love

I’m still doing it. I’m still trying to turn B into me. I fell in love with B for him. His quirks, his laid-backness, his dimpled smile, his forearms (not a fetish but they have always done it for me), his irreverence, his perverseness, his independence, his B’ness. His different to me ness. But I have spent the last seventeen years or so trying to turn him into me. Even though I know he will never behave the way I do, because he is not me. He will never respond the way I do, because he is not me. He will never phone home the way I do or when I want him too, because he is not me. He will never drive around the block ridiculously every time he has to be somewhere because he is always 5mins or more early the way I do, because he is not me. He will never do stuff when I want him too just because I want it done then, because he is not me. He will never be irrationally jealous the way I am, actually he will, and I do love that about him. So, I don’t know why I’m still doing it. I don’t even want B to be like me. I am starting to like me a little more, but fuck I’d hate to be married to me. So, I know he will never say sorry the way I do or think I do, because he is not me. I do know. But it still pisses me off. And I know that’s why he does it. And I love him all the more for it.

eighteen

Chatting to Helen into the early hours of today made me realise how blessed I am to have her for a mother-in-law. I am grateful for the relationship we enjoy. We discuss everything from the girls, to politics, to B, to religion, to computers, to pscyhology, to books, to education, to relationships. In fact, life. I value her opinion, not only because it is honest and informed, but because, even at 83, she is more openminded than most.