Dec 27 2008
Drunken Anger
(This is actually 27 December’s post, but my connection’s been down… so here it is today!)
Today was a bad day. I had to go off into town to check our bank account, since our connection at home wasn’t available, but unfortunately the library was closed and the bank was shut. This meant that I couldn’t transfer funds from our reserves into our current account, which we use to buy food and stuff. Thankfully, I’d had the foresight to put a fair amount in just before Christmas and the bank hadn’t siphoned any of it off for whatever reasons they invent.
Returning home with supplies, I realised I’d left my mobile phone in the house. This isn’t a major problem, but it does mean that as soon as I open the front door, my lady will start shouting at me because (a) she’s been drinking and (b) she is worried because she couldn’t reach me. As expected, the haranguing started at high volume. This was swiftly followed by more reproaches because she was trying to find me a little present for my birthday by phoning around some shops and her phone was out of credit. I explained the bank accounts situation and she put what credit we could on.
Of course, being drunk meant that she babbled on and on whenever she called anyone, so the remaining money wasn’t enough. I explained again that we couldn’t put any more on until I can transfer some funds, but this then turned into the expected two-hour-long insult marathon where it’s all my fault because I don’t understand how important it is, various accusations of being obsessed with money (fairly reasonable considering how I have to try to manage our funds while she gets blotted and spends cash wantonly) and orders for me to somehow find a way to sort the mobile credit out. Yeah, right.
I lent her my mobile and she used the credit up on that, then was suddenly violently ill (always intriguing to see vomit that is almost purely formed of alcoholic drinks… not) and went to bed. Still, the ordeal wasn’t over for me as she then decided she was hungry and I had to do the food thing. This always hurts me a lot, since she stays in bed and I have to make the trip up and down stairs half a dozen times (literally) with different foods and with my bad back screaming at me to stop walking so damned much. Add to that a healthy smattering of further accusations, random changes of subject to insults, demands and the whole “you don’t love me for who I am” crap and you can imagine how I feel.
Still no net connection here this evening, either, so I shall be reduced to eating something nice and watching a film in an attempt to calm myself down and convince myself that maybe I’m not the anti-christ after all. Some hope.
