GMT and PMS

I’m having to use my headlights when I’m driving home from work now. It’s depressing and it’s probably at least five months to pass before I can stop doing it. Bloody Winter with its bloody cold days and its bloody dark nights. But why moan? I can either lump it or leave the country, and I have to admit I’m too lazy to go through the hassle of transporting a heavily-pregnant wife further South. All is not well in the world of Philippa, by the way. She’s having one of those spells where impending motherhood feels like a burden and an inconvenience rather than a beautiful, natural state to be celebrated. She feels fat and unattractive and uncomfortable and her mood is reflected in her movements and manner. I thought all this up-and-down, topsy-turvy, moods-swinging-like-a-horse’s-cock way of life would change now she’s pregnant and not having periods, but no. She continues to be an interesting lottery of a woman – you buy a ticket and hope for the best, not knowing whether you’ll become a millionaire or simply have wasted your money. (or in this case – you go to bed not knowing if you’ll wake up with a loving marshmallow or a rabid panther.)

Not sure that was my best-ever description of my relationship, but I think I have a cold coming, so my creative wordsmith’s mind is befuddled by the fog of phlegm.

RC 5-11-18