On the first of July and it was four months since my last cigarette. It was also another half year done. Just as on the first of January, it is possible to celebrate that the days are already beginning to lengthen, so here, at the beginning of summer, it's worth pausing to realise that the nights are already drawing in again.
Monday night in the back room was a good night's sleep. I was woken up on Tuesday morning by the radio alarm rather than waking up at 5 or 6 am. It's the first time I've done that in many months.
At work, there was news from one colleague of a possible change of job that will bring with it both relief and probably extra unsatisfying work. There was also news from another colleague that his partner has a lymphoma. It just puts into perspective how I was feeling over the weekend.
Lunchtime I had a sudden phone call from Fred. It was good to see him again but he made a number of assumptions about my availability and work based on two years ago. Maybe his surprise is a measure as to how much things have changed at work in that time. And it's hard to remember that it has been over two years now since we were going out together.
In France, there was another display of faux Corinthianism as England played their final match of the World Cup. I suppose, after Maradona's Hand of God, we now have the foot of Beckham (he got sent off) and the elbow of Shearer (goal disallowed). I'm sort of thankful. Now I can just watch the football without all of the accompanying jingoism.
I was just settling (Ross was in town seeing College friends) when Kathy from next door knocked and asked for some assistance. Her little daughter, Naomi, had an ear infection and so I embarked upon a tabloid mercy dash to the pharmacy at Tesco's. It was successful.
Ross and I lay together for a while before going to sleep. Something's bugging him but he's not saying. I guess I have to trust that he'll tell me if he wants to. But I have the feeling that he's cutting me out. Well, so be it if that is the case.
Wednesday went. I didn't swim again. Healing was OK. Then a phone call from my sister Linda to tell me that she is pregnant. So with her at 40 and me at 44, I am about to become an uncle. And goodness only knows how Albert and Grace are going to face up to being proper grandparents. So, this'll provide a continuing thread over the next seven months. This Journal will be into its fourth year by the time the sprog comes along.
Getting into bed at 10pm, the sky was suffused with twilight. It just shows how cloudy it has been of late. There has just been no sense of long summer evenings. Maybe we're paying the price for the February heatwave.
Thursday passed also. I did swim, which was one of the highlights of the day. Work was a round of heavy meetings but I did get some time to explore some aspects of Excel and remind myself that I'm actually cleverer than I sometimes give myself credit for. I still can't find out however how to make a cell formatting conditional on an IF statement. So, if anyone out there has any suggestions...
Ross is quiet. He's cooking for the second night running which is lovely. He's finished his packing. But there's a quietness about him. Something's going on in his head but he's not saying. However, long ago, he told me that if words were his thing he wouldn't have to do sculpture. But it feels like he's cutting off and separating. And that's a pain, maybe a necessary one, but a pain nevertheless. It's funny but, now that his effects are boxed and packed, they don't seem to amount to very much and yet they seemed to fill the house and oppress me only a few days ago.
The day's been cold and drab. I shall be glad of next week off, of travelling to see my parents, of getting the gas boiler fixed, of teaching in Oxford. I shall be glad in a sort of way of getting the house back to myself again. It's time for Ross and I truly to move on and until we get this phase done and dusted we are not going to make the transition. I just trust that what will be will be for the best.