Monday morning

Dad’s offer

I told my dad about the flood Sunday morning. He might be shit with emotions, but he’s great with practical things.

Actually, I’m thinking that I have been upset sometimes with his emotional difficulties, but I have those too, but I haven’t appreciated his other qualities.

He stressed the need to make sure that I started the process of drying things out, that I needed to get an electrician out to make the house safe, and get the insurance claim started – all as soon as possible. He also said that I should do as little that might be questioned by the insurance as possible – so no lifting the the laminate flooring until the assessor has been.

He also offered to look after the dog.

He’s eighty and hasn’t got the best sight, and she’s going and full of energy and mischief, so I’m going to take her up in Sunday and leave her with him for a few hours and see how they get on together.

Knackered

I was up at 6am, coffeed, breakfasted, showered, and back to the house by half-six.

I let the dog out, then have her breakfast.

Emptied the dehumidifier buckets.

Gave the husband his meds and a coffee.

Then back to the flat.

I had I lie down for thirty minutes before starting work.

I had a testosterone pump. I’m now on one pump every day. I feel that I need some energy – coping with relationship stress, food stress, work stress, are all too much for me.

I feel on the edge of a major meltdown. My reserves feel very low again.

Lunchtime

I nipped back to the house to empty the dehumidifiers (they were full), let the dog out, and check on my husband.

He’d cooked himself something involving frozen sweetcorn and frozen peas. I know because he’d left the bags out on the kitchen work surface. They are now defrosted, so I had to throw them away.

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Monday evening

I went to bed after work with a migraine. I’d only intended to lie there thirty minutes … one hour later I have to rush over to the house to cook tea and look after the dog.

There’s only a mild mess compared with the usual state that I’ll find when my husband is ill. Just the milk left out, but not spilt. Crumbs from the flapjacks I’d bought him to try to deter him from the terrifying activity of coming while drunk or high on prescription drugs.

There was a funny smell by the front door. My suspicions were correct: because he’d not been letting the dog out those first few days when he was ill (before I realised that he was), she’d sorted herself out the best she could.

Tea is gnocci in cheese sauce. Funny judge me if I’ve spelt that wrong – I claim migraine made me do it!

Migraines, for me are, a sign of all sorts of things. Stress is a major trigger.

I am physically, mentally, and emotionally drained.