Late night moaning and complaining.

I am not happy. I don’t feel particularly healthy either. I feel unhealthy and unloved. It is almost midnight on a Friday night and I was trying to get an early night because (a) I only slept four hours last night and (b) I have to get up early tomorrow. But I cannot fall asleep. Usually I can sleep easily. But not tonight. Diary of the last couple of days:

Wednesday. Everything is groovy. I am fighting fit, have recently had my hair done and am at my most vibrant and gorgeous. In the evening, go out with Sayed, my ex from 2000 who I wrote about in my last post. On the one hand, the main hand, as it were, we had so much fun! It was great to see him. It was super fun to catch up on all the news. We are affectionate and tender with each other. We party hard. Not all night long, as we would have done in the past, but long and hard enough for a pair of geriatrics such as ourselves. On the other hand, a hand I barely noticed at the time due to being quite bombed, it really ripped my heart out of my chest when I learned that the person he’s been decreasingly-happily married to all these years (and frankly, the recent news that he even had the slightest interest in getting married came as a major shock) is the same person he went out and got involved with approximately 0.014 seconds after dumping me because I had apparently done something wrong by loving him. So he solves the problem by marrying literally the next person he sets eyes on. Literally as soon as he steps out of the house. He moved her into the flat where we conducted our relationship, and this is after accusing me of wanting to move in with him, which I assure you was the furthest thing from my mind, then as now. He moved her into the flat, into the bed where he slept with me and then he married her in a lavish wedding on a boat on the Thames. As you can see, these are rather considerable traumatic blows that I incurred during the course of the evening but we were both so off our faces that I didn’t notice.

Thursday. A massive hangover. I am full of phlegm. My head aches. I can’t think at all, I am impervious to thoughts and feelings today. Lemsip is the highlight of my day. There is certainly no gym. Meanwhile, work is piling up.

Friday. Feeling slightly better. Head clearer. I now have a massive pile of work that is due in by the end of the day, so I make some more Lemsip and get on it. There is no question of going to the gym or anything like that. I just sit there and do all the work. And I cry on and off all day, all day, because of the unfairness of it. I loved that man so much. I was sweet to him. I never caused him any problems or made any demands of him. And he just didn’t love me enough. He loved me a bit. But he didn’t love me enough not to go out and give the last 12 years of his health and strength to someone else, not to mention the extravagant romantic gestures, the two houses and the entire contents of his bank account. How could you, Sayed. How could you. Why didn’t you just say in the first place that you wanted marriage and babies, instead of trying to ascribe that ambition to me in a way that left me completely bewildered. Then we could have simply not bothered dating each other and I wouldn’t still love you, 13 years later.

I really would like to go to sleep now but I can’t sleep. And I really would have benefited from Hussein today, I would crawl into his voice on the phone and take refuge in him if I could, but something is amiss. Hussein, who calls me a minimum of twice a day, morning and evening, absolutely without fail, hasn’t rung me for two days. I am not sure whether to worry about him. But he is probably OK. He is very young and you know when young people don’t call you it’s usually just because they don’t have any credit on their phones.

Biz Markie: Just A Friend

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