Philippa and I are still having silly little arguments every day, but at least we’re back in the same house. I’m not sure what I’m doing wrong. Whatever I try seems to be infuriating her at the moment. Maybe she’s been unsettled by the moving, and then by Christmas. Maybe, as suggested by a helpful Lotto stand worker during lunch today, her biological clock is ticking so loudly that it’s keeping her awake at night. Maybe if I simply impregnate her she’ll cheer up a bit and start speaking to me nicely again. I really don’t know. We’re into that aspect of relationships that I never bought the manual for.
My default setting in these circumstances is to hide in the world of games and only peek out when she’s in a good mood, but I’m trying really hard not to do that. But it’s all very unsettling and unpleasant.
I’ve always thought, though, that every problem can be solved by imbibing the right amount of alcohol, so I’ll leave it there for now and make my way to the Chardonnay.
RC 3-1-14
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