Monday/Tuesday night, I got my first good night's sleep of the holiday. I didn't wake up til near 9am and felt much better for it. I'm beginning to let go of the excitement of the preparations for the Festive season - notice I didn't say tensions; I'm beginning to be able to spot the differences.
Consequently, I spent the following day feeling less terminally lethargic than I had been on Monday. I still didn't do very much but it was more by choice. I lounged around, read some of my history of London book, listened to symphonies by Beethoven and Vaughan Williams, shopped at Tesco's and did a little work on the EJ in preparation for next year.
I also watched a video recording I have of a Film Two production of The Lost Language of Cranes and marvelled at the work of Brian Cox and Eileen Atkins as the mature couple coming to terms with the husband's homosexuality after the son comes out to them.
Ross rang during the afternoon to tell me that his nan is much better. She's had a respiratory infection for months and has done nothing to quell it. She's been in hospital over the Christmas period but appears to be getting better having had a spell on a respirator. He may well be back in London on Thursday but he's already giving notice that he's going to be tired. I'm feeling nervous about driving long distances even if the car gets fixed in time so it looks as though the News Year's Eve plans are changing yet again.
Eveningtime, I made use of the lectern Linda gave me and used the gospel according to Delia to rustle up a scrumptious macaroni cheese bake with bacon, courgettes and mushrooms. It was truly scrumptious but, my god, do I feel full now with all those farinaceous and dairy products inside me. The Chilean Merlot was rather tasty as well. I was glad to collapse on the sofa in front of Ballykissangel and Jonathan Creek and eventually Match of the Day with Liverpool winning at home again.
Wednesday brings news that my car will not be fixed this side of the holiday. Can't deal with that immediately as I'm off to have lunch with Colin. Just as I make a move to go the phone goes and the upshot is that I'm booked that evening to meet up with a couple of old college mates, Liz and Julian.
Lunch with Colin is fine - we exchange gifts, chat, listen to music, eat. One of the things that Colin says to me that resonates is that he cooks to de-stress. I hope I'm getting there. These days I certainly faff about less but I don't yet have Colin's confidence or facility in the kitchen. But then he's like a kangaroo on a unicycle when it comes to computers.
Back home I have a brief phone call with Ross. I tell him about car; he tells me that his nan is not well again and so he won't be coming back to London before Monday. I'm peeved - not by his nan's illness but because he's taken so long to tell me. And then he doesn't say anything about wanting to be with me for New Year. We are frosty.
By the time I leave to meet up with Liz and Julian I am angry. I have all sorts of thoughts about not knowing where I fit into his life. Working on the EJ, I have the realisation that none of this year's best peak experiences have had anything to do with Ross. I do feel that our life is in a horrible rut and that the last four months have been pretty pissy. I've noticed also that there are no peak experiences after August until you hit the current Festive season.
On the tube, I start reading one of Gill's gifts to me - Why People Don't Heal and How They Can. It talks about things I've been mulling over for some time - about the blocks that people/I put in our way to prevent transformations. One of the things the author is hot on is what she calls Woundism ie defining yourself and all of your life in relationship to a past wound.
And I reflect on how I do that to myself in my search for a single event that will explain all my behaviour and how I seek out people who have been wounded so that I can tend for them and give my life meaning. And I wonder about my Rossi and me and us and ME/CFS and child abuse and what defines what.
Despite all of that, I had a fabby time talking with Liz and Julian for a couple of hours. We remembered the past, caught up on recent events and the present and looked forward. We worked out that the last time that I saw them was in 1986 in Wandsworth when they were living in a high rise block of flats with their first son, Michael, who would have been about one.
Given the various difficulties of the ensuing years, I have to say that we all looked remarkably well on it. As this year, decade, century, millennium winds down, it felt good to make this last connection with people who knew me from before the time when I came out.
Thursday begins and I start to do little tidying around the house. Ross calls and his first words are "I miss you". We talk for a long time after this in a more constructive frame of mind. I mention Woundism. Ross says that he'd like to read the book. I say that we should do more.
I hear him bridle because he immediately starts thinking of his energy levels and his degree and his work but I seek to reassure him that I'm not talking about driving him into the ground. And it may just be things like having a cappuccino on the South Bank, or going to an art show, or wandering round Hampstead Heath. Anyway, I ask him to think about it because I tend to flood him with ideas very easily - is that him, the ME or the medication, hmmm.
Later I find a birthday card from Ross from a couple of years ago which has two bears hugging on the front whilst the text reads My favourite place is next to you. I shall try to remember these things and not ask for constant reassurance.
Later in the afternoon I watch Mona Lisa. Brilliant film. Very depressing. All about getting out of your depth by helping people too much.
I seem to have started a major project to re-organise the house.