I have been clearing the back room for several weeks now.
Actually it’s only one week but it seems ten times longer. In fact I checked back and was amazed to discover it was only a week.
The room is finally showing some progress. I even managed to clear one item of furniture which I intend to offer free to the first
idiot person to collect it.
The old writing bureau on the right has to be cleaned out and moved to the other end of the house. I wouldn’t dare photograph the rest of the room as I would be too ashamed.
So the days have all followed a pattern. I check my mails while I have my first cuppa and a smoke, and then I take a deep breath and plunge back into the Pit of Hell [as I now think of it]. Sooner or later the back starts to complain unmercifully so I take a series of breaks.
Herself has started complaining, or rather I should say complaining by proxy. Now she’s the one who is very impatient to move there. She is supposed to have the first knee operation next month and wants it fixed by then. She overlooks the fact that there is a month to go yet and wants me to work faster.
Now in spite of this urge to send me to an early grave she is now becoming concerned at the fact that I look exhausted. She has obviously realised that she needs me to tend to her wishes and needs and that I am in fact indispensable. So we now have the paradox where she wants me to work faster and slower at the same time. Her answer to this conundrum is to nag me into having drams of whiskey while I work.
This worked fine for the first morning of the experiment but I then discovered I was too pissed to go on into the afternoon. On the following day I cut back on the whiskey.until after five where it didn’t matter too much if I fell over stuff – it was a good excuse to quit for the day. She still nags me though starting as soon as I climb out of bed.
I am lacing through my stash at a fierce rate. I haven’t had so much in a long time. It may not cure the aches and pains but it does make them easier to ignore.
And when I finally clear the room and go into recovery I can proudly proclaim that my wife made me into an alcoholic.