for the eighteen hundredth time, proving yet again that we cannot do this instance without wiping, but at least I have chicken.
I’m not sure how much I even like whisky, but ice cream would have been too Bridget Jones.