Spilt Wine

23rd May 2012 Wednesday

A bit too grumpy to write much tonight.....sad about the pussy cat -  he’s started the chemo - I’ve decided to trust the vet - asked for nutritional supplements to support his immune system while the drugs are in his system. We’re just buying time for him. His appetite is better -  he hasn’t been sick.

My husband’s aunty comes to lunch. We sit at the table with the double doors wide open onto the dazzling garden - it’s too hot to sit outside without the umbrella which is broken. I grill our allotment asparagus and toss it in olive oil and crushed garlic - lovely with the first Jersey Royals. She eats less than the pussy cat.

Much later we sit on the sofa and listen to a Mindfulness Meditaton CD. I keep dropping into sleep, wandering off in my head, my attention as slippery as hands on a greasy pole.

My husband drops a full glass of red wine in the kitchen. It smashes on the counter, splashes up the walls and down the cupboards and spreads like a pool of pale blood across the floor.  He’s much more upset than I am. He says he’s had a bad day and dips into a spiral of ‘everything I do is crap’.  Which I find hard to listen to. I can’t work out if he’s getting worse or if he’s just beliveing his negative thoughts .....he can’t follow one conversation so he thinks he’ll never follow any conversation ever again....

I give up trying to talk him out of it. I can feel his depression seeping through my skin like spilt wine..... tonight I can’t make room for his sadness while I’m brim full of my own.....