Such a rage in the small hours. Awake for an hour or more, felt like forever. Not much better this morning.
Ask and you will receive (but only the holy spirit is on offer – that’s new) – today’s gospel reading. Wouldn’t dare say anything at faith sharing this morning, be safer to go shopping.
Took back my letter to S
Pouring with rain. “Communion” this morning. Cooking fucking lunch. I think S is my sous chef.
Almost frightened by how angry and pissed off I feel, but at least I’m sober. S and I talked about sex and our relationship (actually not much about us at all) and how she was feeling. She said sex made her feel invaded (as if I am a rapist, not her lover, or the person she loves) and how she just wanted to shut everyone out. It was a kind conversation and none of what she said particularly upset me at the time she said it (nor was it news, she’s said much the same several times in the last few weeks). She never says anything about the future, apart from “it’s only 3 weeks” from when she goes back to Basel to when she comes to London to see the play. So our future is 2 days in London staying in some grotty hotel. And our birthday celebrations are 2 days driving to Basel where I put her on a train to Perugia and drive back alone to this place.
I woke up some time after 1 am, S fast asleep and grinding her teeth intermittently. Immediately started on the dark thoughts. Havered about getting up and going back up to the caravan, or just downstairs for a fag and a cup of tea. Had there been a bottle of whisky anywhere I think I’d have drunk it, but red wine at 2 am isn’t very tempting. It’s not very tempting at any time, where I could drink whisky at any hour of the day.
Spoke briefly yesterday to Felicity and Aden. She’s in Vietnam, comes home on Sunday. Christmas with the Morfeys in Devon hence the lack of news about a family non-Christmas. She’s a bit fed up with Joe coming back on December 27th as she won’t be around. I thought I might fly down to Ibiza after the play in November, although now I’m tempted just to go now. And tell everyone here I’m resigning. Can’t bear the thought of hanging around here with S and the rest of them for another 2 weeks. Want to tell her to cancel the van hire (or find another mug to drive it back from Basel for her) but that seems mean. Wait and see.
Retrieved the letter I wrote her two weeks ago, after my Merton day and our row in the evening (whisky and wine fuelled, but nothing I said wasn’t true and from the heart, nor particularly horrid, just shouty and emotional – she made a big deal about my having been drinking). She’d just left it on her mantelpiece, not sure why. I just didn’t see why I was apologising for her having been such a b for weeks, whatever her reasons.
It does seem like a re-run of all my other breakups, I just wish I could handle it better, more skilfully (at least I’m still not drinking – do 7 days anyway, and see). And look after myself. Stop being sucked into whatever private shit hole she’s in. Trying to guess what’s “really going on” from the mad and contradictory signals issuing from the black hole – that’s very reminiscent of Sukie and Pol. There’s echoes too of Karen (when her father died) and Chris (when she chose Charles over me – that turned out well, not) only S is turning me away for Basel and working for Swisscom and a life away from Bonnevaux, which seems even harder to take. It’s the way she’s done it, as if my feelings or “we” simply mean nothing to her. She’s spent a lifetime on her own, making her own mind up, suiting (or not suiting) herself and that’s not an unhappy accident. As she sort of painted it in her emails last year, that’s the way she is, and deals with unhappiness, closes down, goes in to herself, shuts everyone out. Which I relate to, but it’s not very nice having it done to me. But which maybe I did too, to Sukie and to Pol.
Cook the lunch. Hang the curtains in the chapel. Stay out of everyone’s way.
I have to go into Vivonne and get some tobacco and maybe stuff for lunch. Avoid whisky purchases. I thought last night of ringing Andrew C and asking him about his real reasons for leaving Bonnevaux, and his feelings about the crowd here. I thought last night they’re all more or less fake. Not our visitors, or Mary Katherine, or S, but Laurence, Giovanni, Catherine, Henriette (not sure), Sebastien – all playing the glad game, none of them seem to me to have very much to offer, to be models to follow or learn from. They’re also all on the payroll. Have they in some sense sold their souls to the idea of Bonnevaux? Was that Andrew’s problem too? Unable to be real and honest, because they each depend on Bonnevaux and Laurence for their livelihoods and their futures. And Laurence depends on Bonnevaux flying.
Ask and you will receive (but only the holy spirit is on offer – that’s new) – today’s gospel reading. Wouldn’t dare say anything at faith sharing this morning, be safer to go shopping.
Took back my letter to S
Pouring with rain. “Communion” this morning. Cooking fucking lunch. I think S is my sous chef.
Almost frightened by how angry and pissed off I feel, but at least I’m sober. S and I talked about sex and our relationship (actually not much about us at all) and how she was feeling. She said sex made her feel invaded (as if I am a rapist, not her lover, or the person she loves) and how she just wanted to shut everyone out. It was a kind conversation and none of what she said particularly upset me at the time she said it (nor was it news, she’s said much the same several times in the last few weeks). She never says anything about the future, apart from “it’s only 3 weeks” from when she goes back to Basel to when she comes to London to see the play. So our future is 2 days in London staying in some grotty hotel. And our birthday celebrations are 2 days driving to Basel where I put her on a train to Perugia and drive back alone to this place.
I woke up some time after 1 am, S fast asleep and grinding her teeth intermittently. Immediately started on the dark thoughts. Havered about getting up and going back up to the caravan, or just downstairs for a fag and a cup of tea. Had there been a bottle of whisky anywhere I think I’d have drunk it, but red wine at 2 am isn’t very tempting. It’s not very tempting at any time, where I could drink whisky at any hour of the day.
Spoke briefly yesterday to Felicity and Aden. She’s in Vietnam, comes home on Sunday. Christmas with the Morfeys in Devon hence the lack of news about a family non-Christmas. She’s a bit fed up with Joe coming back on December 27th as she won’t be around. I thought I might fly down to Ibiza after the play in November, although now I’m tempted just to go now. And tell everyone here I’m resigning. Can’t bear the thought of hanging around here with S and the rest of them for another 2 weeks. Want to tell her to cancel the van hire (or find another mug to drive it back from Basel for her) but that seems mean. Wait and see.
Retrieved the letter I wrote her two weeks ago, after my Merton day and our row in the evening (whisky and wine fuelled, but nothing I said wasn’t true and from the heart, nor particularly horrid, just shouty and emotional – she made a big deal about my having been drinking). She’d just left it on her mantelpiece, not sure why. I just didn’t see why I was apologising for her having been such a b for weeks, whatever her reasons.
It does seem like a re-run of all my other breakups, I just wish I could handle it better, more skilfully (at least I’m still not drinking – do 7 days anyway, and see). And look after myself. Stop being sucked into whatever private shit hole she’s in. Trying to guess what’s “really going on” from the mad and contradictory signals issuing from the black hole – that’s very reminiscent of Sukie and Pol. There’s echoes too of Karen (when her father died) and Chris (when she chose Charles over me – that turned out well, not) only S is turning me away for Basel and working for Swisscom and a life away from Bonnevaux, which seems even harder to take. It’s the way she’s done it, as if my feelings or “we” simply mean nothing to her. She’s spent a lifetime on her own, making her own mind up, suiting (or not suiting) herself and that’s not an unhappy accident. As she sort of painted it in her emails last year, that’s the way she is, and deals with unhappiness, closes down, goes in to herself, shuts everyone out. Which I relate to, but it’s not very nice having it done to me. But which maybe I did too, to Sukie and to Pol.
Cook the lunch. Hang the curtains in the chapel. Stay out of everyone’s way.
I have to go into Vivonne and get some tobacco and maybe stuff for lunch. Avoid whisky purchases. I thought last night of ringing Andrew C and asking him about his real reasons for leaving Bonnevaux, and his feelings about the crowd here. I thought last night they’re all more or less fake. Not our visitors, or Mary Katherine, or S, but Laurence, Giovanni, Catherine, Henriette (not sure), Sebastien – all playing the glad game, none of them seem to me to have very much to offer, to be models to follow or learn from. They’re also all on the payroll. Have they in some sense sold their souls to the idea of Bonnevaux? Was that Andrew’s problem too? Unable to be real and honest, because they each depend on Bonnevaux and Laurence for their livelihoods and their futures. And Laurence depends on Bonnevaux flying.
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