During
the week we have exchanged emails.
Me: Hello to a good woman. I can't call
you my good woman now. I
sent a cheque to [the couples counsellor] and her receipt came in today's mail.
I have just got home from Shepparton. Hurt my back getting out of the car.
Can't stand up or walk. Pain! Life's a shit sandwich sometimes. I hope you are
well.
My
good woman: Hi. I am sorry to hear you
are hurting. I hope good afternoon sleep will help. Am I well? I am not sure;
last night I was thinking about you and I was very sad, and today sadness just
doesn't want to go away. I expected to be stronger, but ... life happens. How
do you want me to pay you?
Me: I am feeling very sad too. Thought about you
all weekend. I don't know how to deal with this. Part of me just can't accept
or believe that our journey is over. Just put money in my account if have
the details.
My
good woman: I struggle to explain to
myself why, and how this is better for me. I don't have your bank details.
Me: Me2.
My
good woman: I will go to the bank
tomorrow. Do you need anything? Can I help somehow?
Back
to the phone call. I ask if I can maybe see her tomorrow. She is free in the
morning, I am not. Rock, arm in a sling after having his bicep pinned back onto
the bone, needs my help. I tell her about his injury, how we have just compared
notes on hating the stress our jobs bring to our lives. Maybe it’s an age
thing.
I tell
her about my stress. We both know it can’t be helped: I have to work, need the
income. She tells me her friend remarked early in our relationship that I am
obviously a home person, would make a good house husband. If we ever live
together, her friend observes, I can look after the home while my good woman
works.
During
the week this is exactly what I have been thinking. I say nothing.
I will
visit my good woman tomorrow for tea.
Rock
on.
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