No, you’re not seeing double. No, I didn’t post the same thing twice. No, I’m not mad… okay, I’ll rescind that statement… I’m a little mad, and a little frustrated, and a bit pissed off to be fair. Puppy training, as I said in my previous post, starts on July 7th, but I won’t be there for the first lesson. Bear’s going alone because the first lesson is theoretical, basically how they’ll be training the puppies and why they’ll be doing it that way. For a start it’ll all be in Dutch, so I’ll only understand about a third of it and secondly, we can’t leave the pup alone so one of us is going to have to stay home. We can’t take him with us because the lesson will be in a classroom, of sorts and he’ll be bored out of his brain in five seconds (as will I probably), so he’ll be whimpering and wanting to run around and shout at all the strangers.
Skip day is a no-no thanks to the woman at the end of our row (we live in a terrace) who when Bear asked, refused to allow us to place the skip in front of her garage (behind the houses) despite the fact she doesn’t use it and the skip will only be there for 12 hours. There isn’t anywhere else to place a skip because our street is very narrow and the car park is always full, so we’re screwed now. The only other option is to load the car up and take it all down the tip ourselves, which will take about 8 journeys and will require us to separate everything into nine categories… Grrr.!
My birthday was anything but peaceful and quiet. We went for a walk with the dog across the moors in the early afternoon and got sun burnt, despite it threatening to rain all day. Then we came home to rest, because after an hour and a half of walking up- and downhill on dirty sand with a fucked hip, I wasn’t in any fit state to do anything but collapse on the sofa with painkillers. I know… I don’t know why I do this shit to myself either, probably to prove that I still can, despite the agony afterwards. The dog wasn’t too impressed either and flopped on the floor and snored like a hog for two hours, after he drank a litre of cold water.
Once I got my shit together enough and had recovered a little we headed off to The Mommy’s for a bbq, where she took a guess at my age and allowed me 5 years and was very loved for it. She thought I was a few years younger than her youngest son, rather than the six months younger that I am. I was given a couple of bottles of a sweet rosé wine that I had there the last time we went and thought was lush. Unusual for me, I’m a beer drinker not a wine drinker, and if I do drink wine it’s usually red, but this was really nice. We came home stuffed to bursting and vegged out until we were able to move a little and then my eldest son called.
I know it’s bloody mean to say it, but I wish to God I hadn’t answered his call. Two and a half hours spent listening to him crying and ranting and raging and cursing a blue streak over his ex-fiancee and her lack of communication in explaining why she dumped him. He’s become obsessive and suicidal and is verging on mania and I have absolutely no clue what the fuck to say because when shit like that happened to me in my youth, I just walked away and left it in the dirt. I didn’t obsess over an ex-, I didn’t threaten to kill them and myself in some fucked up one-sided pact (don’t worry, he won’t do it).
I didn’t force my attention on them, demanding answers and whining about trying to fix things. I didn’t cry for days on end at the unfairness of it all. I just walked away and got on with my life alone. I’m also no kind of counsellor, I don’t have answers or fantastic advice to impart. I’m just his mother, and apparently not much use as that. He can’t deal with rejection. He’s so sensitive and honestly, emotionally unstable when he’s not getting what he wants and like his father, he can’t live alone. Being under lockdown for two and a half months hasn’t helped either. He’s probably got depression and I know he’s lonely, but I’m 540 miles away, what can I do.?
I’ve talked and listened and listened some more and made suggestions, all on deaf ears. He refuses to see a counsellor, refuses to talk to anyone but his ex-, who won’t talk to him and has now blocked him on Fb because he won’t quit bugging her, won’t leave the flat, but wants to move so he doesn’t have to live with memories of her in it, but he can’t afford to move. He’s still furloughed and he trusts no-one, so is avoiding all the friends he had because they were also friends with his ex-… So my birthday evening, which should have been spent snuggled up on the sofa with Bear and a good beer, was spent upstairs, listening to my adult son having a major barney over a woman, again, over Messenger with a warm beer and an increasing sense of dread. Fucking great.!