I’m currently in hiding.
My Mother-in-law-to-be is currently staying over and the sensible one has left to go to work for a few hours. Don’t get me wrong; she is a very lovely lady; it’s just that her eyes and mouth appear to have some kind of spring-load mechanism which means that when one is open, the other follows suit. On the second day, I ran out of ‘end of conversation’ techniques and just stopped responding to anything but the most important bits in a desperate bid to conserve energy.
In my defense, I’m from a very honest, Yorkshire family. Not much effort it spent on niceties, so when it comes to situations where I need to; I find the whole thing frankly knackaring. They don’t even do the ‘change of subject’ thing particularly gracefully. On our last visit, my Mum started talking about something emotional, so my Aunt said to me ‘have you been watching X-Factor?’ to stop it in it’s tracks.
Later, our families will meet in a neutral location, where they will have relative freedom to talk to each other. I’ve stopped inviting people to my Grandma’s, mostly due to my discomfort watching her play host. All the Yorkshire honesty goes out of the window completely, and we’re left with a shell of a Grandmother on her best behaviour ensuring that everyone is entertained and impressed.
She won’t be able to do this in the pub; however, some things will remain: Mother-in-law-to-be will gush to my family how wonderful I am. My family will concede; knowing full-well that neither party actually thinks this. Both want things to work for different reasons. My family thinks I’ve struck gold with my partner. They cannot believe I’ve found (and kept) someone so brilliant. The Mother-in-law wants Grandchildren and wants my partner to get on the property ladder ASAP. I’m better than the last one, so it’s good enough.
Despite the general dishonesty of the whole thing, I think I’m going to enjoy it. The heat will be off, and my Grandma’s word-count probably rivals the Mother-in-law’s. At the end of the day, I will hear from each one declare how much the other talks, and I will smile inwardly.
Anyone who searches symptoms on the internet knows the indiscriminate possibility that whatever is going on in your body is probably lethal. In fact, I’ve searched so many times that I know which websites to avoid (wrongdiagnosis!).
Last night I woke up gasping for air after a particularly terrifying dream and decided to check it up; you know, just in case. Well, my choices of affliction became perfectly clear within seconds; anxiety, sleep apnoea or…wait for it…heart failure! Well, of course every other possibility fades into pale insignificance at the potential of heart failure and if I didn’t suffer from anxiety before, I certainly do now. It is a cruel, cruel world that places the symptoms of anxiety so closely with the potential of death (impending doom is sometimes symptomatic of a heart attack).
I’d visit my doctor with the concerns, but I now follow a quota of how many times I can legitimately visit him in a year to maintain my credibility as a patient. I have been known to visit so often that a doctor told me to stop going.
In the mean time, I shall comfort myself in the knowledge that if I do indeed drop dead, I can go with the self-righteousness thought that I was right after all. What is more likely however, is that I’ll reach 102 scraping the dignity barrel thinking “so where’s that heart attack then?”.
I am not hungover. This is a problem, because it means I’m still relatively drunk. Somewhere along the course of the evening I lost count of the times I requested one “large glass of Merlot please”, but the sober one (largely due to the fact that he expresses himself quite readily without the use of alcoholic beverages) reckoned it added up to around three bottles.
This might go some way to explaining why I decided it was a brilliant idea to lay on our lawn for roughly an hour marveling at the sky; determined that my perfectly well-adjusted partner should join me in doing so. In his defense, he did join me after about half an hour of cajoling before giving up reasoning with me and locked me out (after putting a key in my pocket). Now; at this point, I can only see how bizarre this must have seemed to the more observant of neighbours; Me: laid spreadeagled on our lawn slurring “it’s so beautiful; seriously. You have to see this!” Him: stood on the outskirts looking exasperated, going over to me repeatedly, progressing from verbal reasoning, attempting to drag me into the house, lying next to me for a few minutes to shutting the door.
In MY defense, I’m not as much of a hellraiser as I’d actually quite like to be. I’m a rebel, but only insofar as I still act according to the unspoken rules to which the majority of polite, sensible people follow. Considering this, I could perceive my behaviour as a drop of tyranny in a sea of good-manners; a blow-out; a release (albeit a relatively low-key event). The person I share this life with on the other hand manages to pop little bits of bizarreness and tyranny into every single day. Just this morning, he ran around the bedroom naked chasing his own underwear in the manner of a matador (One can only imagine what he intended to be the bull). In light of this, I’m allowed to have my moment. Even if it is in relative drunken stupor.
…but it took so long to set up the blog, there was nothing interesting left to report.