Plot giveaway - still wicked

Yet again last night I resorted to a pill to get to sleep, as all the tossing and turning and re-living episodes from the past was distressing, and not what I wanted to do. I want it out of my head, not going in nauseating circles non-stop. I want this visit to be over and done with, and for them to be out of my life. I told myself over and over again not to have any arguments about anything, not to explain, and not to attempt to justify myself. And to recognise that this relationship is extremely unlikely to improve. I set out to try and make it better, and obviously it was a waste of time and effort. The relationship is worse, but I have been able to state my point of view without succumbing to the temptation of abusing her. Obviously she hates this, and me. I do not like her any better, but truly believe I was right to make the effort, and to assert myself.

We both slept in a bit this morning, and when the phone rang I let Dr P answer it - he was still asleep. They had arrived, and arranged to come over here about 11 am. Dr P favoured takeaway at our place, but I told him that going to a cafe would be better. I really did not feel like having to provide a meal. I raced off to do food shopping, to provide supplies for him and SD3, who arrives tomorrow, and got back home about half an hour before they arrived. We all said hello, and Dr P hugged and kissed his daughter and the children. I did not hug or kiss anyone. We all sat around talking for about an hour, and WSD rang her older sister, SD1, so she could join us at lunch. We met at a nearby cafe which is very large, has a good variety of food, and which is frequented by lots of yummy mummies and their babes.

As we left our house, I offered a house key to the WSD, starting to tell her that the front doorbell is broken, and that Dr P was not likely to hear anybody knocking. She refused the key, saying that they were not going to come back to our house - I said, What, not at all, and she said not at all. So, they have come all this way, and how does she intend to see her father - drag him out of the house, or just not see him again? Even when I am away for several days? She won't come and see him again? All of this just to get back at me? Even I cannot believe it! That was the extent of our conversation.

I talked to the children, and to WJ, about lots of different subjects. The one topic that was raised to me, by WJ, the husband of the WSD, was to ask was I still singing. They have two topics for me: the first is choir and the second is how are my grandchildren. It is like a cracked record. Remember cracked records? Of course, they don't really want to know anything about either topic. If I started telling them their eyes would glaze over in two seconds. SD1 was critical of the fact that I had parked in the main street instead of around the corner where there is a disabled parking spot - although in fact where I parked was actually closer to the cafe than around the corner - and apart from that there was not one word addressed to me. This is fairly typical - I sit there, smiling and trying to be pleasant, while the conversation totally excludes me, and I try to find topics that will focus on them. But I would like to vomit them all out of my mouth.

At the cafe Dr P sat in the middle and SD1 and the WSD sat at the far end, with WJ down the other end, the children opposite him, and the last place left for me.

Dr P is, of course, very deaf, and I would have thought that one or both of his daughters would have included him in the conversation. At our house, Dr P kept asking them questions which he has asked them many times before, and to which he has forgotten the answers. You'd think that they would notice his deterioration - and maybe even discuss it with me, his carer? But no. It seems that their policy is to act as though I just do not exist, notwithstanding that we are actually coming up for our 17th wedding anniversary, and that he is very old, deaf, and feeble, and very dependent on my care. I feel sorry for him, as he dotes on these step-monsters, and it is pathetic to watch it all.

I felt sick and very angry, but I kept my cool, smiled and made conversation.

On one level it would be satisfying to call the WSD many bad names, and to scream, rant, and abuse her. But it would be a really bad idea.

During the rest of the day I took Dr P to the doctor, to check his possible attack of gout a couple of weeks ago. All is well and nothing needs to be done, at this stage, if at all. (Instead of going to the dress rehearsal for an opera.) After that, I called the NRMA (the motorists' organisation) as Dr P's car would not start. Turns out that modern cars need to be driven regularly, otherwise the battery winds down. After the service man started charging the battery, I had to sit around with the engine running for about 45 minutes - boring, boring. I drove around our suburb for about half an hour. The speed limit is 40 kph, the traffic is always congested, the roads are narrow, and it is not the sort of trip you would take for fun.

Now I suppose I will have to do something about dinner.

And I am waiting for Dr P to reimburse me for the housekeeping costs, something he never does on time, and which means I have to ensure that there is enough money in my account to pay off my credit card in full. As I type I am seething away and wondering whether I can just run away. AND THEY CAN ALL LOOK AFTER HIM AT LEAST FOR A COUPLE OF WEEKS UNTIL THEY DECIDE IT IS ALL TOO HARD AND PUT HIM IN A NURSING HOME!

I drank several glasses of wine, which took the edge off my wrath, and cooked a ham, cheese and potato gratin (one of Dr P's favourites, subtle, eh!) and spoke my mind vigorously. My heart is no longer pounding furiously. Dr P has piped down, is more subdued and has gone to bed.

At least the day is over. What will the morrow bring? At least I will be away for the weekend.

I WILL be free of her one day.