Somehow, this has turned into the breaking up blog. I’m sure I never saw that coming when I started writing. Right now, I don’t have much else going on, to be honest. That’s it, the sum total of my life. I feel like all I do is spout cliches and shed tears in public. Next thing you know, I’ll be writing a misery memoir about My Tragic Life, and flogging it down Tesco for £4.49.
Tonight’s debate: is it better for the children for us to live happily apart (because I believe at the moment, we’re still capable of that, but if we hang on here much longer, maybe we won’t be) than miserably together? I think this is a no-brainer, quite honestly, but apparently opinions vary. I don’t believe children are damaged by parents separating and going their own ways, but by parents living together in hatred.
And I know we’d both miss the children horribly for the time when we weren’t with them. We’ve always been together (barring the weather house phenomenon of the last few months.) But we’ve also done quite a lot of miserable together. I reckon I’d happily trade that hopelessness, despair and frustration for missing out on some bedtime stories and goodnight kisses.
So, tell me the truth, unvarnished opinions, warts and all. If I sound deluded, please tell me. There aren’t that many people I listen to, but several of them are reading this.
In the middle of all this, I had the sudden thought that the one thing better than making strawberry jam would be making strawberry and rhubarb jam (this idea was brought to you by Chinley stores and their special offers…) What do we think? Good: acidity to balance the sickly sweet. Bad: offputtingly stringy texture perhaps. I fear I’m putting more mental energy into this conundrum than I am into my domestic situation. That probably says it all.