Guilt trip
I wrote most of this entry slumped in a bottle of gin, which I don't even particularly like, but it's what you get when you don't feel like leaving the boundaries of your property. The post is somewhat lengthy, so for the sake of my Friends I've put it in a link-type thing. t_petty is here by the way, cheers.
A decision has been made on my behalf to temporarily cancel the flat-warming I'd intended. I was reminded by my girlfriend and her handy, romantically scripted notes pasted on the refrigerator, that I'm expected elsewhere. "Oh John, how could you forget? We've planned this for a month!" was her response when I confessed the trip to see her parents in Italy had slipped my mind. Moreover, it's the visit, of announcing our new bundle of parental joy to her family. I should be ashamed, shouldn't I?
I tend to have selective forgetfulness when it comes to anything beyond my own scope of plans for the week. Not that I purposely force myself to forget. Though when it comes to situations which seem a great deal more problematic than necessary, they get swept under the rug for the time being so my mind can deal with what's immediately at hand.
There's something in me, a habit, to simplify situations. I search for a black and white, clear cut this or that to every obstacle, a clear definition. I don't place precedence in what's happened months ago or years back to determine what should happen today. Focus is directed to what's placed before me, laid out right there at that moment. And at the time of our argument I was standing knee-deep in accumulated rain water in the cellar from leaks around the house foundation, attempting to do-it-myself. My plan of siphoning the flood out through rigged garden hoses and an air compressor didn't work, of course (by the next day I rang a service to come take care of the problem).
I attempted to persuade Sophia to bring her parents here instead. Traveling to Italy would entail taking the kids out of school; I don't like the idea of the both of us going too far away without them. She protested "they'll only miss two days". I proposed further suggestions: waiting until school is out in July, or in the least rescheduling the journey until a holiday weekend. I should've been a target in a carnival shooting arcade the way my ideas were being gunned down.
It never ceases to amaze me how a woman can argue something in the absolute present and dredge up situations from the ancient past in her defense. It astounds me all the more that these injections of guilt always prick the vein, never miss their mark. In a single exchange a female can smile at you with the most innocent grace and make you rue the day you were born a flawed human, all at once.
While she was attacking me from the stairs with my meaningless former mistakes and idiotic choices to get her way about the trip, I waded around fighting with hoses and cursing the downpours. I wanted to concentrate on the troublesome domestic chore, and to do that I uttered a quick, "All right. Whatever you want, love. Could you take up the slack on that hose as you go?" A week later when she told me she'd made flight arrangements I was on my way out the door (late for an elevenses with Mani) and it barely registered in my thoughts. Never forget anything lads, because your ladies won't ever let you forget that you've forgotten.
There you have an extensive description as to why my London residence will be empty this weekend. I do plan on making an appearance for Morrissey's birthday however, come hell or more high water. Ha.
A decision has been made on my behalf to temporarily cancel the flat-warming I'd intended. I was reminded by my girlfriend and her handy, romantically scripted notes pasted on the refrigerator, that I'm expected elsewhere. "Oh John, how could you forget? We've planned this for a month!" was her response when I confessed the trip to see her parents in Italy had slipped my mind. Moreover, it's the visit, of announcing our new bundle of parental joy to her family. I should be ashamed, shouldn't I?
I tend to have selective forgetfulness when it comes to anything beyond my own scope of plans for the week. Not that I purposely force myself to forget. Though when it comes to situations which seem a great deal more problematic than necessary, they get swept under the rug for the time being so my mind can deal with what's immediately at hand.
There's something in me, a habit, to simplify situations. I search for a black and white, clear cut this or that to every obstacle, a clear definition. I don't place precedence in what's happened months ago or years back to determine what should happen today. Focus is directed to what's placed before me, laid out right there at that moment. And at the time of our argument I was standing knee-deep in accumulated rain water in the cellar from leaks around the house foundation, attempting to do-it-myself. My plan of siphoning the flood out through rigged garden hoses and an air compressor didn't work, of course (by the next day I rang a service to come take care of the problem).
I attempted to persuade Sophia to bring her parents here instead. Traveling to Italy would entail taking the kids out of school; I don't like the idea of the both of us going too far away without them. She protested "they'll only miss two days". I proposed further suggestions: waiting until school is out in July, or in the least rescheduling the journey until a holiday weekend. I should've been a target in a carnival shooting arcade the way my ideas were being gunned down.
It never ceases to amaze me how a woman can argue something in the absolute present and dredge up situations from the ancient past in her defense. It astounds me all the more that these injections of guilt always prick the vein, never miss their mark. In a single exchange a female can smile at you with the most innocent grace and make you rue the day you were born a flawed human, all at once.
While she was attacking me from the stairs with my meaningless former mistakes and idiotic choices to get her way about the trip, I waded around fighting with hoses and cursing the downpours. I wanted to concentrate on the troublesome domestic chore, and to do that I uttered a quick, "All right. Whatever you want, love. Could you take up the slack on that hose as you go?" A week later when she told me she'd made flight arrangements I was on my way out the door (late for an elevenses with Mani) and it barely registered in my thoughts. Never forget anything lads, because your ladies won't ever let you forget that you've forgotten.
There you have an extensive description as to why my London residence will be empty this weekend. I do plan on making an appearance for Morrissey's birthday however, come hell or more high water. Ha.