Two days, two whole days and I still have 2000 words remaining to write.
Oh, 2000 words isn’t much I know but I’m working a 12 hour shift tomorrow and I’ve our two small kids to look after the following day.
But I do have this evening and tomorrow evening. Both boys are settled and in bed asleep and their Dad is in the pub watching his favourite football team play on the telly, so I have peace and quiet to finish my project. Tonight I will finish writing the final draft and tomorrow night I will type it all out.
Six months on and I still cannot believe I have started this course. When my friend recommended it I said she was crazy, there was no way I could go back to studying after all these years. But she said I would love it, and it was only one evening a week (for two years) and just think of the Diploma at the end of it she said. She maintained I could get a promotion at work too if I had this in my back pocket.
She was right, it is the best thing I have done for years, and it is giving me something to focus on and look forward to every week. Of course the hard part is doing the continuous projects and getting them posted to the college on time, but I am managing it.
My husband doesn’t like it though. At the start He said He didn’t think I could do it, He said it was a waste of money and that I would never find the time to do the projects. He was wrong. I love going to the weekly classes. I get to meet new people, people who have nothing to do with my workplace.
I am sitting at our kitchen table, I have all of my research spread out in front of me and am in the middle of jotting down my bullet points for my last few paragraphs when I hear the key in the front door. Dam, He is home early from the pub.
He comes in complaining about some ‘asshole’ down the pub who was slagging him about his team losing their match, that it was such a ‘shite evening’ He had decided to ‘come home to my loving fucking wife’.
I sit in silence while He has his rant. I know exactly where this conversation is going to go and I slowly start to sort out the sheets of paper in front of me so I can bring them upstairs to my room. He sits down opposite me at the table with his pint glass of water in his hand (always has a glass of water after coming home from the pub).
‘Shit’ I think to myself. I ask him about the ‘asshole’ to try and steer any talk away from our relationship and me his ‘loving fucking wife’.
But He doesn’t want to talk about the pub any more and starts talking about our ‘mini break’ that we are in the middle of since we started sleeping in seperate bedrooms 6 weeks ago.
It is a conversation that we seem to be having every day now. And no matter what I say He doesn’t listen to me.
‘I am not going back into that bedroom until YOU do something about your anger management problems’ I finally say.
He pushes the chair back so as to stand up and in the ‘blink of an eye’ He has splashed the pint glass of water across the table at me ‘Fuck you’ He says and storms off out of the kitchen and up the stairs to the bedroom.
I am soaked from the top of my head down my chest, and so is my project in front of me on the table.
So for the next half hour I am drying out sheets of paper instead of finishing my project.
But I don’t really mind, it is another incident letting me know our marriage is in serious trouble.